[ Do you want to asks Elio and he doesn't finish the question which is maddening because Lucifer's head already spinning and now he's trying to imagine what in the world the other man's on about, he should get his hands moving again, he should get the two of them flying. Figuratively. Obviously, it takes an actual angel to fly.
Let's stop, Elio says then, holding him by his wrists, rubbing his thumbs over them. He's got warm hands, does Elio, and for a moment Lucifer's mesmerized by the combination of warm pressure over his pulse points and his eyes, warm, steady. He's hard, still, and when he glances down between them, feeling dazed and wrong-footed, he notes that Elio is too. It's okay. Let's stop. He swallows heavily, running his palms up Elio's chest and folding them over his shoulders for a moment. Slowly, he makes eye-contact with the other man, his own gaze empty.
He thinks about waking up in the dead of night with Elio's dreamscape painted across his mind, tasting apricots on his tongue along with the breeze from a very different night sky. It seems like such a long time ago, now, though it's been a few days at most. He remembers feeling delighted, almost, like he'd stumbled across something glittering and shiny completely by accident. Then, the knife. Uriel, threatening Chloe's life, threatening to wipe their mother out of existence for all eternity.
Then.
He shuts his eyes. Shakes his head and steps away, dislodging Elio's grip gently and running one hand roughly through his hair. Mouth twisting, he takes another shaky breath, then another, then another. He turns away from the other man stiffly. ]
Nothing.
[ His voice is trembling. How awful. How humiliating, that he's tumbled so far past his own, hidden depths that this is all he's left with. Poor Elio, having to witness this. Elio, who prayed to him in his sleep, the first human to do so in eons and eons. ]
[ When Lucifer dislodges himself and releases him with a squeeze of his shoulders, Elio doesn't make any attempts to reestablish contact. He lets him go, well aware it must feel like humiliation and defeat, letting anyone see him this way. Showing your feelings is like that, it's like baring a part of yourself that you thought was meant only for your own eyes. The other man's eyes are empty, the glimpse Elio gets of them before he turns away, a rough hand through his hair. His voice is trembling when he speaks. Nothing's okay, he says and Elio doesn't hesitate before answering: ]
I know.
[ I can tell, it means. I can see. It's not spoken in any accusing fashion, he isn't telling Lucifer to show him less of himself, to get a grip, to pull himself together, but instead to let go. Show him. He can take it. He thinks this is the closest they've been yet, even closer than in his dream where he leaned his head on Lucifer's shoulder and basked in his companionship. Where they ate the same fruit and tasted the same sweetness. This is even closer than that.
Elio takes a deep breath and steps forward, just one step, two. Following Lucifer with his eyes, he doesn't let him go, not even with his gaze. If he thought Lucifer would want him to, he'd walk up to him, link his arms behind his head and pull him down, resting his face in the nook between his shoulder and his neck. His arms are tingling, muscles tense as if preparing for the movement beforehand.
Back home on his small balcony, the apricot tree's standing with its bow still attached, because he couldn't bear removing it. ]
If you want to talk about it, I'm here. [ His voice is soft, the hoarseness mostly faded. His hard-on's slowly subsiding as well, it can be heard. Then, without asking permission this time, Elio walks over to the couch and sits down on it, still shirtless and half-naked, looking up at the other man from his seated position. ] And if you don't want to talk about it, I'm still here.
[ Elio seats himself behind him and he listens to the rustling of his clothes, the squeak of the leather. They're all fundamentally bearable noises, impressions of daily life when it's normal, safe and... remarkably unremarkable. In his mind, however, the wet squelch of Uriel's guts when he'd skewered him on the blade is much louder, still, it permeates everything and makes the quiet, blessed normalcy around him shatter. He'd like nothing better, really, than to return to the way things were, back when he wasn't his brother's murderer. When he'd only hurt himself by going against the stream rather than others.
Instead, he's free-falling.
And Elio's still here but he shouldn't be, really, he shouldn't be anywhere near him. Sweet, patient Elio. It's like he doesn't even belong to the world on a regular, stupid day - let alone in this context, sitting on Lucifer's expensive leather sofa, shirtless and half-bared and unappreciated.
There's no pleasure for him here, tonight. ]
No.
[ He walks to the bar, putting distance between them. His hands feel empty and he's still half-hard, somehow, like even the thought of murder isn't enough to put him off. What does that say? What kind of a monster... Shaking his head sharply, he grabs a bottle from the counter and chugs down a third of it, just like that. It tastes like flames. ]
No, you have to go. [ A handwave in Elio's direction. ] Leave.
[ Elio knows immediately as Lucifer turns his back on him and walks over to the bar, grabbing some bottle, nondescript, and chugs down a third of its contents. He knows that, like with their initial text correspondence, he's pushed it too far tonight. So when the other man says no, you have to go and follows it up with a wave that says leave more than his words do, he expects it, he really isn't surprised. ]
Alright.
[ Nodding his head slowly, he gets to his feet once more and walks over to his abandoned shirt, putting it on quickly, quietly. The same goes for the suit jacket, on it comes, no comment. He moves just a tad stiffly, his erection mostly gone, but the tension in his muscles hasn't followed suit, it lingers, it clings to him.
