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[ There are enough practice rooms to choose from, so to let the forensics team work undisturbed, the detective and her partner took him aside, two doors down, far enough away that everything has quietened down somewhat in here, big window panels with a view of the courtyards, curiously empty, but then again - a murder did just happen here. Elio's hands are still freezing cold, he couldn't play like this. They wanted to know his whereabouts this morning (staff room since eight, home until then, he had a visit from a plumber around six), his relationship to the deceased (Marcella, he was her piano teacher and mentor, if they ask around they'll hear rumors about them being romantically involved, it's gossip) and whether he could think of anyone who'd hurt her (it's a competitive environment and she was very, very talented, meaning anyone). The detective then asked when he last saw her alive and Elio ends up telling her, truthfully, that they'd had a late night practice session the day before. How they had, uncharacteristically, hugged each other goodbye when they parted ways. He's glad they did, now, even if it weren't perhaps wholly appropriate.
The consultant hadn't said much, but at one point he'd stared Elio down, his features wide and slightly inhumane to look at in all their perfect symmetry and asked him what it was he desired. Managing an uncertain smile, Elio had stared back into the dark depths of the man's eyes, then looked to the detective. Is this relevant, he'd replied. It felt like a come-on. A come-on out of time and place, obviously, but no different from someone wanting you to take your clothes off. The detective had told him she'd need him to stay in town and to be available for further questions. The school had told him to go home and take a couple of sick days.
Now he's shrugging into his jacket, a couple of feet away from the large Steinway grand in the middle of the room, checking through his backpack with hands that are shaking slightly, making ready to do just that. The gossip about Marcella and him is going to explode, he knows. Until the case is solved, someone's bound to think it's related to him. Maybe even that he did it. He frowns, zips up his bag, back still turned to the door.
He recited the Kaddish for her. It's the only detail he left out. ]
The consultant hadn't said much, but at one point he'd stared Elio down, his features wide and slightly inhumane to look at in all their perfect symmetry and asked him what it was he desired. Managing an uncertain smile, Elio had stared back into the dark depths of the man's eyes, then looked to the detective. Is this relevant, he'd replied. It felt like a come-on. A come-on out of time and place, obviously, but no different from someone wanting you to take your clothes off. The detective had told him she'd need him to stay in town and to be available for further questions. The school had told him to go home and take a couple of sick days.
Now he's shrugging into his jacket, a couple of feet away from the large Steinway grand in the middle of the room, checking through his backpack with hands that are shaking slightly, making ready to do just that. The gossip about Marcella and him is going to explode, he knows. Until the case is solved, someone's bound to think it's related to him. Maybe even that he did it. He frowns, zips up his bag, back still turned to the door.
He recited the Kaddish for her. It's the only detail he left out. ]
[ They've walked for some thirty minutes when Lucifer, because that's the name he's chosen for himself apparently, as the Devil in LA, full of Christian and popular cultural annotations, makes a stop at a coffee shop on a corner off one of the main streets. It's a high-end shop, the kind Elio loves but doesn't frequent, because he has no Michel in LA to buy his food for him. Lucifer makes him wait outside, doesn't tell him not to run, but Elio suspects it's subtext at this point. They're heading to the precinct, because they need him in custody, the police. For some reason, he isn't exactly being let in on many details here. Still a suspect, yes?
A suspect left alone on a street in downtown LA.
Lucifer doesn't seem all that concerned with protocol. Elio can't quite figure out what it is that he's concerned about, actually. Elio's desires that few people have cared about before. That he still hasn't divulged, unlike the girl in the hallway, hazy-eyed and entranced. When Lucifer looks at him with those eyes, he just sees a lot of depth and a lot of darkness.
Whatever that means.
Leaning against a streetlamp, keeping his weight on his heels and slouching a little, hands in his pockets, he suddenly looks forward to a good cup of macchiato. He hasn't had one of those in months. It felt like a weird kind of treat to ask of a literal stranger, really. A stranger who happens to be the Devil, too, but Elio has honestly had worse things happen to him before. He leans his head back, looks up at the facades of the tall buildings on all sides. The view is different around here. He likes it. ]
A suspect left alone on a street in downtown LA.
Lucifer doesn't seem all that concerned with protocol. Elio can't quite figure out what it is that he's concerned about, actually. Elio's desires that few people have cared about before. That he still hasn't divulged, unlike the girl in the hallway, hazy-eyed and entranced. When Lucifer looks at him with those eyes, he just sees a lot of depth and a lot of darkness.
Whatever that means.
Leaning against a streetlamp, keeping his weight on his heels and slouching a little, hands in his pockets, he suddenly looks forward to a good cup of macchiato. He hasn't had one of those in months. It felt like a weird kind of treat to ask of a literal stranger, really. A stranger who happens to be the Devil, too, but Elio has honestly had worse things happen to him before. He leans his head back, looks up at the facades of the tall buildings on all sides. The view is different around here. He likes it. ]
[ It's a bright and sunny, early afternoon, close to 1 PM and the balcony's bated in sunbeams, the dark granite tiles glittering faintly in the light. Lucifer's waiting outside by the glass railing, sans suit jacket, a glass of Scotch between his fingers. Elio's grabbing a shower as well as a quick change of clothes; Lucifer's been by outside the bathroom door, telling him to drop by the balcony once he's finished freshening up.
