Elio's seen the world crumble and rise and degenerate anew at intervals, has left a Europe at peace one time, returning to World War III and left an America losing territory, only to return to Asia being partly colonized. It all happens in cycles. China recently gained its independence on diplimatic terms. The EU is losing the old Eastern block again. Give and take, give and take. Luckily, Elio never cared much for politics, he only cares about where he can get to play and who wants to listen.
This spring and summer, he's travelled the by now gigantic urban landscape that was once called Los Angeles, now they've slapped a New in front of the name, abbreviated NLA, doing concerts all across town and given lessons to pretty girls in their light summer dresses, the one trend that has seemingly never gone out of fashion, no matter how many years pass.
However, autumn is coming. If he couldn't feel it in the heat making the pavement slow-cook and simmer, so he's dumped his suit jacket at home in favor of a white shirt open at the front, just two or three buttons undone, Elio could sense it in the way the depths of everything call to him. Lakes? They call. Building sites with holes breaking the ground open? They call. It's gotten so bad that even the piping beneath his sink calls, meaning it's close. He never knows the exact time, of course, but close, close, close.
There's not a time Elio doesn't long for home, but there's really no time like this, either, where he longs more.
He's currently walking by the place where Lux used to be, the building has been sold off in the meantime and these days, it towers silent and dark over the quiet streets, seeing as this part of town is mostly residential, like a testimony to where you find the Devil now. Not here. There's talk of the old landmark being demolished soon enough, torn down to the ground, so some of those enormous apartment complexes that take up the entire area on all sides, housing's always a problem in New Los Angeles, can be constructed instead. Elio halts on the corner of two crossing streets, leaning his head back to look up and up and up at the construct, the balcony at the top that can only be glimpsed because he knows it's there. This was where it all began.
[ The world above calls out to him and like always, like he's done hundreds of times by now, Lucifer rises from his throne and takes off towards the barrier, gliding through it with long, even strokes of his wings. When he regains his footing, he's staring out across the vast expanses of what used to be L.A. and his heart seems to stop for a second, his breath catching uselessly in his throat. Oh. This place.
There's no one left here that he'd know. Chloe's offspring died many, many cycles ago, heading to Hell like her mother before her, though the girl had an easier time ascending. She'd taken her father with her on the way, too. Chloe is still there, insists on being there because she's as stubborn as she ever was, stubborn and truth-seeking and lost amongst the choices of what turned out to be a long, complicated life. Lucifer lets her, lets her stay, until she's worn herself and her loop out.
He's standing on his old balcony and the foundation has already begun to crumble beneath his feet. In another few minutes, he's going to pop right through and take the fall, another one, all the way down. He casts a quick glance over the railing. The view isn't familiar anymore but the sight far, far down below on the streets is - Elio, standing his ground, looking up. For a moment, it seems as if they're looking at each other but really, beyond human or not, none of them have that kind of eyesight.
So he takes off, wings outstretched, and lands some feet behind Elio. He lets the surge of wind from his wings alert the other man to his presence, keeping them out because really, it's L.A. in the bloody future, if anyone gives even half a crap about a man with wings standing about randomly in the streets, he'll eat his shoe. He watches Elio quietly, his chest feeling light, like there's nothing truly bothering him. Such an absurd idea.
A feather drifts off and sticks in Elio's curls. ]
[ He can't see him, but he feels him. He senses him, the way Elio can sense Lucifer even beyond dimensional drifts and a million tons heavy crust of earth, which is their reality half the time, right? He senses the surge of wind ruffling his hair and his shirt fabric billowing around his upper body, because his jeans are glued on, fashion, they call it, and immediately turns his back on the old nightclub, the penthouse on top, to face the other man. Wings, oh. They're out and they're huge, white, so bright they seem translucent. Elio smiles, drops his smaller-than-a-folding-bike-bike on the ground and catches the feather that has stuck in his curls, just above one eyebrow. Frees it, managing not to make the curl bounce at all. He's got practice, after all. He's used to these things getting everywhere.
