[ They've walked for some thirty minutes when Lucifer, because that's the name he's chosen for himself apparently, as the Devil in LA, full of Christian and popular cultural annotations, makes a stop at a coffee shop on a corner off one of the main streets. It's a high-end shop, the kind Elio loves but doesn't frequent, because he has no Michel in LA to buy his food for him. Lucifer makes him wait outside, doesn't tell him not to run, but Elio suspects it's subtext at this point. They're heading to the precinct, because they need him in custody, the police. For some reason, he isn't exactly being let in on many details here. Still a suspect, yes?
A suspect left alone on a street in downtown LA.
Lucifer doesn't seem all that concerned with protocol. Elio can't quite figure out what it is that he's concerned about, actually. Elio's desires that few people have cared about before. That he still hasn't divulged, unlike the girl in the hallway, hazy-eyed and entranced. When Lucifer looks at him with those eyes, he just sees a lot of depth and a lot of darkness.
Whatever that means.
Leaning against a streetlamp, keeping his weight on his heels and slouching a little, hands in his pockets, he suddenly looks forward to a good cup of macchiato. He hasn't had one of those in months. It felt like a weird kind of treat to ask of a literal stranger, really. A stranger who happens to be the Devil, too, but Elio has honestly had worse things happen to him before. He leans his head back, looks up at the facades of the tall buildings on all sides. The view is different around here. He likes it. ]
[ He comes back out with two cups of coffee, one macchiato and one 10-percent-coffee-90-percent-Scotch because he knows the guy who owns the café and more importantly, he knows Lucifer. Smiling politely, he hands Elio his cup and sets off down the street. It's bustling with life, the noise of heavy traffic mixing with the sounds of people, humanity and it's quite possibly one of his favourite soundtracks in the whole universe. Not humans, per se, but the life they bring, the sense of activity, of movement. Heaven's incredibly dull in comparison and Hell... ?
Well. Hell's obviously Hell.
He's had no further texts from the Detective since they left, his phone quiet in his pocket. He thinks about Mum, stuck on Earth in a human's body. By rights, Dad shouldn't even give a second thought to that, should he, after all, punishment is Lucifer's god-given assignment. Ought to... trust his judgment and all that. Maybe even stop messing with his life, let him do as he bloody well pleases for once?
Ugh.
Like that's ever going to happen. ]
So, Elio.
[ He looks at the other man, eyes narrowed. ]
Did you feel nothing at all, back when I asked about your desires? Not even the slightest little urge or inclination to spill your deepest secrets? A pull, a tickle, anything?
[ He takes his cup and tags along, because that's apparently what he does now. Keeps up with the Devil. A small pause as he thinks that one over before deciding it's actually quite apt. His father can call him good all he wants, but there is strong evidence to the contrary, isn't there? Life - as Michel would say.
Elio sips his macchiato and savors the taste of it, strong but creamy, almost Italian in quality, and glances sideways at the other man, frowning slightly. He doesn't know how to explain the discomfort he felt when Lucifer looked at him like that, it wasn't painful or anything, it was just a sense of being looked into without having invited being seen at all. Someone probing, non-sexually. Soul-probing. Finally, Elio shrugs and goes for the easiest metaphor he can think up, his tone casual, keeping it clean and desexualized. No undressing without permission, no analogies of the kind.
Being stared at was uncomfortable enough. ]
As if you were walking into my home without knocking.
[ The street's busy and so is the sidewalk, so at some point someone larger than Elio, and they go by the dozen, makes him sidestep into Lucifer's private sphere, their shoulders bumping - or at least attempting to, the height difference between them making it more of a shoulder to upper arm bump. Elio mutters a sorry and retreats as soon as there's a chance. ]
[ Hmm. He mulls Elio's words over, his stance not changing even the slightest bit when the other man accidentally bumps into him, trying to avoid getting run over by some great lug. So, apparently it felt like he'd been trying for a bit of B&E which, honestly, that's not how it's supposed to be at all. It's not a... a violation. Humans are supposed to want it, crave it, so much that they can't contain themselves.
He's never met someone to whom it felt like... like something bad or awful. He's not sure what to do with that, honestly.
Oh, but there's the first, obvious response: ]
I apologise.
[ He looks down at his own feet for a second, then back at Elio. Sips his coffee, the strong taste of the Scotch burning its way pleasantly down his throat. ]
It never feels like that to people. Other people, I mean.