On the table next to him, aside from another glass of Scotch, there's a basket full of luxury toilet accessories that Elio won't have any use for right this moment, seeing as he's chosen to go with those absolutely horrid standard guest materials from the precinct. But if nothing else, it's the principle of the thing - you can't leave his penthouse, looking and smelling like you'd suffered a motel sleepover. It's just not done.
He sips his Scotch, gaze sliding out across the cityscape. Somewhere down there, his Mum's busy with Charlotte Richard's old life. Children. A husband. And the Detective's working on Elio's case - alone, as it were - she'd given him quite a knowing look when he'd insisted on housing the other man for the duration of the investigation. And well, she's absolutely right. He'll definitely have to sleep with him, preferably as soon as possible. Just to make sure.
He's even gone as far as to test his mojo on the Douche before going back here because if there was ever any man capable of resisting Lucifer's charms - but no. Man's craving another round of chocolate pudding to absolutely no one's surprise and then, he'd had the audacity to get tetchy about it afterwards. Ugh, honestly. ]
On the table next to him, aside from another glass of Scotch, there's a basket full of luxury toilet accessories that Elio won't have any use for right this moment, seeing as he's chosen to go with those absolutely horrid standard guest materials from the precinct. But if nothing else, it's the principle of the thing - you can't leave his penthouse, looking and smelling like you'd suffered a motel sleepover. It's just not done.
He sips his Scotch, gaze sliding out across the cityscape. Somewhere down there, his Mum's busy with Charlotte Richard's old life. Children. A husband. And the Detective's working on Elio's case - alone, as it were - she'd given him quite a knowing look when he'd insisted on housing the other man for the duration of the investigation. And well, she's absolutely right. He'll definitely have to sleep with him, preferably as soon as possible. Just to make sure.
He's even gone as far as to test his mojo on the Douche before going back here because if there was ever any man capable of resisting Lucifer's charms - but no. Man's craving another round of chocolate pudding to absolutely no one's surprise and then, he'd had the audacity to get tetchy about it afterwards. Ugh, honestly. ]
[ Beethoven is still echoing at the back of his mind, as if the Devil had jimmied with it, but it's not Beethoven he's playing now, sitting at the large grand in the middle of Lux where the woman that Lucifer made his bodyguard has put him on display - stay here where I can see you, she'd said, but Elio's noticed she's currently occupied behind the bar, apparently having sex, so he can't say how much she actually sees. Enough, you'd think. He hopes. He doesn't actually want to get killed now of all times.
Things might be confusing him, eluding him, saddening him, but things are also making him feel more alive than he has in years. Even if Marcella's bloodied face still holds its very own ghost spot in his memory, and Elio knows she'll probably live on there for a while to come. He doesn't like it, but he accepts it regardless. He carries greater ghosts with him, he isn't afraid of remembering her, not even like that.
He's been playing for hours at this point, a few breaks to go to the bathroom, but otherwise he's run through his whole arsenal of jazz standards, improvised versions of songs people have requested and the requesting doesn't seem to let up anytime soon. Two minutes ago, a nice girl in a party dress, never too early for those, he'd told her, had asked him to play some Britney Spears for her. What era are we talking, he'd asked, letting her know he knew his Britney. Toxic, she'd replied and he's reaching the crescendo of that one as the room buzzes and breathes.
The nightclub is surprisingly full, considering the time of day. LA, like the humans inhabiting it, likes its life! as much as the Parisians like theirs, the Italians. Anywhere Elio's ever lived, really. People are the same. They like music. They like golden hues.
He likes that someone's giving it to them. ]
Things might be confusing him, eluding him, saddening him, but things are also making him feel more alive than he has in years. Even if Marcella's bloodied face still holds its very own ghost spot in his memory, and Elio knows she'll probably live on there for a while to come. He doesn't like it, but he accepts it regardless. He carries greater ghosts with him, he isn't afraid of remembering her, not even like that.
He's been playing for hours at this point, a few breaks to go to the bathroom, but otherwise he's run through his whole arsenal of jazz standards, improvised versions of songs people have requested and the requesting doesn't seem to let up anytime soon. Two minutes ago, a nice girl in a party dress, never too early for those, he'd told her, had asked him to play some Britney Spears for her. What era are we talking, he'd asked, letting her know he knew his Britney. Toxic, she'd replied and he's reaching the crescendo of that one as the room buzzes and breathes.
The nightclub is surprisingly full, considering the time of day. LA, like the humans inhabiting it, likes its life! as much as the Parisians like theirs, the Italians. Anywhere Elio's ever lived, really. People are the same. They like music. They like golden hues.
He likes that someone's giving it to them. ]
[ It's almost midnight. No news have dropped in about an arrest, so Elio is still in Lucifer's penthouse and he certainly isn't complaining about that. Not when the toilet articles from earlier have been moved to the bathroom, put out for him as he made ready for bed. Lucifer urged him to go through his routines first, from a look you'd think it was because his own take longer. Besides a shower, using shampoos and soaps that all smelled like chamomile and brought him straight back to Italy, Elio's been given an expensive brand pajamas, flannel, dark red, that fits him to a T and makes him feel weirdly warm and cared for. He thinks to himself, as he exits the bathroom, his mouth zinging with the taste of mint, that necessity can be something to strive for, when this is necessity, right? If nothing else, necessity can be quite alluring.