Then, he finally raises his gaze and meets Lucifer's eyes, blinking a couple of times, feeling that old sense of calm and comfort settle in his nervous system. Home, it means. You're going home, Elio Perlman. He takes a half second to, blindly, fumbling, thrust the feather into his front pocket, also all but painted onto him and thus, he has to work for it a little, it's an angel's feather, it's Lucifer's, it's precious. before simply extending both arms and breaking into a half-run, throwing himself at the other man's strong, steady front, hands folding behind his neck loosely. He can be shaken off if needed. Though, for now, this is where he needs to be. Elio presses himself greedily against Lucifer's body, uncaring about them being in the middle of the street. It's early evening, dinner-time, not too many people around. The couple coming up behind them, young, man and who-know's, only throws a passing glance at them as they have to sidestep (and really, really sidestep), then they're back to their own conversations.
Elio sounds breathless and laughing when he mutters: ]
What a view, right? You remember.
[ Because Lucifer remembers most things, and Elio fully expects that he, too, remembers their afternoon on that balcony, how Elio had greeted him back then, when they talked of falling for the first time. And look at them now! Slowly he releases him and steps back just enough to establish eye contact. Up and up and up, because Lucifer has tall-man legs.
There's not just one direction they fall in anymore, the two of them. ]
[ Elio drops his bike - because that tiny creature is, indeed, a bike, yes, completely ridiculous - and throws himself at Lucifer, arms around his neck, front to front. Lucifer smiles and curves one arm beneath his buttocks, supporting him. He's free to take his personal space, Elio, because that's how things have become. After all, for most of his existence, the other man lives and breathes it.
He still feels weirdly achy in a good way whenever Elio pockets his feathers or keeps them, saves them, puts them away in his drawer or in boxes. He'll never get used to any of it, he thinks, not even after another eon of Elio, treating his remaining signs of divinity like they're somehow precious, like they're worth protecting.
With a sigh, he looks up over Elio's head, the empty building rising behind them like a huge, prehistoric skeleton. ]
Of course I do.
[ He nuzzles Elio's forehead with his lips, planting a quick kiss between his eyebrows before he hoists him up more fully, bridal style. He casts a quick look around but no, nope, even like this, people couldn't give a flying fuck. It's humanity as he's always loved them, self-absorbed and short-lived but full of life and joy and pleasure.
And the Devil has outgrown them all, in his own time. ]
Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee or should we just, you know.
[ A quick nod towards his own feet, the ground beneath them. Some streets away, cars - or whatever passes for cars these days - are honking in a strange concerto and the trees have lost the golden edge of summer, their leaves brown and crisp and stiff-looking.
Down in Hell, the rocks have started blossoming in anticipation. ]
[ The man who doesn't hug lets Elio hang off of him like a teenager, pressing against him and claiming his space there, because that's what Lucifer has taught him to do and the Devil will bear the consequences or be damned, again. Elio loves him for it, for the ease with which he gives himself over. So, when the other man bends down to pick him up bridal-style, Elio lets himself be handled like only Lucifer can, because Lucifer is stronger and steadier and not human, though the differences between them have been polished down to relatively smooth surfaces at this point. They stub a toe sometimes, then they move on. Together.
Elio doesn't want coffee, he wants to see the rocks in Hell blooming for him and other loops than Oliver's, emptied thousand of years ago, calling to him and the familiarity of the hallways, the creaking of his bed when Lucifer fucks him hard. Tightening his grip around the other man's shoulder, he shakes his head in half an answer, forehead pushed against the jut of his jawline, curls bouncing everywhere now, around his head, probably tickling Lucifer's temple, his ear. Lucifer face. Lucifer wings, huge behind them, no one looking, because New Los Angeles is an old story. Lucifer mine. Elio never thought he'd find somewhere to settle or someone to settle with, but this is nice. This is good. This is right.
He'll have to remember to thank God, next time he's visited by the bee. ]
Let's just. [ Elio says, meaning: Take us there. ] I want to go home.
[ Remembering, faintly, many centuries ago, how he'd cried these words into Lucifer's chest, half-dead and growing weaker by the minute, Elio raises his face finally from the side of Lucifer's neck, looking around, then down, having to contort a little in the other man's arms, really feeling the strength of them. How they give. How they don't. Oh. Maybe Elio's going to fuck him when they get back.
Things are better now. He doesn't get quite so sick when he has to return, he has seen so many funerals at this point, people dying before him, that mourning feels like second nature, nothing strange or unnatural. When he says, I want to go home, it simply means, with you, with you, with you.
[ Elio tightens his grip on his shoulder and shakes his head, getting curls everywhere in the process and for a few, precious seconds, Lucifer's a little bit blinded by them. Then, Elio says --
Yes.