[ He sighs and takes them down a side-street, no less busy than the one they've left. They're about an hour's walk from the precinct but seeing as no one's asking him to hurry, he's not going to rush it. Elio's sweet. Easy to talk to, as well. Would've been lovely, though, if he'd had even the slightest idea as to why he's apparently immune to the divine. To Lucifer, anyhow. If any of his siblings - aside from Amenadiel who's too busy being powerless and as such, useless in this particular context as well as many others - ever felt like talking to him, perhaps he could've had a few tests to see whether it's just him.
But it feels like it, somehow. That this has to do with him, like it might just be on a different scale from what he's used to. ]
Elio falters for all of two seconds, then speeds up to catch up to the other man again who's already moved a couple of meters ahead. Apologies are a rarity. They're a treasure. The thing you find on the bottom of deep, muddy pools. They leave you dirty and half-drowned, but they're worth it, because they're proof of care. Elio hasn't been apologized to a whole lot throughout his grownup life. Neither has he probably apologized enough himself. Still, on Lucifer's tongue it rolls off, as if they're easy words to speak. Is that divinity? Is that acting? What is it?
Elio shifts his coffee over into his other hand and flexes his fingers while they walk down a new side-street, seemingly in no particular direction right now. ]
I'm okay.
[ He says, meaning don't worry about it. Tries for a smile, a small, unassuming one, no teeth, just the tug of one corner of his lips. He could tell from Amy's reaction that she certainly didn't feel violated, maybe a bit surprised, but we like surprises in this house, don't we? Elio cocks his head a bit to the side and looks sideways up at Lucifer, his strong profile. You have to wonder why he wants to know, what he needs people's desires for. Elio wonders, at least, but it feels rude to ask, so he doesn't. They don't know each other. Yet.
Maybe he'd have assumed it was a sin-thing, if he hadn't been brought up to believe sinning is people's own responsibility. You can't pin your actions on others, you choose, you do. Elio chose not to kiss Marcella yesterday, that might be one more regret to the pile.
None whatsoever, darling, why do you think I've brought you along?
[ He takes them past a small Italian café, a shop which seems to sell clothes made for absolute slobs or Daniel and a bike shop, the latter looking quite depressingly quiet for lack of activity. On the opposite side of the street, a small store, selling vintage clothing items and ceramics seems to be blooming, in contrast. LA's like that, he thinks. It's a city full of possibilities and also a city of complete depravity, of poverty and sleepy disengagement. All different, all extremely changeable. Humans make their own decisions and sometimes, they pay off.
Sometimes, they get them thrown out of the Garden.
It's just how the story goes.
He glances sideways at Elio again, looking the other man over none-too-subtly. It's not that he hasn't thought about his appearance, about how pleasing it is. It's just that it's taken a backseat to that whole issue of divine immunity. Now, as he admits he hasn't got the foggiest as to the hows and the whys, however, he can easily free up his mental energy for some ogling. Besides, sleeping with him might bring some answers, really - maybe the other man's just complex enough to need a deeper approach.
Or maybe Lucifer's just a horny Devil in all manners except for the literal one.
[ The other man's frankness makes him laugh, once, breathily as he looks around the street, the contrasts of LA making him remember a damp, early morning Rome after a long night out on the town. People do their best and they either succeed or fail, never more apparent than when you're stumbling home, dead drunk and high on love or other substances. Then, there are the really special ones like Elio himself who end up in a cleft between the two poles, neither managing to succeed nor to fail, living in a limbo of neutrality instead, because the extremes keep escaping them. From that spot, you're never more than an audience to other people.
Does the Devil need an audience? Elio looks at him, catches the way he's ogling him, completely unapologetically. He likes that, he likes the lack of pretenses and facades and hiding places. Even with Michel, they had to walk like friends and talk like friends when out. Lucifer isn't exactly looking at him with friendliness right now. He remembers his hard-on from earlier. His body remembers, too. So Elio smiles, not flirtatiously, but pleased all the same. Returns the gesture, eyes following the heavy lines of the other man's body in his suit, his strong neck, sharp jaw, soft lips. Soft lips.
One eyebrow going up, Elio says: ]
If not for the wholly professional purpose of getting me to the police station, I'm hoping I'm here because you like looking at me and are now treating yourself.
[ They may not know right now what sets Elio apart or why they found each other in the first place, sometimes these things happen, Elio has met people before. It's a special gift he has, he thinks. Meeting people. Losing them again. His smile fades a bit and he gives Lucifer's face one last, lingering glance, before raising his cup to his lips and drinking some macchiato to remind himself he's not in heaven anymore.
Neither is Lucifer for that matter, maybe they can have that in common, if nothing else. ]
[ A smile, as warm as it ever gets with Lucifer and openly amused. ]
Won't deny that. Then again, if I did, I would be lying which I never do.