While Lucifer finishes up, and it does take a while, Elio walks around his living room for a bit, drinking a glass of water and just trying to settle the day in his mind. It feels like longer, but then again, he knows from experience, six weeks can feel like a lifetime, so a day might as well be a month or an eternity. It all depends on... the company.
Standing by the windows, taking in the view, the lights of LA by night, Elio exhales long and hard. As the night has progressed, he's gone through cycles of instant regret that he didn't just tell the other man yes, let's fuck, let's lose ourselves in each other, followed by an immediate wave of nausea at the mere thought. Not doing it, obviously, not the sex, but the consequences. The unknown factor. He drinks another mouthful of water, it's just half a glass, so he won't need to go during the night and bites his lip. The couch has been done up with a pillow and a thick, rich blanket that feels as much like care as the PJs.
Care is a theme here. He'll miss the view when he'll eventually have to return to his own apartment, his old life. ]
While Lucifer finishes up, and it does take a while, Elio walks around his living room for a bit, drinking a glass of water and just trying to settle the day in his mind. It feels like longer, but then again, he knows from experience, six weeks can feel like a lifetime, so a day might as well be a month or an eternity. It all depends on... the company.
Standing by the windows, taking in the view, the lights of LA by night, Elio exhales long and hard. As the night has progressed, he's gone through cycles of instant regret that he didn't just tell the other man yes, let's fuck, let's lose ourselves in each other, followed by an immediate wave of nausea at the mere thought. Not doing it, obviously, not the sex, but the consequences. The unknown factor. He drinks another mouthful of water, it's just half a glass, so he won't need to go during the night and bites his lip. The couch has been done up with a pillow and a thick, rich blanket that feels as much like care as the PJs.
Care is a theme here. He'll miss the view when he'll eventually have to return to his own apartment, his old life. ]
You're up for Saturday at Lux! 10.30 PM until midnight, drinks on the house. If you have other plans, please cancel them - our schedule is quite packed and I had to move things around a bit for you.
[ It's a sprawling Saturday night at Lux and Lucifer's coming back from dropping off Amenadiel with the help of Dan-the-Cop who'd looked downright fetching with his brother's spilled drinks all over his shirt. Like he'd had a bit of fun in his life, you know, actual fun, as opposed to watching re-runs of the Bachelor and Queer Eye, please. Hell, he's such a cohesive douche. Greeting a few regulars with smiles and handshakes, Lucifer makes his way through the crowd, the music loud and the beat pulsing. He catches the eye of a stunning blonde, feeling her gaze on his back all the way to the bar. Mm. She'll catch up to him, he's got no doubts.
Right now, he's a bit preoccupied locating the guest of the evening, sweet Elio, who's certainly worked his magic tonight, keeping his guests entertained. Lucifer knows because he's had his assistant manager, Caroline, keeping him updated throughout the evening. Good for a repeat performance she'd written around a quarter to midnight. Crowd loves him. Unsurprising, that.
He's a hard one not to love.
Lucifer slides onto the barstool next to Elio, who's seated by the bar, having a drink on the house. Hopefully not his first. Smiling broadly, he leans in and says, keeping his voice loud enough to be heard over the music: ]
Beautiful job, darling, I'm sorry I missed it.
Right now, he's a bit preoccupied locating the guest of the evening, sweet Elio, who's certainly worked his magic tonight, keeping his guests entertained. Lucifer knows because he's had his assistant manager, Caroline, keeping him updated throughout the evening. Good for a repeat performance she'd written around a quarter to midnight. Crowd loves him. Unsurprising, that.
He's a hard one not to love.
Lucifer slides onto the barstool next to Elio, who's seated by the bar, having a drink on the house. Hopefully not his first. Smiling broadly, he leans in and says, keeping his voice loud enough to be heard over the music: ]
Beautiful job, darling, I'm sorry I missed it.
[ He hasn't been engaged to play tonight, and nevertheless he's back at Lux, to enjoy a couple of free drinks and take in the atmosphere, feel the beat of another heart than his own for a moment, in the case of the nightclub, it's Lucifer's, right? More importantly, he's here to thank the other man for the apricot tree he sent him a couple of days after the dream, as if he knew, as if he'd seen and Elio will probably ask him tonight, if he drinks just enough to dare and not be stupid about it, whether he does, whether he has, whether he was really there for a brief second. Whether it's something they share.
Having arrived fifteen minutes ago, it's ten PM, midnight fast approaching, he's just had enough time to seat himself at one of the tables and order a Scotch on the rocks. He's also had the time to greet Mimi, the French dancer who'd discovered he speaks her language fluently last time he was here, and be offered a show on the house which he'd declined. What are you here for, then, she'd asked, wriggling her ass in his face. Your boss, he'd replied and she'd laughed as she left him to it. Courage, was her parting answer.
I know, he thought.