Home, he says, and Lucifer knows what he means which is wondrous and altogether insane, that they'll both set foot on the cliffs in Hell in view of the throne and understand the same thing about it. Imagine knowing someone like that, imagine being known by them in turn! He doesn't know what home is, not as such, but he's aware of what they've made of it and maybe that's better. Can't be taken from either of them like that, can it, when it belongs in their systems, in words and breath and the touch between bodies? He cradles Elio close to his chest and spreads his wings out, someone pausing on the sidewalk to snap a picture (going on about awesome vintage hydraulics, whatever that's supposed to mean) but it hardly matters, it all passes in time.
When they get back to Hell, work will resume once again - the loops that have been going relatively undisturbed for the past thousand years will be re-calibrated to Elio's presence in the realm and some of them, maybe a handful, maybe a hundred, will start calling for release. That's summer now, true summer and they'll belong to it again and again, him and Elio, but to each other, first. ]
Then, let's be off.
[ He gives Elio's hand against his shoulder a quick squeeze. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Elio's seen the world crumble and rise and degenerate anew at intervals, has left a Europe at peace one time, returning to World War III and left an America losing territory, only to return to Asia being partly colonized. It all happens in cycles. China recently gained its independence on diplimatic terms. The EU is losing the old Eastern block again. Give and take, give and take. Luckily, Elio never cared much for politics, he only cares about where he can get to play and who wants to listen.
This spring and summer, he's travelled the by now gigantic urban landscape that was once called Los Angeles, now they've slapped a New in front of the name, abbreviated NLA, doing concerts all across town and given lessons to pretty girls in their light summer dresses, the one trend that has seemingly never gone out of fashion, no matter how many years pass.
However, autumn is coming. If he couldn't feel it in the heat making the pavement slow-cook and simmer, so he's dumped his suit jacket at home in favor of a white shirt open at the front, just two or three buttons undone, Elio could sense it in the way the depths of everything call to him. Lakes? They call. Building sites with holes breaking the ground open? They call. It's gotten so bad that even the piping beneath his sink calls, meaning it's close. He never knows the exact time, of course, but close, close, close.
There's not a time Elio doesn't long for home, but there's really no time like this, either, where he longs more.
He's currently walking by the place where Lux used to be, the building has been sold off in the meantime and these days, it towers silent and dark over the quiet streets, seeing as this part of town is mostly residential, like a testimony to where you find the Devil now. Not here. There's talk of the old landmark being demolished soon enough, torn down to the ground, so some of those enormous apartment complexes that take up the entire area on all sides, housing's always a problem in New Los Angeles, can be constructed instead. Elio halts on the corner of two crossing streets, leaning his head back to look up and up and up at the construct, the balcony at the top that can only be glimpsed because he knows it's there. This was where it all began.
What a fall, right? ]
no subject
There's no one left here that he'd know. Chloe's offspring died many, many cycles ago, heading to Hell like her mother before her, though the girl had an easier time ascending. She'd taken her father with her on the way, too. Chloe is still there, insists on being there because she's as stubborn as she ever was, stubborn and truth-seeking and lost amongst the choices of what turned out to be a long, complicated life. Lucifer lets her, lets her stay, until she's worn herself and her loop out.
He's standing on his old balcony and the foundation has already begun to crumble beneath his feet. In another few minutes, he's going to pop right through and take the fall, another one, all the way down. He casts a quick glance over the railing. The view isn't familiar anymore but the sight far, far down below on the streets is - Elio, standing his ground, looking up. For a moment, it seems as if they're looking at each other but really, beyond human or not, none of them have that kind of eyesight.
So he takes off, wings outstretched, and lands some feet behind Elio. He lets the surge of wind from his wings alert the other man to his presence, keeping them out because really, it's L.A. in the bloody future, if anyone gives even half a crap about a man with wings standing about randomly in the streets, he'll eat his shoe. He watches Elio quietly, his chest feeling light, like there's nothing truly bothering him. Such an absurd idea.
A feather drifts off and sticks in Elio's curls. ]
no subject
Then, he finally raises his gaze and meets Lucifer's eyes, blinking a couple of times, feeling that old sense of calm and comfort settle in his nervous system. Home, it means. You're going home, Elio Perlman. He takes a half second to, blindly, fumbling, thrust the feather into his front pocket, also all but painted onto him and thus, he has to work for it a little, it's an angel's feather, it's Lucifer's, it's precious. before simply extending both arms and breaking into a half-run, throwing himself at the other man's strong, steady front, hands folding behind his neck loosely. He can be shaken off if needed. Though, for now, this is where he needs to be. Elio presses himself greedily against Lucifer's body, uncaring about them being in the middle of the street. It's early evening, dinner-time, not too many people around. The couple coming up behind them, young, man and who-know's, only throws a passing glance at them as they have to sidestep (and really, really sidestep), then they're back to their own conversations.
