[ At his question, Lucifer looks over at him sharply, eyes narrowed and Elio realizes he's treading dangerous ground, maybe even more than he initially understood upon voicing the thought. Still, he doesn't shrink beneath the man's intense stare, because at least Lucifer isn't asking him what he desires, at least he isn't trying to break into that particular vault with no code that even Elio knows. So instead he waits, waits patiently for Lucifer to decide to answer or not. He takes another sip from his whiskey and lets it burn him. All the way down his throat, halfway down his chest, spreading like heat from his midriff and up. His skin is tingling a little, it's the sudden connection they share, Lucifer and him, their unbroken eye contact, the mutual interest (what's your life like) that led up to it. It's how Lucifer isn't just walking away from him now, walking away Elio would know, he'd understand. Walking away he's tried, both as the subject and as the object of it.
He knows, everything ends. Everything changes.
Which is basically Lucifer's reply, too. It feels genuine, truthful, but also unfinished. Elio senses immediately that there are whole layers to the issue that he isn't being let in on and neither did he expect the other man to, of course. Even people who don't lie need their secrets. Maybe even, or especially from themselves. His whole stance relaxes a bit and he rests his drink on his left knee, gesturing towards Lucifer with a soft, pliant wrist, slender fingers, elegantly. ]
I'm glad I'm asking now, then. I'll rather hear the things you aren't sure about, I think.
[ Let us not know together, it means. Let us discover together, it means. Elio sits in silence for a long moment, eyes trekking over Lucifer a bit mindlessly without settling on anything, no necklines, jawlines, bridges of noses, cupid's bows. Just the presence of the other man, just the whole weight of him in the room. Then, finally, he looks up and meets his gaze, smiling softly. A shrug and a laugh, not half, not full. ]
Another reason it has to be Saturdays is simply that I work at the Ritz-Carlton on Fridays, I play the grand in their upstairs bar. Sunday, I grade papers. Saturday is my wiggle room.
[ For the sake of full disclosure. Elio raises the tumbler to his lips and drowns the last of his Scotch. He'd like to sleep soundly tonight, a little bit of tipsiness should help. ]
[ The things you aren't sure about he says, gesturing towards him with his slender fingers, very different from Lucifer's. Frailer-looking and frailer by nature, too. He's butterfly-like, is Elio. There's something about him that inspires a carefulness he can't quite recognise within himself, though it feels... old. Ancient. He leaves it be for now, choosing instead to meet the other man's gaze, watching as he downs the last of his Scotch. Expensive stuff for that kind of treatment, isn't it.
But good to see, really, that he knows how to sate himself in some aspects of life. ]
Then, I might just encroach upon it.
[ He smiles, the mood lifting again as they pull out of the depths they'd been skirting, as they seem to do at intervals, the two of them. It's odd - he doesn't touch upon these things with Linda, either, not like this, where touching down seems to be the goal, whether or not they actively land on anything of value. Then again, it's not her job to mirror him, at least not beyond the strictly therapeutical meaning of the word. They aren't exploring shared territory, is the point.
Shared. Hm.
Elio's making him forget himself, it seems. ]
Completely unrelated but I suppose I should ask you - would you prefer the bed or the sofa for the night?
[ And this time, he does raise his eyebrow because they've basically been staring at each other since the moment of their first, actual conversation and he still wouldn't mind testing his mojo in a sexual context: ]
[ I might just encroach upon it, replies Lucifer and Elio knows it's not a done deal, but it's truthfulness, at least, and it's interest - it means, I will think about it, you will hear from me in time. He smiles, all teeth and the curve of lips, looking down at his now empty glass, balancing on his knee. He tightens his hold on it and leans forward, placing it on the coffee table instead, the movement long and smooth. He's used to dirty, seedy gay bars in Rome, his tolerance for alcohol hasn't quite been met yet. In Italy, they serve you wine in your baby bottle, pretty much. It's a potent Scotch, but it's not an Italian dinner extravaganza in the summer. Or his pub crawl with Oliver's publishing party.
Elio could name a few things it isn't, this, glancing up at Lucifer who smiles at him and raises both his eyebrows, but he's honestly more invested in what it might be instead. Because he certainly doesn't know.