It shouldn't be this difficult to pinpoint a taller than average man in a crowd, Elio decides, glancing around, but he's still getting sidetracked by lights and bodies moving, music pumping like blood through veins. Heartbeat, it really is a heartbeat in here. He thinks about Lucifer last time they met, how they parted ways, the man leaving him to his own questions without even a backwards look. It had felt a bit like being written out, of their relation, existence, transitioning from a state of mattering to one of complete and utter unimportance. Oliver had sometimes done the same thing, with his later, hadn't he?
With a frown, Elio shakes his head, pushing the thought away as he finally catches a glimpse of broad shoulders, expensive suit, dark hair, a circle of women around him somewhere on his right. Oh. A moment of hesitation and he decides to just try his luck, taking a long drink of his tumbler before making his way over, pushing through the gathered crowd without much force. ]
Having arrived fifteen minutes ago, it's ten PM, midnight fast approaching, he's just had enough time to seat himself at one of the tables and order a Scotch on the rocks. He's also had the time to greet Mimi, the French dancer who'd discovered he speaks her language fluently last time he was here, and be offered a show on the house which he'd declined. What are you here for, then, she'd asked, wriggling her ass in his face. Your boss, he'd replied and she'd laughed as she left him to it. Courage, was her parting answer.
I know, he thought.
It shouldn't be this difficult to pinpoint a taller than average man in a crowd, Elio decides, glancing around, but he's still getting sidetracked by lights and bodies moving, music pumping like blood through veins. Heartbeat, it really is a heartbeat in here. He thinks about Lucifer last time they met, how they parted ways, the man leaving him to his own questions without even a backwards look. It had felt a bit like being written out, of their relation, existence, transitioning from a state of mattering to one of complete and utter unimportance. Oliver had sometimes done the same thing, with his later, hadn't he?
With a frown, Elio shakes his head, pushing the thought away as he finally catches a glimpse of broad shoulders, expensive suit, dark hair, a circle of women around him somewhere on his right. Oh. A moment of hesitation and he decides to just try his luck, taking a long drink of his tumbler before making his way over, pushing through the gathered crowd without much force. ]
[ He parks his car along the street and gets out, walking the small remaining distance until he's right in front of Elio's front door. It's a relatively standard apartment complex with small studio apartments, the ground floor ones cheap by LA standards which, honestly, doesn't say too much. It's late enough in the evening for the shadows to feel at least somewhat solid, the sky dark and overcast. Lucifer thinks about the Doctor, about the empty terror in her eyes and the silence, the total, utter silence in the room after he'd... well. He hurt her, didn't he. He can't keep doing this to people.
He just isn't sure what he's doing wrong or how to stop. Possibly, it's a flaw in his very design and not just your normal, God-given flaw (because his dad has a sense of humour, everyone must suffer). It's the kind of thing that rots, progressively, and with Lucifer being a bloody immortal, who knows how far the degradation will go? What'll he be, by the end of it?
He's been staring at Elio's doorbell for more than a minute. There's something weird and dog-like sitting next to it - too metallic to be a dog, obviously, wait, oh, oh, it's - does it have wheels? It's not a unicycle, surely. He stares at it dumbly, blinking against the overhead light. Refocuses.
He could still leave.
But leaving wouldn't make a difference.
Face impassive, he rings the bell. ]
He just isn't sure what he's doing wrong or how to stop. Possibly, it's a flaw in his very design and not just your normal, God-given flaw (because his dad has a sense of humour, everyone must suffer). It's the kind of thing that rots, progressively, and with Lucifer being a bloody immortal, who knows how far the degradation will go? What'll he be, by the end of it?
He's been staring at Elio's doorbell for more than a minute. There's something weird and dog-like sitting next to it - too metallic to be a dog, obviously, wait, oh, oh, it's - does it have wheels? It's not a unicycle, surely. He stares at it dumbly, blinking against the overhead light. Refocuses.
He could still leave.
But leaving wouldn't make a difference.
Face impassive, he rings the bell. ]
Darling, I've realised - you can't actually live where you live. It's inexcusable. It's basically vile.
[ The sky above LA is reasonably clear tonight. Lucifer knows, of course, that there are countless upon countless of stars, hiding between the visible ones, the city too luminous in itself to allow the light through. He's got one hand on the railing, another on his cigarette, smoke trailing upwards in lazy swirls. Elio's inside, still, amongst the expensive furnishings and the glass walls. Probably, he'll be joining him soon enough, the other man's very good at following, waiting for his cues. A few feet away the apricot tree's blooming in the dark, quietly pretty, the sort of thing you'd always notice in passing.
He died today, went to Hell, came back. The Detective's alright, of course, because no way is he letting a pitiful maniac kill her off just like that, no way is he losing the closest friend he's ever had, one of the very few beings in existence that he... Well. There's simply no way.
It took him a couple of drinks back at home to push the sound of Uriel's stomach bursting open (again and again and again) to the back of his mind. Lips thinning, he inhales another mouthful of smoke. Thinks about Elio, then. About Hell. It's too easy, getting caught up in your own guilt - it's too tempting, like a wound you're leaving to fester just for a chance to poke at it, to watch it seep and feel it burn. He should've known he'd get locked up down there. He's the King of Hell, for crying out loud, if anyone should understand... ]
He died today, went to Hell, came back. The Detective's alright, of course, because no way is he letting a pitiful maniac kill her off just like that, no way is he losing the closest friend he's ever had, one of the very few beings in existence that he... Well. There's simply no way.