[ He looks away from Elio, watching the street as it stretches out ahead of them. In about half a kilometer, they'll hit a main street and from there, he expects it'll be smooth sailing for another twenty minutes before they're back at the precinct. He picks out his phone, glances at it. And oh, why, he's been so engrossed in their little talk that he's failed to notice it vibrating - there are two messages as well as three missed calls from the Detective. Apparently, Elio's not a suspect anymore.
Someone might have put a target on his back, however.
Glancing sideways at the other man quickly, mumbling a brief New plan, let's go, he steps closer to him, his upperarm rubbing against his shoulder once again. He makes a quick decision and takes them to the right, heading for another main road crossing over just a little further up. Going to hail a cab from there, he decides, and go the rest of the way by wheels. If the other man's in danger, he's not going to make it easy on whomever's out there, busy getting themselves doomed for an eternity in Hell. After all, he's got a mystery to solve.
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no subject
A suspect left alone on a street in downtown LA.
Lucifer doesn't seem all that concerned with protocol. Elio can't quite figure out what it is that he's concerned about, actually. Elio's desires that few people have cared about before. That he still hasn't divulged, unlike the girl in the hallway, hazy-eyed and entranced. When Lucifer looks at him with those eyes, he just sees a lot of depth and a lot of darkness.
Whatever that means.
Leaning against a streetlamp, keeping his weight on his heels and slouching a little, hands in his pockets, he suddenly looks forward to a good cup of macchiato. He hasn't had one of those in months. It felt like a weird kind of treat to ask of a literal stranger, really. A stranger who happens to be the Devil, too, but Elio has honestly had worse things happen to him before. He leans his head back, looks up at the facades of the tall buildings on all sides. The view is different around here. He likes it. ]
no subject
Well. Hell's obviously Hell.
He's had no further texts from the Detective since they left, his phone quiet in his pocket. He thinks about Mum, stuck on Earth in a human's body. By rights, Dad shouldn't even give a second thought to that, should he, after all, punishment is Lucifer's god-given assignment. Ought to... trust his judgment and all that. Maybe even stop messing with his life, let him do as he bloody well pleases for once?
Ugh.
Like that's ever going to happen. ]
So, Elio.
[ He looks at the other man, eyes narrowed. ]
Did you feel nothing at all, back when I asked about your desires? Not even the slightest little urge or inclination to spill your deepest secrets? A pull, a tickle, anything?
no subject
[ He takes his cup and tags along, because that's apparently what he does now. Keeps up with the Devil. A small pause as he thinks that one over before deciding it's actually quite apt. His father can call him good all he wants, but there is strong evidence to the contrary, isn't there? Life - as Michel would say.
Elio sips his macchiato and savors the taste of it, strong but creamy, almost Italian in quality, and glances sideways at the other man, frowning slightly. He doesn't know how to explain the discomfort he felt when Lucifer looked at him like that, it wasn't painful or anything, it was just a sense of being looked into without having invited being seen at all. Someone probing, non-sexually. Soul-probing. Finally, Elio shrugs and goes for the easiest metaphor he can think up, his tone casual, keeping it clean and desexualized. No undressing without permission, no analogies of the kind.
Being stared at was uncomfortable enough. ]
As if you were walking into my home without knocking.
[ The street's busy and so is the sidewalk, so at some point someone larger than Elio, and they go by the dozen, makes him sidestep into Lucifer's private sphere, their shoulders bumping - or at least attempting to, the height difference between them making it more of a shoulder to upper arm bump. Elio mutters a sorry and retreats as soon as there's a chance. ]
no subject
He's never met someone to whom it felt like... like something bad or awful. He's not sure what to do with that, honestly.
Oh, but there's the first, obvious response: ]
I apologise.
[ He looks down at his own feet for a second, then back at Elio. Sips his coffee, the strong taste of the Scotch burning its way pleasantly down his throat. ]
It never feels like that to people. Other people, I mean.
[ He sighs and takes them down a side-street, no less busy than the one they've left. They're about an hour's walk from the precinct but seeing as no one's asking him to hurry, he's not going to rush it. Elio's sweet. Easy to talk to, as well. Would've been lovely, though, if he'd had even the slightest idea as to why he's apparently immune to the divine. To Lucifer, anyhow. If any of his siblings - aside from Amenadiel who's too busy being powerless and as such, useless in this particular context as well as many others - ever felt like talking to him, perhaps he could've had a few tests to see whether it's just him.