The same way that he won't cling to Lucifer now. The man doesn't need his insecurities on top of whatever's troubling him of his own issues. Once the bottom half of his shirt buttons have been done up, Elio leaves the rest as is, kind of awkwardly closing the suit jacket over his chest. He has no regrets, it's not anything like that, he'd do it all again, the kissing and the coming with Lucifer up here, hitting his head on the emotional barrier standing between them. But he wouldn't have sat down on his couch and presumed he was welcome to stay, maybe that part he does regret. A little bit.
Because Elio is used to not staying. He's used to leaving and he's used to being left. ]
You know how to reach me. [ It's said in a soft voice. It's an offer, not an expectation. Moving over towards the elevator, he throws one long, last look over his shoulder at the other man, not that he'll see and not that Elio needs him to. This one gesture is for his own sake. ] Night, Lucifer.
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no subject
Let's stop, Elio says then, holding him by his wrists, rubbing his thumbs over them. He's got warm hands, does Elio, and for a moment Lucifer's mesmerized by the combination of warm pressure over his pulse points and his eyes, warm, steady. He's hard, still, and when he glances down between them, feeling dazed and wrong-footed, he notes that Elio is too. It's okay. Let's stop. He swallows heavily, running his palms up Elio's chest and folding them over his shoulders for a moment. Slowly, he makes eye-contact with the other man, his own gaze empty.
He thinks about waking up in the dead of night with Elio's dreamscape painted across his mind, tasting apricots on his tongue along with the breeze from a very different night sky. It seems like such a long time ago, now, though it's been a few days at most. He remembers feeling delighted, almost, like he'd stumbled across something glittering and shiny completely by accident. Then, the knife. Uriel, threatening Chloe's life, threatening to wipe their mother out of existence for all eternity.
Then.
He shuts his eyes. Shakes his head and steps away, dislodging Elio's grip gently and running one hand roughly through his hair. Mouth twisting, he takes another shaky breath, then another, then another. He turns away from the other man stiffly. ]
Nothing.
[ His voice is trembling. How awful. How humiliating, that he's tumbled so far past his own, hidden depths that this is all he's left with. Poor Elio, having to witness this. Elio, who prayed to him in his sleep, the first human to do so in eons and eons. ]
Nothing's okay.
no subject
I know.
[ I can tell, it means. I can see. It's not spoken in any accusing fashion, he isn't telling Lucifer to show him less of himself, to get a grip, to pull himself together, but instead to let go. Show him. He can take it. He thinks this is the closest they've been yet, even closer than in his dream where he leaned his head on Lucifer's shoulder and basked in his companionship. Where they ate the same fruit and tasted the same sweetness. This is even closer than that.
Elio takes a deep breath and steps forward, just one step, two. Following Lucifer with his eyes, he doesn't let him go, not even with his gaze. If he thought Lucifer would want him to, he'd walk up to him, link his arms behind his head and pull him down, resting his face in the nook between his shoulder and his neck. His arms are tingling, muscles tense as if preparing for the movement beforehand.
Back home on his small balcony, the apricot tree's standing with its bow still attached, because he couldn't bear removing it. ]
If you want to talk about it, I'm here. [ His voice is soft, the hoarseness mostly faded. His hard-on's slowly subsiding as well, it can be heard. Then, without asking permission this time, Elio walks over to the couch and sits down on it, still shirtless and half-naked, looking up at the other man from his seated position. ] And if you don't want to talk about it, I'm still here.
no subject
Instead, he's free-falling.
And Elio's still here but he shouldn't be, really, he shouldn't be anywhere near him. Sweet, patient Elio. It's like he doesn't even belong to the world on a regular, stupid day - let alone in this context, sitting on Lucifer's expensive leather sofa, shirtless and half-bared and unappreciated.
There's no pleasure for him here, tonight. ]
No.
[ He walks to the bar, putting distance between them. His hands feel empty and he's still half-hard, somehow, like even the thought of murder isn't enough to put him off. What does that say? What kind of a monster... Shaking his head sharply, he grabs a bottle from the counter and chugs down a third of it, just like that. It tastes like flames. ]
No, you have to go. [ A handwave in Elio's direction. ] Leave.
no subject
Alright.
[ Nodding his head slowly, he gets to his feet once more and walks over to his abandoned shirt, putting it on quickly, quietly. The same goes for the suit jacket, on it comes, no comment. He moves just a tad stiffly, his erection mostly gone, but the tension in his muscles hasn't followed suit, it lingers, it clings to him.
The same way that he won't cling to Lucifer now. The man doesn't need his insecurities on top of whatever's troubling him of his own issues. Once the bottom half of his shirt buttons have been done up, Elio leaves the rest as is, kind of awkwardly closing the suit jacket over his chest. He has no regrets, it's not anything like that, he'd do it all again, the kissing and the coming with Lucifer up here, hitting his head on the emotional barrier standing between them. But he wouldn't have sat down on his couch and presumed he was welcome to stay, maybe that part he does regret. A little bit.
Because Elio is used to not staying. He's used to leaving and he's used to being left. ]
You know how to reach me. [ It's said in a soft voice. It's an offer, not an expectation. Moving over towards the elevator, he throws one long, last look over his shoulder at the other man, not that he'll see and not that Elio needs him to. This one gesture is for his own sake. ] Night, Lucifer.