It took him a couple of drinks back at home to push the sound of Uriel's stomach bursting open (again and again and again) to the back of his mind. Lips thinning, he inhales another mouthful of smoke. Thinks about Elio, then. About Hell. It's too easy, getting caught up in your own guilt - it's too tempting, like a wound you're leaving to fester just for a chance to poke at it, to watch it seep and feel it burn. He should've known he'd get locked up down there. He's the King of Hell, for crying out loud, if anyone should understand... ]
[ He arrives at Lux early, before the nightclub has even officially opened, but they let him in anyway, because they know him, because Lucifer's vouched for him and because, this evening, he's made the trip in vain and someone's probably bound to think that's a right bummer.
Elio stops somewhere off the dance floor and stares at the spot where the piano usually stands proud, finding what looks more like a piece of broken furniture, chopped wood, kindle. It's too broken to really qualify as a piano any longer, the lid smashed and pieces hanging loosely off the case. As a pianist, it's almost physically hurtful to see the kind of damage the poor instrument has suffered - at the same time, all Elio can suddenly think is, is Lucifer okay? He thinks about his mother, headed for another dimension, how he'd felt it necessary to kill his brother. What does a smashed piano mean in a family like that? You have to wonder, so Elio does.
Turning his head, looking for someone to ask for - anything really, one of the bartenders passes him by and pushes a colorful drink into his hand, complete with umbrellas and no doubt an awfully high alcohol percentage. Elio frowns, thinks about drinking it, since he won't need to coordinate his fingers tonight anyway.
Still, he walks over to the nearest table and puts the drink down, searching the floor with his gaze, the stairs, the well-known route to the elevator and Lucifer's penthouse on top of everything. ]
Elio stops somewhere off the dance floor and stares at the spot where the piano usually stands proud, finding what looks more like a piece of broken furniture, chopped wood, kindle. It's too broken to really qualify as a piano any longer, the lid smashed and pieces hanging loosely off the case. As a pianist, it's almost physically hurtful to see the kind of damage the poor instrument has suffered - at the same time, all Elio can suddenly think is, is Lucifer okay? He thinks about his mother, headed for another dimension, how he'd felt it necessary to kill his brother. What does a smashed piano mean in a family like that? You have to wonder, so Elio does.
Turning his head, looking for someone to ask for - anything really, one of the bartenders passes him by and pushes a colorful drink into his hand, complete with umbrellas and no doubt an awfully high alcohol percentage. Elio frowns, thinks about drinking it, since he won't need to coordinate his fingers tonight anyway.
Still, he walks over to the nearest table and puts the drink down, searching the floor with his gaze, the stairs, the well-known route to the elevator and Lucifer's penthouse on top of everything. ]
Darling! Darling, I'm terribly sorry, I should've written you sooner. I'm quite alright!
[ He's sitting at the piano, the huge model B which is still dwarfed somewhat by the sheer size of the living room, it feels like the penthouse is the size of his parents' summer house and full of just as many nooks and corners in which to hide things away. A packet of cigarettes lies broken open on the lid, one of them dangling from between his lips while he plays a too-fast, not-deep-enough rendition of Leonard Cohen's By the Rivers Dark. Really, he just needs to keep moving. The feel of Oliver's skin is still clinging to his fingertips, his scent to Elio's face, wherever he turns his head, he can't escape it. It's not just all the alcohol he's drunk tonight that makes him feel nauseous. Outside, the lights on the balcony are dimmed and golden. Inside, the chandelier's casting him in a harsh, many-faceted light that really shows off his red-rimmed eyes and his pale skin. He's sitting in just his suit pants, shirt still lying abandoned in the middle of the floor, suit jacket by the door, belt somewhere in the middle. Socks and shoes left in the corner. Beneath all that naked chest, he's too much heart, he thinks. Elio draws in a shaky breath and thus, fills his lungs with smoke, it's nice.
An hour after Oliver left, when he'd cried himself empty enough not to care, he'd texted Lucifer. I know you're probably busy, and I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I need you. Please come. Just that. It was three o'clock. He's abandoned his phone on the couch, he doesn't even know if Lucifer replied. Reaching out was the exercise here. Saying what he needed, what he wanted.
Isn't that what the other man wants him to anyway?
Coming to the end of the song, he halts only briefly before continuing in the Cohen repertory, playing the first chords of Hallelujah instead, a half-hearted attempt as he soon needs to reach up, ashing his cigarette off to the side, before catching it between his lips again, keeping the melody up with his other hand. He doesn't smoke very often any longer, but he always has a packet at hand. The same brand, same memories.
Italy in the summer. ]
An hour after Oliver left, when he'd cried himself empty enough not to care, he'd texted Lucifer. I know you're probably busy, and I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I need you. Please come. Just that. It was three o'clock. He's abandoned his phone on the couch, he doesn't even know if Lucifer replied. Reaching out was the exercise here. Saying what he needed, what he wanted.
Isn't that what the other man wants him to anyway?
Coming to the end of the song, he halts only briefly before continuing in the Cohen repertory, playing the first chords of Hallelujah instead, a half-hearted attempt as he soon needs to reach up, ashing his cigarette off to the side, before catching it between his lips again, keeping the melody up with his other hand. He doesn't smoke very often any longer, but he always has a packet at hand. The same brand, same memories.