Bed or sofa, the other man asks him and Elio leans back on the couch again, spreading his legs a little, as if making himself comfortable and folding his hands in his lap, just watching the man as he's putting his whole hand on the table. It's not only about who will be sleeping where, but it's a question of constellations as well. Who will be sleeping with whom, if anyone. His smile becomes more of an amused tug at the corner of his mouth as they're making it clear how they could, right? They could sleep together, they both want to, it's obvious from the way they breathe - and nothing but protocol which the other man has little regard for anyway is really holding them back.
Protocol and Elio, he thinks. He hates occasionals. He doesn't want to wake up and desperately need to escape this place, the other man next to him. Afterwards. He doesn't want to reduce him to so little, he isn't even sure he could, the man's the Devil. And that's somehow an even worse thought. Doing something new. Having to rethink your choices. ]
I'll stay here. [ He shakes his head once, gently, and nods down at the couch he's sitting on, before looking over at the other man with a playful half-smile. ] Does your offer of company come with an expiry date? I might just save it for later.
[ Elio goes for the Italian leather and who can really blame him? It's one of his favourite pieces of furniture, that sofa - so inherently comfortable and beautiful at the same time. Artistry, really, in its own right. He also, apparently, wants to raincheck the Devil on his one-night-stand offer which is probably a first in all of human history. Lucifer gives him a long look before scoffing out a laugh, feeling somewhat out of his element. Usually, Lucifer's offers are the now-or-never types - repeats are certainly possible and do occur but... extensions? Waiting?
To be fair, he's immortal. He'll be here forever.
It's not such a big deal, is it, allowing Elio to stretch out their acquaintanceship for however long the other man will deem necessary? To Lucifer, even if it takes him his entire lifespan, it'll be less than a drop of time. Granted, if he comes to him old, wrinkled and arthritic, he's hardly going to go for it, is he, so he purses his lips, gives him a sharp smile and nods. ]
All right, then. But don't take too long.
[ With that, he picks out his phone. Opens one of the many apps and raises an eyebrow as he scrolls down the screen. When he speaks, his voice has gone from edgy-flirty to casual again; Lucifer changes out of his sexual moods about as fast as he empties his tumbler glasses. There's a message from Amenadiel waiting in his inbox and he leaves it, unread, because why not. ]
If I were to order Italian for dinner, would you take it as a compliment? I promise it's made by actual Italians. Neapolitans, to be precise.
[ Lucifer doesn't get the point of it, Elio can tell, waiting and that's okay, Elio doesn't mind it hovering between them like a tiny mystery that neither of them quite knows how to solve. But don't take too long, he's warned and Elio wants to ask him what too long is to the Devil, if fifteen years qualify. Still, he doesn't ask, because maybe Elio won't wait fifteen years more. Maybe Elio will, at some point soon, really give up on waiting altogether. You're allowed to hope, right? His eyes lock with the other man's, the way they're looking at each other edged by sexual implications, by all the things they could be doing instead of looking. I want to taste you, Elio thinks. I'm allowed to want that, right?
Then, abruptly, the mood changes again, as it does between them, it seems, like a pendulum back and forth. Lucifer fishes out his phone and glances down at it, Elio getting to his feet and walking back over to the piano, standing behind the bench and just looking at the keys, mapping out the first bars of some Mozart piece he transcribed last week. He doesn't touch. It didn't go too well last time, his fingers need time, his heart does.
At the other man's suggestion, he turns towards him slightly and raises his chin, remembering Mafalda in that way you pull out a basic from your closet. He smiles, a slight hmm'ing sound to it. ]
I'd take it as a compliment. Our cook was Neapolitan, though, so they better be on top of their game.
[ Not that Elio will expect them to beat Anchise's fish soup and Mafalda's baking with Oliver's input kneaded into the bread. However, he isn't the type to judge harshly, he knows how to enjoy a meal although it isn't home.
And he certainly knows how to appreciate any meal that is, too. ]
[ Lucifer follows the other man's movements with his eyes as he gets to his feet and strolls over to the piano, though he doesn't take a seat, merely looks at it, at the keyboard. There's something about his expression, about the way the shadows in the room seemingly blend with his smile, that he can't quite condone. Ordering a mixed menu quickly, going with three courses and some very delectable wine options, he pockets his phone once more and turns a bit in his seat.
