[ He's been working in the deeper levels, down where the light will undoubtedly never reach - and let's face it, even if, say, Hitler's loop were to somehow start calling out for Elio, Lucifer would bury him in one of the bloody underground volcanos before the other man would ever even notice. He's permanently in his Devil form down here, his skin streaked from gore and his red-feathered wings heavy with blood. When he leaves, he always goes by a loop on the way, grabbing a shower - it's not that he thinks Elio would mind, necessarily, but Lucifer realised a few hundred years ago that he minded. It's not him, showing up at the home of his love, looking like he ate someone alive.
It's not him. This has begun to matter again, as it did before he met Elio, back when he ran Lux and kept himself wanted and admired, if not loved.
Now that he's loved, however, it matters in a different way.
Exiting the loop of Ms. Kwong Hee, who busy swan-diving repeatedly off a cliff and into her very own copy of the Pacific, Lucifer unfurls his wings - white, pristine, slightly glossy from the most recent preening - and takes off, heading for Elio's palace. New doors have opened throughout Hell since Elio's latest return - it's as if, to Lucifer, they're never all that far away. He enters the first one he spots and ends up in Elio's...
In his what, now? ]
What the hell...
[ He stares. Walks through the garden, smelling fruit trees and flowers, feeling the sunlight on his skin because this is - oh, but this feels like...
Oh.
Oh! ]
How fucking dare you, you old bastard.
[ Face scrunching up into something decidedly unpleasant, eyes flaring red, he stalks around a flower bed and heads straight for bare-chested, jeans-wearing Elio, thinking about paradise because that's what this place fucking feels like and how could his Dad possibly... ]
All right, out with it! Where is he? Did he at least have the good sense to leave or do I actually, finally get a shot at kicking my old man out of paradise?
The thing Elio once dreaded more than any other, because he associated it with passionate make-out sessions that ended in fights about children, that kind of thing. It hasn't been a problem with Lucifer, of course, their make-out sessions can end a number of ways, none of which involve any discussion whatsoever of kids. Routine for them is days spent in the hallways or the depths of Hell, though Elio has stayed in more often than not lately, restless from doing nothing much, leaving the maintenance of the realm to the King of it all, while he himself played housewife, maybe a little more along the lines of domesticity that he had thought he'd never walk. That he thought he'd hate. There's a calm to it, though, having dinner ready when Lucifer returns, newly bathed, because he's reverted to being a very vain Devil, wings out and shining. Elio could have him, right there on the dining table. Sometimes he does.
That's the routine.
The garden is not. So Elio knows what he can expect, he thinks.
Still, as he senses the other man coming up behind him, wading through the flower beds and sounding mostly furious, he just frowns, keeps a hold of his basket, piles of figs collapsing in on themselves when he turns around. He doesn't put them down, rather he looks right up into Lucifer's face, scrunched up and unpleasant, never more the Devil than when he's in this mood, that very calm they usually create together darkening Elio's voice and maybe his features, too, Lucifer would have to tell him. Elio can't really see himself, but he sees the garden and he doesn't see a problem.
The garden is his. He made it, with a little help, but even the help is his own. ]
There's only me, Lucifer.
[ And I'll listen to your frustrations, but I won't take them, it means. Elio purses his lips a bit and catches sight of Lucifer's wings, fanning out behind him, all his feathers standing on end from anger, making him look like a charging cock. Most other days, it would be fitting and Elio would have saved the image somewhere between the back of his mind and his heart, but he understands that it's a complicated thing between God and his rebellious son. Just as he understands this isn't between Lucifer and his father, it's between Lucifer's father and Elio. ]
[ He stares down into Elio's face and the other man watches him back, so visibly unintimidated that it almost - almost - manages to deflate him. Almost but not quite - because then, his mind starts lingering on the warmth against his skin, the light, oh, it's brilliant and warm and the sprawling towers of the Silver City exudes it at night, carried like an essence within its foundation and he remembers and --
Eyes blazing, he huffs out an angry breath of disbeliving laughter. ]
I bet he did. Came here to meddle, obviously.
[ He slaps his arm out to the side, indicating look at all this and because he's so thoroughly incensed, his wing flaps along with his arm, feathers coming off at the rash movement. He stares at it for a second as if contemplating another wing-ectomy, breathing harshly through his nose.
