F I C : london town .

[solosection]

1.

At a coffee shop on a side street to Piccadilly Circus, a tall, broad, dark-haired man is standing in line in front of him to order, but his card keeps getting declined, making him swear in a low voice that sounds nothing like Lucifer's, but the word choice does and bugger flips a switch of recognition somewhere in his system, making Elio feel right at home. He comes up behind him, pulling out his wallet and offering to pay which the man blatantly refuses, except Elio can be quite assertive himself when he likes to and just holds his card over the machine at an opportune moment as the man's searching his pockets for cash, the payment going through, no problem.

"I told you it was wholly unnecessary," the man informs him, after he's waited for Elio to buy his own coffee. It was rude, he means.

"You can always repay me later," Elio says, making the man raise an eyebrow slightly. That, too, reminds him a little bit of Lucifer, but like a watered-down reflection of him. His range of expressions muted, somehow. On this face.

"I'm Sebastian," the man introduces himself, then, "Sebastian Davies."

"Elio Perlman," Elio offers.

"American," Sebastian wants to know and it's the accent, Elio knows, the way he speaks his father's English. Along with every other language he speaks, his childhood home's Italian, his mother's French, his culture's Hebrew...

"Half-American. I grew up in Italy."

"And are you visiting London for work or leisure?"

"I'd like to say both. I'm a concert pianist, currently on tour, but I love my job so it's more pleasure than chore."

Sebastian seems to find this answer amusing and as they walk in the direction of Piccadilly together, his briefcase under one arm, coffee cup in his free hand, he regards Elio out the corner of his eye and looks contemplative. "How would you like playing proper tourist with me tomorrow," he finally wants to know, "it's my day off, if you pick a spot, I'll be your guide."

"I need to distract myself from the big-scale recital I'm doing in the evening anyway," Elio replies, finding the whole proposition really charming, "so if it's not too much of a problem, I'd love to."

They agree to meet at the Tower at noon, but after Sebastian's guided tour, he eventually accepts a ticket for Elio's concert and after that, they go to Elio's hotel together, drinking Scotch at the bar and flirting a bit aimlessly, until the other man apparently decides to go all-in.

"Are we headed for your room by any chance," he asks by midnight.

"Are we," Elio counters.

"It's merely that I don't normally do things like these," Sebastian says, meaning men, probably. Maybe ending up with strangers in luxurious hotels, that's another possible reading. Elio smiles and meets his gaze over the rim of his tumbler.

"Don't worry, I have some experience," he offers in consolation. Sebastian laughs, his voice deep and velvety and Elio isn't hungry, he's starving.

"Somehow, I have no doubt."

An hour later, they do end up in Elio's room and the night is beautiful, falling in cityscape polychromes through the windows.