[ Elio puts his arm around his shoulders and his first instinct is to shrug him off, it's not like it'll help, it won't make him feel any less worthless, knowing that... That Elio's affections are so incredibly misguided. Would he touch him if he actually knew? He thinks about Linda again, Linda who's seen so many sides of him already and yet, with regards to this... He wipes at his eyes again. His entire bloody face feels sodden and suddenly, he'd like nothing better than to tear it off. Did it with his wings, didn't he, this would only be slightly more difficult and then, surely, everyone would believe and he wouldn't...
You can let it out, says Elio and he sounds so incredibly sincere, like he really does mean it, it's not just a baseless platitude, something you say for the sake of empty comfort. The other man's here, after all, he's touching him and leaving him be at the same time and Lucifer didn't even know you could do that. Is that what people do? You can talk to me about it, Chloe had said, but offering an ear isn't the same as this. Somehow, this feels bigger. Like the difference between taking a deep breath whilst standing in an empty room versus doing so from a rooftop beneath the open sky.
I don't mind.
Lucifer doesn't feel his face changing. It happens sometimes like that. Consequently, as he leans his (bald, burned) head against the side of Elio's face, he doesn't realise exactly what he's doing, too caught up in the weightlessness in his body, how he can't feel anything but this endless, boundless grief. ]
[ After a moment of wiping at his eyes again, eventually Lucifer seems to relax into him more fully and their heads are on perfect level for this kind of intimacy, it's like his dream, Lucifer's shoulder being on level with his face, so Elio turns towards him now, forehead sliding up Lucifer's cheek, temple and when the structure of the skin changes from one moment to the next, that's his first clue, Elio staring straight into red, charred features, the shape of cheekbone still recognizable, however, the strong line of Lucifer's nose, soft lips. This is what people would expect the Devil to look like, isn't it? It should make him draw back in fear, maybe, but Elio only takes a small, hard breath and reaches up with his free hand, cradling the back of the other man's bald head with his fingers spread out wide, keeping him close, keeping their faces pressed together, forehead to temple, cheek to nose, lips to jut of jawline.
As he speaks, his mouth moves over slope of jaw, words becoming slightly slurred as a consequence, but it's alright, it's better if Lucifer feels it rather than hears it, if he can't do both, if he can't have both Elio's voice and his caress. Elio want him touched, most of all. He want him touched and embraced and loved. ]
You're amazing. Please believe me. Please believe me when I say, every part of you is amazing.
[ Only then does he draw away - and not further than his hand is still curving along the slope of Lucifer's scalp, his right arm still holding him close. He blinks up at Lucifer's face, takes in the features that are Lucifer's features but burned, like a metaphor in the flesh. This is what pain looks like. This is regret and self-loathing. This is what he feels and he's showing it to Elio. He's showing it to him and asking not even his acceptance.
[ He feels the heat of Elio's skin as the other man draws even closer, cradling the back of his head and pressing their faces together. For a brief little moment, he feels like he can actually breathe, like Elio's somehow keeping the weight of his head from crushing his chest, his lungs, his heart. When he speaks against the side of his head, though, something registers as wrong, the sensation of his lips sliding over his skin, the somewhat dulled warmth of his exhalations. Lucifer blinks. You're amazing he says. Every part of you and why would he - what does --
Oh.
Oh no.
His breath stutters out of him as Elio draws away and looks, a flash of red reflected in the other man's pupils because he's looking at - he's... Lucifer freezes in place, his red eyes boring into Elio's and he's still touching him, he's still... Blinking rapidly, Lucifer shuts his eyes harshly. Forces himself to change, his features smoothing out. Every part of you he said, meaning the scarred remains of his self-worth, too, because the other man's just seen him, really seen and yet, he's still here. He's not even pulling away.
What is this? How is it possible?
Head tilted sideways, he presses his forehead against Elio's. When he speaks, his voice sounds strange - a combination of hoarseness from crying and wonder, yes, completely unfiltered. ]
I don't understand.
[ He reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own where it rests against the back of his head. ]
[ It only seems to dawn on Lucifer what has happened after seeing himself reflected in Elio's eyes and Elio feels him freeze in place, his red, red-burning gaze boring into Elio's for a second before he starts rapidly blinking and recalling his human features, as if it's a mask he wears, like an actor, except Elio thinks both sides of him are equally true, they're just also very different and can't easily co-exist. He smiles, a small, soft smile while Lucifer shuts his eyes hard and leans back against him again, forehead against forehead - and when he speaks, his hoarse voice holds remnants of tears as well as wonder. Elio imagines people who see his other face would usually run, and they certainly wouldn't be very understanding, would they? Still, Elio understands. He gets it, he sees him.
Because Lucifer allowed him to.
