[ 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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[ 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. ]