[ 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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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. ]
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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. ]