Then, his gaze snaps back to Elio, his voice rising as he talks: ]
Only makes noise when he comes around to ruin things but oh, what a show it is. You didn't get any front-row seats to the drama, huh? Means he likes you, if you couldn't tell, which honestly - [ He shakes his head. Another feather floats onto his nose and he goes cross-eyed, trying to follow its movement. ] - honesty, that would be a shocker. My Dad, being all mysterious, just waltzing on down here to - to -
[ The feather's migrating onto the very tip of his nose. He's still staring at it balefully before he finally just whacks at it with the palm of his hand, a lot harder than he should because, well, it's his nose. Literally situated in his face. Ow.
[ Lucifer talks, though at the top of his voice, so maybe it’s to be considered more of a shout, really, and has Elio ever been on the receiving end of that phenomenon? Not quite this agitatedly, but Elio lets him. Lets him throw his arms and his words around like projectiles, remaining in place in front of him, looking up and up and up while the Devil complains about God ruining things and liking Elio and coming here to - to - to -
Whack, Lucifer tries wafting at a feather that’s gotten into his face simultaneously, ending up more or less punching himself in the nose. It could be laughable, but it’s not.
Why didn’t he come because of me, it means.
Elio’s expression softens and he shakes his head, in a manner that doesn’t say because as much as he did, reaching up slowly to take the hand with which the other man is now rubbing at his mistreated nose, dragging it down at a comfortable height and holding it gently in his own for a few seconds. Then, Elio frees his hand again to pick a fig out of his basket, opening Lucifer’s palm with a mutter of here and placing the fruit on it, right in the middle, it looks small against his huge hand, big fingers. Agile and gentle things, in equal measure.
Once, in Elio’s dreams, they ate peaches together like this.
Crouching down to place the basket on the ground quickly, letting his arms fall to his sides as he gets back up, Elio looks up to meet Lucifer’s eyes, raising his chin a little. It’s not difficult being strong in the face of the Devil, truthfully. Especially not when the strength he ultimately needs is softness. ]
He came to talk. [ Arms out to either side, indicating the light, the trees, the flowers. Elio looks around slowly. Yes, this is truly his realm, all these things are his things, what he’s been given is a gift, sure, but what he does with the gift is his own business. ] The rest is on me.
[ Who enters and what happens, it’s for Elio to decide. Even Lucifer has to bow to that and God, it seems, respects it. ]
[ The rest is on me says Elio, because he doesn't let anyone else owe even a penny for his actions, not even bleeding God himself who, you know, holds a hand in every little stupid thing in existence but no, no one ever blames him, why would they? Why should Lucifer? Why should he even care? Blinking harshly, he stares at the fig in his hand, still feeling the echoes of Elio's gentle fingers against his hand. He holds the other man's gaze for a long moment, his hand tightening dangerously around the fig until he realises he's about a split-second away from crushing it between his fingers.
So he loosens his grip.
Immediately, his stance wilts, shoulders, wings, facial expression. Exhaling loudly, he turns slightly away from Elio, still cradling the fig in his hand, and rubs it with his fingertips. Unconsciously, he folds his wings in around himself a little and that ought to infuriate him more than his father's presence in Elio's world but for some reason, right now all he feels is...
Is... ]
What, uh.
[ He swallows against something that seems to be stuck in his throat. Forces his voice up a notch, though his expression doesn't follow along. ]
[ It's a gradual dissipation, how the anger seeps out of Lucifer's fingers holding the fig and being half a moment from crushing it, making him turn away slightly and fold his wings in around himself, like a child hugging himself when no one else's there and Elio's heart bleeds for him. Desperately, he wants to walk up and hug him from behind, get those big feathery wings right in his face, hold him as close as possible with two extra limbs, but he doesn't. Lucifer's sadness and grief over what he lost is his own, Elio neither can nor should attempt to take it away from him. To be the contrast, of course, and to be the counterweight, but not take it from him. One, it isn't Elio's to carry and two, it's much too heavy for his once-human arms. It's built over eons, longer than humanity has existed, before the Earth was the Earth.
So, Elio waits. He's an amazing waiter, isn't he? It's what he's been doing most of his mortal life. When Lucifer asks the question, the question, he doesn't flinch or look away, instead walking up next to the other man, just placing himself in his periphery, within reach, should he want to. Out of his intimate sphere, should he not.
Glancing up at him sideways, Elio shrugs, not to make light of it, but to say, nothing like that or maybe, nothing to worry about. ]
We talked about names, about knowing things by the right one. Then, my... gift-ness, I guess, how he made me and how I've made myself. [ Pause. ] He got a taste of my focaccia.
[ A slight gesture of one hand, bzz, bzz, bzz, that kind of flapping of wrist, however you signal a bee of all things, how did Rimsky-Korsakov do it? Elio lets his hand sink, only to turn towards Lucifer fully. ]
It lasted all of ten minutes, then he flew out the window.