He thinks again, about Elio who doesn't take up space and wonders why humans hold themselves back like this, why his father made them like that, why he made them ashamed of their own potential. He thinks about his own punishment, about his mother, locked in Hell for eons and now, stuck in a human body on Earth, ready to wage war against Heaven. And back to Elio, his face criss-crossed by the lights from the overhead chandelier, its tiny LEDs glittering in the polished surface of the grand.
Sometimes, a smaller scope might indeed be kinder.
But stifling, too, first of all. ]
Why don't you give it another go?
[ A handwave in the direction of the piano. ]
It's crispier than the one downstairs. Just keep your touch light.
[ Ask me again, Elio had said to Lucifer earlier and now he is being asked again, as requested, the man introducing him to his beautiful instrument verbally (just keep your touch light) and Elio nods with a slight frown of concentration, seating himself on the bench and wriggling a bit from side to side to make comfortable, before he draws in a deep breath, resting his hands on his thighs. Already before he has sat down, he's decided what to play, no Moonlight Sonata, Lucifer already saved that one for him and he can't outdo the Devil at the keyboard, can he? He doesn't really want to either, it was an incredibly exhilarating little performance. It settled some things. Instead he goes for another Beethoven sonata, Les Adieux, the adagio of it one of his absolute favorites. Crisp, like the piano. Melancholy, like him.
"The Goodbyes", right?
As he places his hands on the keys, the split second before hitting the first note, Elio has an urge to look over at the other man, currently preoccupied watching him from his armchair, and although he normally wouldn't, he'd stick to his concentrated focus on his hands, on the instrument, on the music, he doesn't hold back this time. Glances over and catches his gaze, smiles slightly and hits the first chords blindly, fingers finding their way over the keys as airily as he can manage, the tempo only picking up after the first few bars and he keeps up with it, the music coming out breezy. Prettily, and Elio doesn't mind pretty. Doesn't mind being it or bringing it. Not with the emotional depth and slight twist of melancholia that the piece also holds. That he does.
There's a complete melt, this time, between his mind and his heart and his fingers and he gets a little lost in it. It doesn't happen often anymore, the whole package. ]
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no subject
He knows, everything ends. Everything changes.
Which is basically Lucifer's reply, too. It feels genuine, truthful, but also unfinished. Elio senses immediately that there are whole layers to the issue that he isn't being let in on and neither did he expect the other man to, of course. Even people who don't lie need their secrets. Maybe even, or especially from themselves. His whole stance relaxes a bit and he rests his drink on his left knee, gesturing towards Lucifer with a soft, pliant wrist, slender fingers, elegantly. ]
I'm glad I'm asking now, then. I'll rather hear the things you aren't sure about, I think.
[ Let us not know together, it means. Let us discover together, it means. Elio sits in silence for a long moment, eyes trekking over Lucifer a bit mindlessly without settling on anything, no necklines, jawlines, bridges of noses, cupid's bows. Just the presence of the other man, just the whole weight of him in the room. Then, finally, he looks up and meets his gaze, smiling softly. A shrug and a laugh, not half, not full. ]
Another reason it has to be Saturdays is simply that I work at the Ritz-Carlton on Fridays, I play the grand in their upstairs bar. Sunday, I grade papers. Saturday is my wiggle room.
[ For the sake of full disclosure. Elio raises the tumbler to his lips and drowns the last of his Scotch. He'd like to sleep soundly tonight, a little bit of tipsiness should help. ]
no subject
But good to see, really, that he knows how to sate himself in some aspects of life. ]
Then, I might just encroach upon it.
[ He smiles, the mood lifting again as they pull out of the depths they'd been skirting, as they seem to do at intervals, the two of them. It's odd - he doesn't touch upon these things with Linda, either, not like this, where touching down seems to be the goal, whether or not they actively land on anything of value. Then again, it's not her job to mirror him, at least not beyond the strictly therapeutical meaning of the word. They aren't exploring shared territory, is the point.
Shared. Hm.
Elio's making him forget himself, it seems. ]
Completely unrelated but I suppose I should ask you - would you prefer the bed or the sofa for the night?
[ And this time, he does raise his eyebrow because they've basically been staring at each other since the moment of their first, actual conversation and he still wouldn't mind testing his mojo in a sexual context: ]
Company is also optional.
no subject
Elio could name a few things it isn't, this, glancing up at Lucifer who smiles at him and raises both his eyebrows, but he's honestly more invested in what it might be instead. Because he certainly doesn't know.