But it feels like it, somehow. That this has to do with him, like it might just be on a different scale from what he's used to. ]
no subject
Elio falters for all of two seconds, then speeds up to catch up to the other man again who's already moved a couple of meters ahead. Apologies are a rarity. They're a treasure. The thing you find on the bottom of deep, muddy pools. They leave you dirty and half-drowned, but they're worth it, because they're proof of care. Elio hasn't been apologized to a whole lot throughout his grownup life. Neither has he probably apologized enough himself. Still, on Lucifer's tongue it rolls off, as if they're easy words to speak. Is that divinity? Is that acting? What is it?
Elio shifts his coffee over into his other hand and flexes his fingers while they walk down a new side-street, seemingly in no particular direction right now. ]
I'm okay.
[ He says, meaning don't worry about it. Tries for a smile, a small, unassuming one, no teeth, just the tug of one corner of his lips. He could tell from Amy's reaction that she certainly didn't feel violated, maybe a bit surprised, but we like surprises in this house, don't we? Elio cocks his head a bit to the side and looks sideways up at Lucifer, his strong profile. You have to wonder why he wants to know, what he needs people's desires for. Elio wonders, at least, but it feels rude to ask, so he doesn't. They don't know each other. Yet.
Maybe he'd have assumed it was a sin-thing, if he hadn't been brought up to believe sinning is people's own responsibility. You can't pin your actions on others, you choose, you do. Elio chose not to kiss Marcella yesterday, that might be one more regret to the pile.
He asks, carefully. ]
Do you have any idea what makes me different?
no subject
None whatsoever, darling, why do you think I've brought you along?
[ He takes them past a small Italian café, a shop which seems to sell clothes made for absolute slobs or Daniel and a bike shop, the latter looking quite depressingly quiet for lack of activity. On the opposite side of the street, a small store, selling vintage clothing items and ceramics seems to be blooming, in contrast. LA's like that, he thinks. It's a city full of possibilities and also a city of complete depravity, of poverty and sleepy disengagement. All different, all extremely changeable. Humans make their own decisions and sometimes, they pay off.
Sometimes, they get them thrown out of the Garden.
It's just how the story goes.
He glances sideways at Elio again, looking the other man over none-too-subtly. It's not that he hasn't thought about his appearance, about how pleasing it is. It's just that it's taken a backseat to that whole issue of divine immunity. Now, as he admits he hasn't got the foggiest as to the hows and the whys, however, he can easily free up his mental energy for some ogling. Besides, sleeping with him might bring some answers, really - maybe the other man's just complex enough to need a deeper approach.
Or maybe Lucifer's just a horny Devil in all manners except for the literal one.
He can live with that, too, of course. ]
no subject
Does the Devil need an audience? Elio looks at him, catches the way he's ogling him, completely unapologetically. He likes that, he likes the lack of pretenses and facades and hiding places. Even with Michel, they had to walk like friends and talk like friends when out. Lucifer isn't exactly looking at him with friendliness right now. He remembers his hard-on from earlier. His body remembers, too. So Elio smiles, not flirtatiously, but pleased all the same. Returns the gesture, eyes following the heavy lines of the other man's body in his suit, his strong neck, sharp jaw, soft lips. Soft lips.
One eyebrow going up, Elio says: ]
If not for the wholly professional purpose of getting me to the police station, I'm hoping I'm here because you like looking at me and are now treating yourself.
[ They may not know right now what sets Elio apart or why they found each other in the first place, sometimes these things happen, Elio has met people before. It's a special gift he has, he thinks. Meeting people. Losing them again. His smile fades a bit and he gives Lucifer's face one last, lingering glance, before raising his cup to his lips and drinking some macchiato to remind himself he's not in heaven anymore.
Neither is Lucifer for that matter, maybe they can have that in common, if nothing else. ]
no subject
Won't deny that. Then again, if I did, I would be lying which I never do.
[ He looks away from Elio, watching the street as it stretches out ahead of them. In about half a kilometer, they'll hit a main street and from there, he expects it'll be smooth sailing for another twenty minutes before they're back at the precinct. He picks out his phone, glances at it. And oh, why, he's been so engrossed in their little talk that he's failed to notice it vibrating - there are two messages as well as three missed calls from the Detective. Apparently, Elio's not a suspect anymore.
Someone might have put a target on his back, however.
Glancing sideways at the other man quickly, mumbling a brief New plan, let's go, he steps closer to him, his upperarm rubbing against his shoulder once again. He makes a quick decision and takes them to the right, heading for another main road crossing over just a little further up. Going to hail a cab from there, he decides, and go the rest of the way by wheels. If the other man's in danger, he's not going to make it easy on whomever's out there, busy getting themselves doomed for an eternity in Hell. After all, he's got a mystery to solve.
That, and he likes the man.
In itself a rarity indeed. ]