Until now, he's just assumed... well. When he said talked, he didn't quite mean talk in the literal sense, he meant... the way you just know, right, like the way he knew when he went to collect Chloe's antidote and came across Mum's broken loop door. God doesn't talk to anyone; he hasn't even spoken to Amenadiel, his favourite son, in basically forever. At least, the other angel hasn't mentioned anything about it and there's no way he'd be even slightly capable of keeping something like that to himself.
So, factually, Dad doesn't. Talk. Not to Lucifer (duh), not to Amenadiel (much to his brother's sadness) and not to...
But.
We talked about names.
Blinking rapidly, Lucifer turns to stare at Elio, eyes widening as the magnitude of what he's saying finally, properly resonates. God has spoken, not to any of his angels, not to some new-age prophet or to the Pope or even Leonardo DiCaprio; but to Elio, sweet Elio, who's down here in Hell playing Persephone and plucking the fruits of a garden that's clearly as tied to him as the palace and the realm surrounding them. A small slice of creation itself. ]
You...
[ He wets his lips. Shifts closer, until their shoulders rub together. Then, he slips his arm around Elio's naked waist and pulls him in against his side gently, his feathers cascading down over his upper body, down, down, draping against the ground next to his feet. He stands there, holding Elio close and looks around again. Properly.
The anger has curled into something else, something smaller and more fragile, in the depths of his chest. It's easier like that, to see what's around him. The trees. The fruits.
The sun. ]
You are the most remarkable thing I've ever known.
[ He’s a lot of wide-eyed staring, is Lucifer, after that. He’s always had the kind of face that blew up every emotion to double its original size, so Elio can follow the shifts in reaction very clearly. Disbelief. Wonder. Something... else that Elio doesn’t dare to name, because like the grief, this is Lucifer’s to carry, too. And Elio’s to receive, apparently.
The other man slips his arm around Elio’s naked waist and pulls him in, gently, carefully, in a manner that says you matter and possibly more than you will ever know, and in response Elio rests his head sideways on Lucifer’s shoulder, lets himself be held and appreciated and... that unnameable thing, Lucifer’s own.
Then, Lucifer says that, those words, you are the most remarkable thing I’ve ever known, and maybe he’d compliment-scoff it away normally, but Elio knows the weight of that statement, because Lucifer has known everything there is to know from the beginning of time until now and long into the future, he’ll know it as well. If Elio surpasses all of it, that’s not just a compliment, that’s a...
Oh.
The angel’s wing is wrapped lightly around him, feathers cascading down his front, back, protecting him from all sides as they, each and every one of them, say the same thing. Elio feels something warmer than the sunshine and stronger than Hell’s rocky ground form in his chest. He’s felt this way about Lucifer for a long time, really, but the metaphors were never quite right, never quite here. He turns a little and gets up on his naked toes to kiss the other man’s cheek, stubble scratching him beautifully. ]
I love you, too.
[ Lucifer hasn’t said it yet, the words, and Elio realizes, maybe for the first time, that he has absolutely no stakes in whether the other man ever will. If he can say things like this and give himself in all his forms to him, how loudly would he have to shout to be heard over that?
It’s not that Elio doesn’t expect better of him, it’s that Lucifer has already outdone himself. He thinks about what God said, about making yourself better and he thinks, this very second? They’re both the results of their own hard work. The work that brought them together to begin with.
Nuzzling Lucifer’s cheekbone with his nose, Elio eases down on flat feet again, just standing there, leaning against him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's not him. This has begun to matter again, as it did before he met Elio, back when he ran Lux and kept himself wanted and admired, if not loved.
Now that he's loved, however, it matters in a different way.
Exiting the loop of Ms. Kwong Hee, who busy swan-diving repeatedly off a cliff and into her very own copy of the Pacific, Lucifer unfurls his wings - white, pristine, slightly glossy from the most recent preening - and takes off, heading for Elio's palace. New doors have opened throughout Hell since Elio's latest return - it's as if, to Lucifer, they're never all that far away. He enters the first one he spots and ends up in Elio's...
In his what, now? ]
What the hell...
[ He stares. Walks through the garden, smelling fruit trees and flowers, feeling the sunlight on his skin because this is - oh, but this feels like...
Oh.
Oh! ]
How fucking dare you, you old bastard.