Bed or sofa, the other man asks him and Elio leans back on the couch again, spreading his legs a little, as if making himself comfortable and folding his hands in his lap, just watching the man as he's putting his whole hand on the table. It's not only about who will be sleeping where, but it's a question of constellations as well. Who will be sleeping with whom, if anyone. His smile becomes more of an amused tug at the corner of his mouth as they're making it clear how they could, right? They could sleep together, they both want to, it's obvious from the way they breathe - and nothing but protocol which the other man has little regard for anyway is really holding them back.
Protocol and Elio, he thinks. He hates occasionals. He doesn't want to wake up and desperately need to escape this place, the other man next to him. Afterwards. He doesn't want to reduce him to so little, he isn't even sure he could, the man's the Devil. And that's somehow an even worse thought. Doing something new. Having to rethink your choices. ]
I'll stay here. [ He shakes his head once, gently, and nods down at the couch he's sitting on, before looking over at the other man with a playful half-smile. ] Does your offer of company come with an expiry date? I might just save it for later.
no subject
To be fair, he's immortal. He'll be here forever.
It's not such a big deal, is it, allowing Elio to stretch out their acquaintanceship for however long the other man will deem necessary? To Lucifer, even if it takes him his entire lifespan, it'll be less than a drop of time. Granted, if he comes to him old, wrinkled and arthritic, he's hardly going to go for it, is he, so he purses his lips, gives him a sharp smile and nods. ]
All right, then. But don't take too long.
[ With that, he picks out his phone. Opens one of the many apps and raises an eyebrow as he scrolls down the screen. When he speaks, his voice has gone from edgy-flirty to casual again; Lucifer changes out of his sexual moods about as fast as he empties his tumbler glasses. There's a message from Amenadiel waiting in his inbox and he leaves it, unread, because why not. ]
If I were to order Italian for dinner, would you take it as a compliment? I promise it's made by actual Italians. Neapolitans, to be precise.
no subject
Then, abruptly, the mood changes again, as it does between them, it seems, like a pendulum back and forth. Lucifer fishes out his phone and glances down at it, Elio getting to his feet and walking back over to the piano, standing behind the bench and just looking at the keys, mapping out the first bars of some Mozart piece he transcribed last week. He doesn't touch. It didn't go too well last time, his fingers need time, his heart does.
At the other man's suggestion, he turns towards him slightly and raises his chin, remembering Mafalda in that way you pull out a basic from your closet. He smiles, a slight hmm'ing sound to it. ]
I'd take it as a compliment. Our cook was Neapolitan, though, so they better be on top of their game.
[ Not that Elio will expect them to beat Anchise's fish soup and Mafalda's baking with Oliver's input kneaded into the bread. However, he isn't the type to judge harshly, he knows how to enjoy a meal although it isn't home.
And he certainly knows how to appreciate any meal that is, too. ]
no subject
He thinks again, about Elio who doesn't take up space and wonders why humans hold themselves back like this, why his father made them like that, why he made them ashamed of their own potential. He thinks about his own punishment, about his mother, locked in Hell for eons and now, stuck in a human body on Earth, ready to wage war against Heaven. And back to Elio, his face criss-crossed by the lights from the overhead chandelier, its tiny LEDs glittering in the polished surface of the grand.
Sometimes, a smaller scope might indeed be kinder.
But stifling, too, first of all. ]
Why don't you give it another go?
[ A handwave in the direction of the piano. ]
It's crispier than the one downstairs. Just keep your touch light.
no subject
"The Goodbyes", right?
As he places his hands on the keys, the split second before hitting the first note, Elio has an urge to look over at the other man, currently preoccupied watching him from his armchair, and although he normally wouldn't, he'd stick to his concentrated focus on his hands, on the instrument, on the music, he doesn't hold back this time. Glances over and catches his gaze, smiles slightly and hits the first chords blindly, fingers finding their way over the keys as airily as he can manage, the tempo only picking up after the first few bars and he keeps up with it, the music coming out breezy. Prettily, and Elio doesn't mind pretty. Doesn't mind being it or bringing it. Not with the emotional depth and slight twist of melancholia that the piece also holds. That he does.
There's a complete melt, this time, between his mind and his heart and his fingers and he gets a little lost in it. It doesn't happen often anymore, the whole package. ]