[ After a while, Lucifer joins him by the windows, clad in just his pajamas bottoms and absolutely nothing else, his chest muscles defined enough to throw shade, his skin glowing warmly in the light from the chandelier, from the city outside. Below. Elio looks at him out the corner of his eye, doesn't even try to pretend he isn't taking him in. He's sculptural. His father would've compared him to the great Greek masterpieces, Heracles and Adonis. Elio doesn't know what to compare him to, he's never met anyone like him before and he never will, supposedly, the Devil doesn't come in pairs or packages of several, does he? Not exactly. Elio blinks at the cityscape in front of him, the balcony, the window glass, his own reflection - Lucifer's next to him, then he turns slightly towards the other man, letting his eyes run up his front like a caress. It's not particular hungry, though there is a heat pooling low in his abdomen at the promise of all that flesh, but it's gentle. Careful. From midriff over pecs to the slope of shoulders, side of neck, jawline, mouth. With a smile, he says: ]
You're spoiling me.
[ It's a comment on him, of course. Lucifer, his body, that he's showing it off and that Elio knows he's showing it off, why he is, but it's also a comment on his apartment, the world he has created up here that feels out of time and out of place and both firmly rooted in reality and firmly removed from it at the same time. It reminds Elio of his summers in Italy, all of them, not just Oliver's. His parents' summer house was a pocket, too. He thought it was something that belonged to childhood, but here, between them, it's like it's grown up and become very, very adult.
Elio likes that, he thinks. He likes the potential for further growth. ]
[ He gives Elio a sideways glance, shifting slightly just to let the light play off his body properly. As to why his Dad created him and his siblings looking as they do, he really hasn't a clue but he's fairly certain Azrael would've appreciated a taller stature (the fact that the Angel of Death is basically midget-sized never failed to amuse him, back in the day before, you know, she cut him off for eternity). Having been created like this always takes some of the fun out of it, though, knowing what humans have to do to achieve the same physique. The work it takes, the dedication. Not that he'd love to be on diets for the rest of his existence, thanks, it's the principle.
If nothing else, here on Earth, he's good-looking enough to get laid across all possible context, so. He makes do. If there's no inherent point to things, just create your own, right?
All things being equal - predestined abs and whatnot - the way Elio's looking at him is a compliment in itself. It makes him feel warm and tingly all over, makes him stand a little straighter, a little taller. Even if they aren't going to have sex tonight, he's happy to just bask in the attention - actually, having sex is usually just an extension of that experience, isn't it, with people leaving his bed starry-eyed, all previous standards reached, exceeded and blown to smithereens. Yes, it doesn't matter just this moment that his mojo doesn't work on Elio; it's pretty obvious what he desires, regardless, and Lucifer's right back in his proper element. ]
[ Elio watches the other man softly for a moment, the way he seems to stand taller under his gaze, the way he angles himself, his body catching the light, underlining a curve here and a dip there that didn't get the proper attention before. He's very beautiful in all his unapologetic pride and vanity, all that perfect symmetry, too, but Elio doesn't think about Hercules or Adonis, he thinks about Icarus. He thinks about falling and about being damned to Hell and about the true reason you'd be on Earth, if that was the alternative. Of course he wouldn't expect the other man to tell him any of this, but Elio's a good guesser. He reads people well. When they aren't himself, of course.
For example, he doesn't quite know what to do with this want he's feeling now, looking at Lucifer, enjoying the view, down to the heat in his crotch. The fingers of his one hand curl and uncurl by his side, his shoulders feeling tight from tension, but he still doesn't look away, he doesn't remove himself. Elio thinks he's removed himself and looked away enough, really. Lucifer makes him want to not do that, or rather, being with Lucifer makes him not want to do that, right? No pointing and blaming, here. He's a liberal Jew. The Devil is only a reflection of all the battles you fight with yourself.
Like right now. Where he's losing, again.
Breathing out heavily, Elio holds Lucifer's gaze a moment longer, then turns and heads around him towards the sofa arrangement. He passes behind the other man, letting his eyes run unapologetically up his backside until he sees... Oh. Where the other man's wings must have been. The scarring is huge, extensive and stand out against all the underlying perfection. Elio doesn't stop for it. Just registers it and moves over to the couch, sitting down, the visual lingering.
Icarus. ]
I'll treat myself some day, too, Lucifer. Just not tonight.
[ You've deserved to says Elio, like he could possibly know anything about that whatsoever, hm? But of course, it's just what he expects, despite knowing who he is, despite believing it.
Despite having never believed in him.
Maybe that's the answer, right there.
Lucifer remains as he is while Elio walks around him and he can feel his gaze on his body on his way back to the sofa, the way it lingers on his backside as much as his front and who can blame the man, he's bloody good-looking from every conceivable angle. At this point, it's blatantly obvious that they could've easily fallen into bed together tonight, no problem. He's half-hard himself, really, just feeling the heat of Elio's gaze on him, the implications. Just not tonight he says.
Because he's afraid, obviously. Not of Lucifer, no, he's afraid of the fall and Lucifer understands, he does, because the fall is painful, it burns and scorches (and in his case, it literally made him reek of sulfur for eons) and when you look up from where you land, you glimpse just the unreachable, places you might never go again, ever. Not too much in the world hurts like that. Again, he thinks about what kind of fall Elio must've had. What it would take to get him flying again.