[ Face scrunching up into something decidedly unpleasant, eyes flaring red, he stalks around a flower bed and heads straight for bare-chested, jeans-wearing Elio, thinking about paradise because that's what this place fucking feels like and how could his Dad possibly... ]
All right, out with it! Where is he? Did he at least have the good sense to leave or do I actually, finally get a shot at kicking my old man out of paradise?
no subject
The thing Elio once dreaded more than any other, because he associated it with passionate make-out sessions that ended in fights about children, that kind of thing. It hasn't been a problem with Lucifer, of course, their make-out sessions can end a number of ways, none of which involve any discussion whatsoever of kids. Routine for them is days spent in the hallways or the depths of Hell, though Elio has stayed in more often than not lately, restless from doing nothing much, leaving the maintenance of the realm to the King of it all, while he himself played housewife, maybe a little more along the lines of domesticity that he had thought he'd never walk. That he thought he'd hate. There's a calm to it, though, having dinner ready when Lucifer returns, newly bathed, because he's reverted to being a very vain Devil, wings out and shining. Elio could have him, right there on the dining table. Sometimes he does.
That's the routine.
The garden is not. So Elio knows what he can expect, he thinks.
Still, as he senses the other man coming up behind him, wading through the flower beds and sounding mostly furious, he just frowns, keeps a hold of his basket, piles of figs collapsing in on themselves when he turns around. He doesn't put them down, rather he looks right up into Lucifer's face, scrunched up and unpleasant, never more the Devil than when he's in this mood, that very calm they usually create together darkening Elio's voice and maybe his features, too, Lucifer would have to tell him. Elio can't really see himself, but he sees the garden and he doesn't see a problem.
The garden is his. He made it, with a little help, but even the help is his own. ]
There's only me, Lucifer.
[ And I'll listen to your frustrations, but I won't take them, it means. Elio purses his lips a bit and catches sight of Lucifer's wings, fanning out behind him, all his feathers standing on end from anger, making him look like a charging cock. Most other days, it would be fitting and Elio would have saved the image somewhere between the back of his mind and his heart, but he understands that it's a complicated thing between God and his rebellious son. Just as he understands this isn't between Lucifer and his father, it's between Lucifer's father and Elio. ]
Your father went quietly.
no subject
Eyes blazing, he huffs out an angry breath of disbeliving laughter. ]
I bet he did. Came here to meddle, obviously.
[ He slaps his arm out to the side, indicating look at all this and because he's so thoroughly incensed, his wing flaps along with his arm, feathers coming off at the rash movement. He stares at it for a second as if contemplating another wing-ectomy, breathing harshly through his nose.
Then, his gaze snaps back to Elio, his voice rising as he talks: ]
Only makes noise when he comes around to ruin things but oh, what a show it is. You didn't get any front-row seats to the drama, huh? Means he likes you, if you couldn't tell, which honestly - [ He shakes his head. Another feather floats onto his nose and he goes cross-eyed, trying to follow its movement. ] - honesty, that would be a shocker. My Dad, being all mysterious, just waltzing on down here to - to -
[ The feather's migrating onto the very tip of his nose. He's still staring at it balefully before he finally just whacks at it with the palm of his hand, a lot harder than he should because, well, it's his nose. Literally situated in his face. Ow.
He rubs it, sniffing loudly. ]
no subject
Whack, Lucifer tries wafting at a feather that’s gotten into his face simultaneously, ending up more or less punching himself in the nose. It could be laughable, but it’s not.
Why didn’t he come because of me, it means.
Elio’s expression softens and he shakes his head, in a manner that doesn’t say because as much as he did, reaching up slowly to take the hand with which the other man is now rubbing at his mistreated nose, dragging it down at a comfortable height and holding it gently in his own for a few seconds. Then, Elio frees his hand again to pick a fig out of his basket, opening Lucifer’s palm with a mutter of here and placing the fruit on it, right in the middle, it looks small against his huge hand, big fingers. Agile and gentle things, in equal measure.
Once, in Elio’s dreams, they ate peaches together like this.
Crouching down to place the basket on the ground quickly, letting his arms fall to his sides as he gets back up, Elio looks up to meet Lucifer’s eyes, raising his chin a little. It’s not difficult being strong in the face of the Devil, truthfully. Especially not when the strength he ultimately needs is softness. ]
He came to talk. [ Arms out to either side, indicating the light, the trees, the flowers. Elio looks around slowly. Yes, this is truly his realm, all these things are his things, what he’s been given is a gift, sure, but what he does with the gift is his own business. ] The rest is on me.
[ Who enters and what happens, it’s for Elio to decide. Even Lucifer has to bow to that and God, it seems, respects it. ]
no subject
So he loosens his grip.