Italy in the summer. ]
[ Jack and him are on the fifth day (sixth night) and Elio has been very forth-coming from the get-go, I'm not here to commit, he'd told the other man the first morning they woke up together, I'm waiting for someone, I've just recently decided not to wait on my own. Jack had raised both eyebrows at him, his bed hair all chestnut and soft-looking, so Elio had reached out and run a hand through it, tousled it more while the other man had laughed, his beautiful baritone vibrant and alive that way. Baby, he'd said, no one wants to wait on their own.
And because Elio honestly thinks tonight will be their last night together, he's invited Jack to join him at Lux, where he's been playing until midnight - it's half past twelve now and they're on the dance floor, Jack writhing against him, tall and broad and smelling like the three Dirty Martinis he's already drunk. Tasting like them, too, Elio can tell whenever they kiss, deep, lots of tongue, another guy on their right is giving them long looks, jealous ones. In some ways, Lux is no better than any seedy gay bar in Rome Elio's been to. Elio draws away, nodding towards the stranger and telling Jack to have fun until he returns. Jack laughs again, baritone, beautiful, and kisses him.
Can't believe you got me in here.
Smiling, Elio leaves him to it and moves over to the bar, ordering another Dirty Martini for his date and a Gold Rush shot for himself, the bartenders lining three up, because we like to see you let loose, Perlman. He gets going on the first as soon as it's been mixed, turning around to glance out over the dance floor, Jack neat in the middle and busy snogging the stranger's face off. Elio lowers his shot glass a bit, gaze softening. ]
And because Elio honestly thinks tonight will be their last night together, he's invited Jack to join him at Lux, where he's been playing until midnight - it's half past twelve now and they're on the dance floor, Jack writhing against him, tall and broad and smelling like the three Dirty Martinis he's already drunk. Tasting like them, too, Elio can tell whenever they kiss, deep, lots of tongue, another guy on their right is giving them long looks, jealous ones. In some ways, Lux is no better than any seedy gay bar in Rome Elio's been to. Elio draws away, nodding towards the stranger and telling Jack to have fun until he returns. Jack laughs again, baritone, beautiful, and kisses him.
Can't believe you got me in here.
Smiling, Elio leaves him to it and moves over to the bar, ordering another Dirty Martini for his date and a Gold Rush shot for himself, the bartenders lining three up, because we like to see you let loose, Perlman. He gets going on the first as soon as it's been mixed, turning around to glance out over the dance floor, Jack neat in the middle and busy snogging the stranger's face off. Elio lowers his shot glass a bit, gaze softening. ]
Edited 2021-08-13 18:07 (UTC)
[ He's been playing for an hour at this point, a couple of intermissions, but nothing prolonged, Elio hasn't felt the need tonight. He's wanted to move, more than anything, he's wanted to hear himself make some noise, exist in the room, take up space. He said goodbye to Sylvie earlier, they had sex one last time before she had to catch her flight to Houston and he wished her all the best with his lips on her thighs. Neither of them cried bitter tears over it, it felt like a beautiful day to part ways.
Still, he's glad to be back in a place that doesn't change, that doesn't leave or shift out of reach, constantly. Lux reflects Lucifer in many ways, one being that it's probably half a step from immortality, it's that steady, that stable. Elio looks out over the crowd, playing a slightly jazzed-down version of It's Late by Queen, just to fit the hour. Midnight will have come and gone before long, they're hitting the last piano numbers of the night now.
Elio locates the other man easily among the rest of them, it isn't his height, it's all the rest. The darkness to his eyes, the broadness of his features, the openness of his expression. The heat. He can feel it all the way over here, through layers of clothing. Elio is dressed up for the occasion, though most of it's a rerun of the clothes he wore to Sylvie's concert the evening before, only the shirt's new. A light pink to go with the dark gray suit jacket and pants.
Smiling at the other man, the last thought of Sylvie parked along with Jack and whoever will be next, Elio works the keys carefully, hitting the right chords without jimmying too much with it, Queen's got to be recognizable, and thus brings It's Late to an end. It takes a second before the last note dies out and he can reach for his Scotch, placed like Lucifer would have done it on the instrument, like he's playing his coffee table, pretty much.
Sometimes it feels like he is, in here. It feels that homely. ]
Still, he's glad to be back in a place that doesn't change, that doesn't leave or shift out of reach, constantly. Lux reflects Lucifer in many ways, one being that it's probably half a step from immortality, it's that steady, that stable. Elio looks out over the crowd, playing a slightly jazzed-down version of It's Late by Queen, just to fit the hour. Midnight will have come and gone before long, they're hitting the last piano numbers of the night now.
Elio locates the other man easily among the rest of them, it isn't his height, it's all the rest. The darkness to his eyes, the broadness of his features, the openness of his expression. The heat. He can feel it all the way over here, through layers of clothing. Elio is dressed up for the occasion, though most of it's a rerun of the clothes he wore to Sylvie's concert the evening before, only the shirt's new. A light pink to go with the dark gray suit jacket and pants.