Because they are sharing something poignant and beautiful and fragile and strong at the same time. They share something Elio hasn't shared with anyone before in his life, not even Oliver, maybe least of all Oliver. A part of him wants to cry at the intensity of his feelings, but it isn't his turn tonight. He can dream about Lucifer later and cry afterwards, that'll be his own time.
Maybe, after this, he could hope Lucifer would bring the next apricot tree himself.
Then, the other man reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own, his big, strong hand, bigger and stronger than Elio's, fingers that go on for octaves. Elio basks in the touch a long moment, before saying, angling his head a bit and pressing a kiss to Lucifer's cheek, just a brief pressure of lips. ]
[ Elio kisses his cheek, sweetly, softly, and tells him - oh. Honestly. Lucifer pauses for half a second, gaze following the lines of shadow currently tracking across Elio's features. Then, he can't help it, for some reason, it just -
He laughs.
It's barely more than a chuckle, true, but it's a laugh all the same, his shoulders shaking lightly as he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, wondering how and why and all sorts of other questions that no one will ever answer for him. Breathing in deeply, he finally allows Elio's scent to linger in his system, allows himself to think about it, to colourize it. Light, he thinks. Warm. Like a star, actually, and how's that for cosmic humour? If it didn't feel so bloody amazing, he'd blame his father - as it is, though, there's no explanation he can understand at this point and maybe, right now, he'll simply have to... deal with that.
Like he'll have to deal with everything else.
Sniffling, he finally straightens up a bit, enough that he isn't actively leaning against Elio like a tree that's tumbled over. He's looking at him still, eyes wide, as he reaches up with his free hand, running two fingers down the side of his face gently, over cheekbone, cheek, jaw. Finally, he presses them against the other man's full lips, tracing them for a moment before leaning in. He's not thinking about it, about what he's chasing - and maybe that's just because he honestly doesn't know, this doesn't make any sense to him, apart from how it eases him, balm-like. He just presses his lips against Elio's, lightly first, then a little bit harder, his scent mixing with his taste and doubling the sensation of you, here and now.
The way his shoulders aren't shaking from tears this time, the sound of his chuckle, the ease with which he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, Elio still caressing the back of his head, strands of hair tickling his knuckles. Beautiful. So, Elio lets him, allows him to hang onto him, to breathe him in, be as close to him as he'd like. In turn, he is basking in Lucifer's nearness, the way they seem to compliment each other right now, how they're somehow evenly matched, he can't describe it better than that. Something about puzzles. Something about pieces, fitting.
As the other man draws back, Elio stops wondering about it, though. It's not important, it might be important eventually, but right now they're just the two of them in Elio's small studio apartment, his couch/bed and Lucifer, wide-eyed, touching the side of his face with his fingers, cheekbone, cheek, jaw and then, oh. He traces Elio's lips, corner of mouth to corner of mouth, fingertips making Elio's skin tingle. He remembers Oliver, suddenly, at Monet's berm, doing the same thing, tracing his lips before kissing him, to give him the satisfaction, have it over with, that obsession.
Please don't. Please don't let it be anything like that.
But when Lucifer leans in and kisses him, it's nothing like that time at Monet's berm.
Lucifer doesn't keep his distance, neither does he enforce it, the pressure of his lips growing from light to slightly harder, obviously asking for more - and Elio breathes in harshly through his nose, parting his lips to invite him in, to have the full taste of him in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he reaches up with both hands, cupping the other man's face from either side and brushing his thumbs over the hard edge of his jaw, finding stubble, finding smooth skin. The tension seems to have dissipated. Elio's glad. Like that, he kisses him back.
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You can let it out, says Elio and he sounds so incredibly sincere, like he really does mean it, it's not just a baseless platitude, something you say for the sake of empty comfort. The other man's here, after all, he's touching him and leaving him be at the same time and Lucifer didn't even know you could do that. Is that what people do? You can talk to me about it, Chloe had said, but offering an ear isn't the same as this. Somehow, this feels bigger. Like the difference between taking a deep breath whilst standing in an empty room versus doing so from a rooftop beneath the open sky.
I don't mind.
Lucifer doesn't feel his face changing. It happens sometimes like that. Consequently, as he leans his (bald, burned) head against the side of Elio's face, he doesn't realise exactly what he's doing, too caught up in the weightlessness in his body, how he can't feel anything but this endless, boundless grief. ]
no subject
As he speaks, his mouth moves over slope of jaw, words becoming slightly slurred as a consequence, but it's alright, it's better if Lucifer feels it rather than hears it, if he can't do both, if he can't have both Elio's voice and his caress. Elio want him touched, most of all. He want him touched and embraced and loved. ]
You're amazing. Please believe me. Please believe me when I say, every part of you is amazing.