Immediately, his stance wilts, shoulders, wings, facial expression. Exhaling loudly, he turns slightly away from Elio, still cradling the fig in his hand, and rubs it with his fingertips. Unconsciously, he folds his wings in around himself a little and that ought to infuriate him more than his father's presence in Elio's world but for some reason, right now all he feels is...
Is... ]
What, uh.
[ He swallows against something that seems to be stuck in his throat. Forces his voice up a notch, though his expression doesn't follow along. ]
What did you two talk about?
no subject
So, Elio waits. He's an amazing waiter, isn't he? It's what he's been doing most of his mortal life. When Lucifer asks the question, the question, he doesn't flinch or look away, instead walking up next to the other man, just placing himself in his periphery, within reach, should he want to. Out of his intimate sphere, should he not.
Glancing up at him sideways, Elio shrugs, not to make light of it, but to say, nothing like that or maybe, nothing to worry about. ]
We talked about names, about knowing things by the right one. Then, my... gift-ness, I guess, how he made me and how I've made myself. [ Pause. ] He got a taste of my focaccia.
[ A slight gesture of one hand, bzz, bzz, bzz, that kind of flapping of wrist, however you signal a bee of all things, how did Rimsky-Korsakov do it? Elio lets his hand sink, only to turn towards Lucifer fully. ]
It lasted all of ten minutes, then he flew out the window.
no subject
It takes a second or two to fully register.
Until now, he's just assumed... well. When he said talked, he didn't quite mean talk in the literal sense, he meant... the way you just know, right, like the way he knew when he went to collect Chloe's antidote and came across Mum's broken loop door. God doesn't talk to anyone; he hasn't even spoken to Amenadiel, his favourite son, in basically forever. At least, the other angel hasn't mentioned anything about it and there's no way he'd be even slightly capable of keeping something like that to himself.
So, factually, Dad doesn't. Talk. Not to Lucifer (duh), not to Amenadiel (much to his brother's sadness) and not to...
But.
We talked about names.
Blinking rapidly, Lucifer turns to stare at Elio, eyes widening as the magnitude of what he's saying finally, properly resonates. God has spoken, not to any of his angels, not to some new-age prophet or to the Pope or even Leonardo DiCaprio; but to Elio, sweet Elio, who's down here in Hell playing Persephone and plucking the fruits of a garden that's clearly as tied to him as the palace and the realm surrounding them. A small slice of creation itself. ]
You...
[ He wets his lips. Shifts closer, until their shoulders rub together. Then, he slips his arm around Elio's naked waist and pulls him in against his side gently, his feathers cascading down over his upper body, down, down, draping against the ground next to his feet. He stands there, holding Elio close and looks around again. Properly.
The anger has curled into something else, something smaller and more fragile, in the depths of his chest. It's easier like that, to see what's around him. The trees. The fruits.
The sun. ]
You are the most remarkable thing I've ever known.
no subject
The other man slips his arm around Elio’s naked waist and pulls him in, gently, carefully, in a manner that says you matter and possibly more than you will ever know, and in response Elio rests his head sideways on Lucifer’s shoulder, lets himself be held and appreciated and... that unnameable thing, Lucifer’s own.
Then, Lucifer says that, those words, you are the most remarkable thing I’ve ever known, and maybe he’d compliment-scoff it away normally, but Elio knows the weight of that statement, because Lucifer has known everything there is to know from the beginning of time until now and long into the future, he’ll know it as well. If Elio surpasses all of it, that’s not just a compliment, that’s a...
Oh.
The angel’s wing is wrapped lightly around him, feathers cascading down his front, back, protecting him from all sides as they, each and every one of them, say the same thing. Elio feels something warmer than the sunshine and stronger than Hell’s rocky ground form in his chest. He’s felt this way about Lucifer for a long time, really, but the metaphors were never quite right, never quite here. He turns a little and gets up on his naked toes to kiss the other man’s cheek, stubble scratching him beautifully. ]
I love you, too.
[ Lucifer hasn’t said it yet, the words, and Elio realizes, maybe for the first time, that he has absolutely no stakes in whether the other man ever will. If he can say things like this and give himself in all his forms to him, how loudly would he have to shout to be heard over that?
It’s not that Elio doesn’t expect better of him, it’s that Lucifer has already outdone himself. He thinks about what God said, about making yourself better and he thinks, this very second? They’re both the results of their own hard work. The work that brought them together to begin with.
Nuzzling Lucifer’s cheekbone with his nose, Elio eases down on flat feet again, just standing there, leaning against him. ]