Elio sounds breathless and laughing when he mutters: ]
What a view, right? You remember.
[ Because Lucifer remembers most things, and Elio fully expects that he, too, remembers their afternoon on that balcony, how Elio had greeted him back then, when they talked of falling for the first time. And look at them now! Slowly he releases him and steps back just enough to establish eye contact. Up and up and up, because Lucifer has tall-man legs.
There's not just one direction they fall in anymore, the two of them. ]
no subject
He still feels weirdly achy in a good way whenever Elio pockets his feathers or keeps them, saves them, puts them away in his drawer or in boxes. He'll never get used to any of it, he thinks, not even after another eon of Elio, treating his remaining signs of divinity like they're somehow precious, like they're worth protecting.
With a sigh, he looks up over Elio's head, the empty building rising behind them like a huge, prehistoric skeleton. ]
Of course I do.
[ He nuzzles Elio's forehead with his lips, planting a quick kiss between his eyebrows before he hoists him up more fully, bridal style. He casts a quick look around but no, nope, even like this, people couldn't give a flying fuck. It's humanity as he's always loved them, self-absorbed and short-lived but full of life and joy and pleasure.
And the Devil has outgrown them all, in his own time. ]
Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee or should we just, you know.
[ A quick nod towards his own feet, the ground beneath them. Some streets away, cars - or whatever passes for cars these days - are honking in a strange concerto and the trees have lost the golden edge of summer, their leaves brown and crisp and stiff-looking.
Down in Hell, the rocks have started blossoming in anticipation. ]
no subject
Elio doesn't want coffee, he wants to see the rocks in Hell blooming for him and other loops than Oliver's, emptied thousand of years ago, calling to him and the familiarity of the hallways, the creaking of his bed when Lucifer fucks him hard. Tightening his grip around the other man's shoulder, he shakes his head in half an answer, forehead pushed against the jut of his jawline, curls bouncing everywhere now, around his head, probably tickling Lucifer's temple, his ear. Lucifer face. Lucifer wings, huge behind them, no one looking, because New Los Angeles is an old story. Lucifer mine. Elio never thought he'd find somewhere to settle or someone to settle with, but this is nice. This is good. This is right.
He'll have to remember to thank God, next time he's visited by the bee. ]
Let's just. [ Elio says, meaning: Take us there. ] I want to go home.
[ Remembering, faintly, many centuries ago, how he'd cried these words into Lucifer's chest, half-dead and growing weaker by the minute, Elio raises his face finally from the side of Lucifer's neck, looking around, then down, having to contort a little in the other man's arms, really feeling the strength of them. How they give. How they don't. Oh. Maybe Elio's going to fuck him when they get back.
Things are better now. He doesn't get quite so sick when he has to return, he has seen so many funerals at this point, people dying before him, that mourning feels like second nature, nothing strange or unnatural. When he says, I want to go home, it simply means, with you, with you, with you.
Always that, with Lucifer. ]
no subject
Yes.
Home, he says, and Lucifer knows what he means which is wondrous and altogether insane, that they'll both set foot on the cliffs in Hell in view of the throne and understand the same thing about it. Imagine knowing someone like that, imagine being known by them in turn! He doesn't know what home is, not as such, but he's aware of what they've made of it and maybe that's better. Can't be taken from either of them like that, can it, when it belongs in their systems, in words and breath and the touch between bodies? He cradles Elio close to his chest and spreads his wings out, someone pausing on the sidewalk to snap a picture (going on about awesome vintage hydraulics, whatever that's supposed to mean) but it hardly matters, it all passes in time.
When they get back to Hell, work will resume once again - the loops that have been going relatively undisturbed for the past thousand years will be re-calibrated to Elio's presence in the realm and some of them, maybe a handful, maybe a hundred, will start calling for release. That's summer now, true summer and they'll belong to it again and again, him and Elio, but to each other, first. ]
Then, let's be off.
[ He gives Elio's hand against his shoulder a quick squeeze. ]
Hold on tight, darling.
[ They go through the Earth. ]