[ Only then does he draw away - and not further than his hand is still curving along the slope of Lucifer's scalp, his right arm still holding him close. He blinks up at Lucifer's face, takes in the features that are Lucifer's features but burned, like a metaphor in the flesh. This is what pain looks like. This is regret and self-loathing. This is what he feels and he's showing it to Elio. He's showing it to him and asking not even his acceptance.
So Elio accepts without hesitation. ]
no subject
Oh.
Oh no.
His breath stutters out of him as Elio draws away and looks, a flash of red reflected in the other man's pupils because he's looking at - he's... Lucifer freezes in place, his red eyes boring into Elio's and he's still touching him, he's still... Blinking rapidly, Lucifer shuts his eyes harshly. Forces himself to change, his features smoothing out. Every part of you he said, meaning the scarred remains of his self-worth, too, because the other man's just seen him, really seen and yet, he's still here. He's not even pulling away.
What is this? How is it possible?
Head tilted sideways, he presses his forehead against Elio's. When he speaks, his voice sounds strange - a combination of hoarseness from crying and wonder, yes, completely unfiltered. ]
I don't understand.
[ He reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own where it rests against the back of his head. ]
You - you are...
[ Remarkable, he thinks. ]
no subject
Because Lucifer allowed him to.
Because they are sharing something poignant and beautiful and fragile and strong at the same time. They share something Elio hasn't shared with anyone before in his life, not even Oliver, maybe least of all Oliver. A part of him wants to cry at the intensity of his feelings, but it isn't his turn tonight. He can dream about Lucifer later and cry afterwards, that'll be his own time.
Maybe, after this, he could hope Lucifer would bring the next apricot tree himself.
Then, the other man reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own, his big, strong hand, bigger and stronger than Elio's, fingers that go on for octaves. Elio basks in the touch a long moment, before saying, angling his head a bit and pressing a kiss to Lucifer's cheek, just a brief pressure of lips. ]
You're not difficult to like.
no subject
He laughs.
It's barely more than a chuckle, true, but it's a laugh all the same, his shoulders shaking lightly as he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, wondering how and why and all sorts of other questions that no one will ever answer for him. Breathing in deeply, he finally allows Elio's scent to linger in his system, allows himself to think about it, to colourize it. Light, he thinks. Warm. Like a star, actually, and how's that for cosmic humour? If it didn't feel so bloody amazing, he'd blame his father - as it is, though, there's no explanation he can understand at this point and maybe, right now, he'll simply have to... deal with that.
Like he'll have to deal with everything else.
Sniffling, he finally straightens up a bit, enough that he isn't actively leaning against Elio like a tree that's tumbled over. He's looking at him still, eyes wide, as he reaches up with his free hand, running two fingers down the side of his face gently, over cheekbone, cheek, jaw. Finally, he presses them against the other man's full lips, tracing them for a moment before leaning in. He's not thinking about it, about what he's chasing - and maybe that's just because he honestly doesn't know, this doesn't make any sense to him, apart from how it eases him, balm-like. He just presses his lips against Elio's, lightly first, then a little bit harder, his scent mixing with his taste and doubling the sensation of you, here and now.
Just you.
Imagine. ]
no subject
The way his shoulders aren't shaking from tears this time, the sound of his chuckle, the ease with which he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, Elio still caressing the back of his head, strands of hair tickling his knuckles. Beautiful. So, Elio lets him, allows him to hang onto him, to breathe him in, be as close to him as he'd like. In turn, he is basking in Lucifer's nearness, the way they seem to compliment each other right now, how they're somehow evenly matched, he can't describe it better than that. Something about puzzles. Something about pieces, fitting.
As the other man draws back, Elio stops wondering about it, though. It's not important, it might be important eventually, but right now they're just the two of them in Elio's small studio apartment, his couch/bed and Lucifer, wide-eyed, touching the side of his face with his fingers, cheekbone, cheek, jaw and then, oh. He traces Elio's lips, corner of mouth to corner of mouth, fingertips making Elio's skin tingle. He remembers Oliver, suddenly, at Monet's berm, doing the same thing, tracing his lips before kissing him, to give him the satisfaction, have it over with, that obsession.
Please don't. Please don't let it be anything like that.
But when Lucifer leans in and kisses him, it's nothing like that time at Monet's berm.
Lucifer doesn't keep his distance, neither does he enforce it, the pressure of his lips growing from light to slightly harder, obviously asking for more - and Elio breathes in harshly through his nose, parting his lips to invite him in, to have the full taste of him in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he reaches up with both hands, cupping the other man's face from either side and brushing his thumbs over the hard edge of his jaw, finding stubble, finding smooth skin. The tension seems to have dissipated. Elio's glad. Like that, he kisses him back.
Maybe, just maybe they can share this, too. ]