Lucifer's obviously not the person for that particular job, though, unless you're looking to get dropped off the balcony. His wings have been burned to ashes. Lips thinning, he turns away from the window and heads back to the bedroom, passing Elio on the way and pausing in his step with his back to him, a few feet away. ]
Keep looking down, darling, and you'll lose your balance in any case.
[ He glances towards the bedroom, then decides against it. Instead, he seats himself by the piano and gives Elio Clair de Lune because he might as well, because they've been trading melodies all day and it seems a fitting way to end it. ]
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no subject
You're spoiling me.
[ It's a comment on him, of course. Lucifer, his body, that he's showing it off and that Elio knows he's showing it off, why he is, but it's also a comment on his apartment, the world he has created up here that feels out of time and out of place and both firmly rooted in reality and firmly removed from it at the same time. It reminds Elio of his summers in Italy, all of them, not just Oliver's. His parents' summer house was a pocket, too. He thought it was something that belonged to childhood, but here, between them, it's like it's grown up and become very, very adult.
Elio likes that, he thinks. He likes the potential for further growth. ]
no subject
Or perhaps I'm spoiling myself.
[ He gives Elio a sideways glance, shifting slightly just to let the light play off his body properly. As to why his Dad created him and his siblings looking as they do, he really hasn't a clue but he's fairly certain Azrael would've appreciated a taller stature (the fact that the Angel of Death is basically midget-sized never failed to amuse him, back in the day before, you know, she cut him off for eternity). Having been created like this always takes some of the fun out of it, though, knowing what humans have to do to achieve the same physique. The work it takes, the dedication. Not that he'd love to be on diets for the rest of his existence, thanks, it's the principle.
If nothing else, here on Earth, he's good-looking enough to get laid across all possible context, so. He makes do. If there's no inherent point to things, just create your own, right?
All things being equal - predestined abs and whatnot - the way Elio's looking at him is a compliment in itself. It makes him feel warm and tingly all over, makes him stand a little straighter, a little taller. Even if they aren't going to have sex tonight, he's happy to just bask in the attention - actually, having sex is usually just an extension of that experience, isn't it, with people leaving his bed starry-eyed, all previous standards reached, exceeded and blown to smithereens. Yes, it doesn't matter just this moment that his mojo doesn't work on Elio; it's pretty obvious what he desires, regardless, and Lucifer's right back in his proper element. ]
no subject
[ Elio watches the other man softly for a moment, the way he seems to stand taller under his gaze, the way he angles himself, his body catching the light, underlining a curve here and a dip there that didn't get the proper attention before. He's very beautiful in all his unapologetic pride and vanity, all that perfect symmetry, too, but Elio doesn't think about Hercules or Adonis, he thinks about Icarus. He thinks about falling and about being damned to Hell and about the true reason you'd be on Earth, if that was the alternative. Of course he wouldn't expect the other man to tell him any of this, but Elio's a good guesser. He reads people well. When they aren't himself, of course.
For example, he doesn't quite know what to do with this want he's feeling now, looking at Lucifer, enjoying the view, down to the heat in his crotch. The fingers of his one hand curl and uncurl by his side, his shoulders feeling tight from tension, but he still doesn't look away, he doesn't remove himself. Elio thinks he's removed himself and looked away enough, really. Lucifer makes him want to not do that, or rather, being with Lucifer makes him not want to do that, right? No pointing and blaming, here. He's a liberal Jew. The Devil is only a reflection of all the battles you fight with yourself.
Like right now. Where he's losing, again.
Breathing out heavily, Elio holds Lucifer's gaze a moment longer, then turns and heads around him towards the sofa arrangement. He passes behind the other man, letting his eyes run unapologetically up his backside until he sees... Oh. Where the other man's wings must have been. The scarring is huge, extensive and stand out against all the underlying perfection. Elio doesn't stop for it. Just registers it and moves over to the couch, sitting down, the visual lingering.
Icarus. ]
I'll treat myself some day, too, Lucifer. Just not tonight.
no subject
Despite having never believed in him.
Maybe that's the answer, right there.
Lucifer remains as he is while Elio walks around him and he can feel his gaze on his body on his way back to the sofa, the way it lingers on his backside as much as his front and who can blame the man, he's bloody good-looking from every conceivable angle. At this point, it's blatantly obvious that they could've easily fallen into bed together tonight, no problem. He's half-hard himself, really, just feeling the heat of Elio's gaze on him, the implications. Just not tonight he says.
Because he's afraid, obviously. Not of Lucifer, no, he's afraid of the fall and Lucifer understands, he does, because the fall is painful, it burns and scorches (and in his case, it literally made him reek of sulfur for eons) and when you look up from where you land, you glimpse just the unreachable, places you might never go again, ever. Not too much in the world hurts like that. Again, he thinks about what kind of fall Elio must've had. What it would take to get him flying again.
Lucifer's obviously not the person for that particular job, though, unless you're looking to get dropped off the balcony. His wings have been burned to ashes. Lips thinning, he turns away from the window and heads back to the bedroom, passing Elio on the way and pausing in his step with his back to him, a few feet away. ]
Keep looking down, darling, and you'll lose your balance in any case.
[ He glances towards the bedroom, then decides against it. Instead, he seats himself by the piano and gives Elio Clair de Lune because he might as well, because they've been trading melodies all day and it seems a fitting way to end it. ]