Smiling at the other man, the last thought of Sylvie parked along with Jack and whoever will be next, Elio works the keys carefully, hitting the right chords without jimmying too much with it, Queen's got to be recognizable, and thus brings It's Late to an end. It takes a second before the last note dies out and he can reach for his Scotch, placed like Lucifer would have done it on the instrument, like he's playing his coffee table, pretty much.
Sometimes it feels like he is, in here. It feels that homely. ]
Is there a story behind how you ended up with a British accent? Because I've been running around London all day now and everyone only manages to sound a little bit like you.
It's driving me slightly mad.
It's driving me slightly mad.
If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine: best memory from Berlin?
You have the worst timing, Elio. What the fuck???
[ He's been in town for twelve hours at this point, the last four of which he's spent trying to reach Lucifer. He's only waited this long with acting because he still remembers how it worked out last time he directed his worries at the LAPD and because he isn't actually sure he might not be overreacting due to jet-lag, transit and a couple of sleepless nights. After ten unanswered texts, though, and three phone calls, also unanswered, Elio isn't going to wait around any longer. Something's wrong, Lucifer lets him know when he isn't available as a rule, not as an exception.
That's why he's currently in the elevator leading to the other man's penthouse, Lux at noon a slightly less sorry sight than you'd imagine for a nightclub, where he's waiting for the ascend to end and the doors to ding open.
When they do, he pauses in his tracks, almost long enough for the doors to close right back in his face. Quickly, Elio steps inside the apartment, eyes wide as he looks around. There are feathers everywhere, but more importantly, there are smears and little pools of blood everywhere, too. On the floors, in uneven traces on the walls. Something sinks, down deep, in his stomach. When he calls out, his voice sounds almost fearful. ]
Lucifer?
[ He doesn't ask, are you okay, because evidence points to the contrary, right? ]
That's why he's currently in the elevator leading to the other man's penthouse, Lux at noon a slightly less sorry sight than you'd imagine for a nightclub, where he's waiting for the ascend to end and the doors to ding open.
When they do, he pauses in his tracks, almost long enough for the doors to close right back in his face. Quickly, Elio steps inside the apartment, eyes wide as he looks around. There are feathers everywhere, but more importantly, there are smears and little pools of blood everywhere, too. On the floors, in uneven traces on the walls. Something sinks, down deep, in his stomach. When he calls out, his voice sounds almost fearful. ]
Lucifer?
[ He doesn't ask, are you okay, because evidence points to the contrary, right? ]
[ It's been two hours at least of removing bullets from the upper edge of Lucifer's wings, tweaking them out of the bone where it's broken and shattered and splintered apart. Elio has worked tirelessly, drinking his can of Coke and serving Lucifer several tumblers of Scotch to compensate for the discomfort. Then, at least half an hour of washing his wings off, fixing wayward feathers, making them as shiny and white as they'll be until they've healed properly. Lucifer says it shouldn't be long, he heals rapidly under most circumstances. Elio hasn't asked about the exceptions.
Now, he's put away his equipment, a bowl full of bullets (he's counted them, more than fifty), the tweezers, various sizes, the wet cloth he brought along, now drenched in blood mostly and his empty Coke, it's all been left in the bathroom by the sink, to be taken care of once Lucifer can actually walk again. He's washing his hands now, bits of feathers and a whole lot of caking blood clinging to his fingers, stuck under his nails. He scrubs away for a couple of minutes, before drying off and returning to the bedroom where he left Lucifer after dismounting his back. He looks more relaxed now. A bit less pained.
It's good. It's better. It'll be better.
Elio smiles and stops next to the bed, looking down at him, how he looks fragile almost with his wings out like that. As if someone had pinned them onto a wall for public display. He doesn't voice the thought, it's a bit bizarre, barbaric almost. It doesn't belong between them. Crouching down near Lucifer's head, he folds his arms on the edge of it and rests his chin on his forearms, meeting the other man's eyes, his own soft, caring.
Fond, so fond. ]
You'll be alright. [ If I go, it means. Reaching out, he lifts his head a bit to be able to run his hand through the other man's hair. ] Get some sleep, love.
[ He makes to get up. ]
Now, he's put away his equipment, a bowl full of bullets (he's counted them, more than fifty), the tweezers, various sizes, the wet cloth he brought along, now drenched in blood mostly and his empty Coke, it's all been left in the bathroom by the sink, to be taken care of once Lucifer can actually walk again. He's washing his hands now, bits of feathers and a whole lot of caking blood clinging to his fingers, stuck under his nails. He scrubs away for a couple of minutes, before drying off and returning to the bedroom where he left Lucifer after dismounting his back. He looks more relaxed now. A bit less pained.
It's good. It's better. It'll be better.
Elio smiles and stops next to the bed, looking down at him, how he looks fragile almost with his wings out like that. As if someone had pinned them onto a wall for public display. He doesn't voice the thought, it's a bit bizarre, barbaric almost. It doesn't belong between them. Crouching down near Lucifer's head, he folds his arms on the edge of it and rests his chin on his forearms, meeting the other man's eyes, his own soft, caring.
Fond, so fond. ]
You'll be alright. [ If I go, it means. Reaching out, he lifts his head a bit to be able to run his hand through the other man's hair. ] Get some sleep, love.
[ He makes to get up. ]
[ Elio's the first to wake up.
Unsurprisingly - he usually is, whoever he's sleeping with, in whatever sense of the word, he's never been one to sleep in. Once he was one to sneak out instead, even, to avoid these morning afters, coming face to face with his bed partner once the shadows of night subsided. Things have changed recently, he is in absolutely no hurry to get out of Lucifer's bed, is he? The weight of his wing's so comforting, the weight of the other man's arm even more so.
They're lying pretty much exactly as they fell asleep, when was it, what's the time?
Blinking, Elio carefully raises the arm on which he's been lying, it's practically numb, and checks his wristwatch. It's late morning, they've slept for more than twelve hours. Just like this. It makes a small smile bloom on his lips, pure, unconcealed pleasure.
Letting his arm sink again, feeling the prickling sensation of blood flow coming back, he licks his slightly dry lips and fixes his gaze on the other man stretched out next to him, wings spread out to either side and the rest of him only slightly less messily arranged. Morning afters are always a bit raw, right? All facades down. Still, Lucifer manages to just look... Elio takes a deep breath. His chest is swelling, it feels like. Expanding. Lungs and heart. Thus, he inches closer until he can slip his right arm around Lucifer's waist, too, aligning them perfectly, front to front. He pushes his face in against the side of the other man's neck, forehead and nose and mouth. It's soft and warm, so warm.
He mutters, voice hoarse from sleep: ]
Keep looking this peaceful, please. Don't mind me.
[ Which is, of course, a way to give Lucifer every possible opportunity to mind. As is only fair. And respectful. ]
Unsurprisingly - he usually is, whoever he's sleeping with, in whatever sense of the word, he's never been one to sleep in. Once he was one to sneak out instead, even, to avoid these morning afters, coming face to face with his bed partner once the shadows of night subsided. Things have changed recently, he is in absolutely no hurry to get out of Lucifer's bed, is he? The weight of his wing's so comforting, the weight of the other man's arm even more so.
They're lying pretty much exactly as they fell asleep, when was it, what's the time?
Blinking, Elio carefully raises the arm on which he's been lying, it's practically numb, and checks his wristwatch. It's late morning, they've slept for more than twelve hours. Just like this. It makes a small smile bloom on his lips, pure, unconcealed pleasure.
Letting his arm sink again, feeling the prickling sensation of blood flow coming back, he licks his slightly dry lips and fixes his gaze on the other man stretched out next to him, wings spread out to either side and the rest of him only slightly less messily arranged. Morning afters are always a bit raw, right? All facades down. Still, Lucifer manages to just look... Elio takes a deep breath. His chest is swelling, it feels like. Expanding. Lungs and heart. Thus, he inches closer until he can slip his right arm around Lucifer's waist, too, aligning them perfectly, front to front. He pushes his face in against the side of the other man's neck, forehead and nose and mouth. It's soft and warm, so warm.
He mutters, voice hoarse from sleep: ]
Keep looking this peaceful, please. Don't mind me.
[ Which is, of course, a way to give Lucifer every possible opportunity to mind. As is only fair. And respectful. ]
[ He bikes there. It's not a short trip, between Lucifer's two penthouse apartments, but Elio needs the air, to clear his head. Like he thought, what happened to Lucifer's wings was the least of it, Chloe has abandoned him for some unvoiced reason that Elio suspects might have to do with Lucifer's true self. She's seen him, maybe, like Elio did back then. She saw him and she ran away. Elio tries to be unbiased, level-headed about it, but frankly, he's disappointed in her. He'd expected better, she knows Lucifer, regardless of whether she believed him to be the Devil or not, she knows him. This shouldn't change a thing. They're layers, these glimpses, they don't annul each other, they build on top of. One more side to a person should change nothing.
Except it changed something. And here they are, waiting for her to deal with her messes.
A distraction, Lucifer had texted him and Elio is happy to provide.
Waiting for the doors of the elevator to open, he gives himself a moment to think about last time he was here, not too long ago. Has it really only been a day? The slow, deep morning fuck they'd enjoyed with Lucifer's wings brand new, sparkling, bullet-free. They'll probably need to talk about the shoot-out, Elio thinks he needs to know and even if he doesn't, even if he continues being a peripheral nobody in the investigation, he still wants to. He wants to understand.
Ding go the doors. Elio steps inside without the slightest pause, looking around the living room, just a quick sweep. When he doesn't find Lucifer in any of the obvious places (wall of Scotch, piano), he halts and raises his voice slightly. ]
Are you distracted yet?
Except it changed something. And here they are, waiting for her to deal with her messes.
A distraction, Lucifer had texted him and Elio is happy to provide.
Waiting for the doors of the elevator to open, he gives himself a moment to think about last time he was here, not too long ago. Has it really only been a day? The slow, deep morning fuck they'd enjoyed with Lucifer's wings brand new, sparkling, bullet-free. They'll probably need to talk about the shoot-out, Elio thinks he needs to know and even if he doesn't, even if he continues being a peripheral nobody in the investigation, he still wants to. He wants to understand.
Ding go the doors. Elio steps inside without the slightest pause, looking around the living room, just a quick sweep. When he doesn't find Lucifer in any of the obvious places (wall of Scotch, piano), he halts and raises his voice slightly. ]
Are you distracted yet?
Edited 2021-08-24 10:43 (UTC)
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