Work Text:
Mortification begins to set in almost immediately as Chloe rights her clothing and fixes her hair. She doesn’t meet Marcus’s gaze while he tucks himself back into his jeans. What the hell did she just do? Sex in the evidence room with the Lieutenant. Chloe is supposed to be a responsible professional—how many times has she scolded Lucifer for something like this?
Hypocrite, much? asks a voice in the back of her mind.
Aside from the inappropriateness of the situation, Chloe feels... What does she feel?
Dirty. Used. Unsatisfied.
One of those is definitely accurate, anyway. What she does know is that she doesn’t feel what she usually does after sex with someone she cares about. She doesn’t feel... closer with Marcus. She doesn’t feel elated or even that happy post-sex tingle. She feels numb. And more than a little sore. Marcus was... enthusiastic.
Rolling her shoulder and wincing at the ache in her back, she darts a glance at Marcus himself. He looks exactly like he does any other time—inscrutable. There’s no smile on his face or glimmer in his eyes. He isn’t even looking at her as he hastily buckles his belt.
“That was great,” he says with a cursory smile in her direction. “See you out there.”
Chloe stares with raised eyebrows as he turns away and walks out of the room. The door closes slowly behind him and she’s alone. Not just alone but... lonely. She thought being with Marcus would make that feeling go away. So far they’ve been on a few dates she told herself were fun. She’s been telling herself she feels a lot of things when it comes to Marcus Pierce.
Ella has been saying for months that there’s some spark between them; that Marcus was into her. Chloe didn’t feel anything of the sort, but she’s been out of the dating game for so long that she just assumed she missed some signal or another. She even tried asking him out; he turned her down; she figured that was the end of it. Until the Axara concert. All of a sudden, he was acting like he was into her, after all.
Even after those dates and a few kisses at her door, she didn’t feel that connection with Marcus. And she doesn’t feel it now.
Maybe that’s a hint you shouldn’t be with him.
Chloe has also been telling herself that those connections don’t always happen immediately. With Dan, it took her months of getting to know him to start thinking about him romantically. Their relationship was a slow burn, starting as friends.
And ending with him gaslighting and manipulating you for months with Palmetto.
Maybe that isn’t the best example.
But there’s only one person she ever felt an instant connection to, even if she denied it with every fiber of her being. Only one person her gut told her she could trust from the day they met. Chloe has spent years on that particular roller coaster until she decided enough was enough. But no matter how hard she tries, those feelings haven’t gone away, even with Marcus in the picture.
Lucifer.
Shaking herself, knowing thinking about her partner as anything other than a friend will only make things worse, Chloe decides she’s spent enough time in the evidence locker. Avoiding looking at the wall Marcus just fucked her against, she takes a deep breath and opens the door. She keeps her head down, wondering if she’s imagining feeling knowing eyes on her, as she heads to her desk.
“There you are.”
Chloe’s heart flutters at the sound of that voice and she ignores that feeling, too. She looks up to find Lucifer leaning against her desk, his brow furrowsed. In one hand is a familiar to go cup and in the other a white bakery bag.
“Oh, hey,” she says, feigning casualness. And pretending she didn’t just have sex with her maybe-boyfriend but definitely boss at work.
Lucifer, normally oblivious to her moods, is studying her closely with an odd look on his face. “Detective, are you alright?”
Hiding her face when she feels it heat with embarrassment, she drops into her desk chair, unable to suppress a wince. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”
“Where were you?” he asks suspiciously, sitting across from her in his own chair. He leans forward and places the cup and bag in front of her. “You seem flustered.”
Shit. Lucifer Morningstar sniffs out sex like a damn bloodhound. She cleaned herself up as best she could in the evidence room, but even she can smell...
Fuck.
Um. Wrong word.
“No, I’m fine,” she repeats hastily, not looking at Lucifer. “Totally unflustered. I was just... getting some in the evidence room.” Her eyes widen. “Getting something from the evidence room, I mean.” God-dammit.
Lucifer’s eyebrows shoot up. “Right...” he says slowly. “Not satisfied, were you?”
“Excuse me?” Chloe sputters, eyes widening. How could he possibly know that?
He gestures at her desk. “You didn’t retrieve anything from evidence, Detective.”
Deflating, Chloe swallows. “Oh, um, no, I couldn’t find the, um... the evidence.” She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, hissing in pain when she puts too much pressure on what feels like a bruise.
“What? What’s wrong?” Lucifer asks, concerned.
“Um, nothing. I just, um, slept wrong last night. Back’s a bit sore.”
She doesn’t see the way Lucifer’s jaw tenses and his eyes flash. “Perhaps you should upgrade your... bed,” he says mildly. Why does she get the feeling he’s talking about something completely different?
“Yeah, maybe,” Chloe mutters, rolling her shoulder. She presses her lips together against another sound of pain and trying not to replay the way Marcus hands dug into her skin as he shoved her against the wall.
She also misses the flicker of hurt in Lucifer’s eyes and the glare he shoots towards Marcus’s office. “So, what case are we working?”
Chloe shakes her head. “We don’t have a case,” she says absently, checking her email just for something to do.
“So, for which case were you retrieving evidence, then?”
Shit. “Just forget it, Lucifer,” she sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I could help you look.”
“There’s no evidence,” she snaps in a loud whisper.
Lucifer looks taken aback, then resigned. “I see,” he says coolly. “Are you going to tell me what—”
“No. I’m not. Because it’s none of your business, Lucifer.” Chloe feels her eyes irrationally sting with tears. Whether from frustration at her partner or for another reason, she isn’t sure. “Drop it. Please.”
His expression fades into an inscrutable mask he rarely wears around Chloe these days. “Very well, Detective. I’ll just... go have a word with Miss Lopez, shall I?"
“You do that,” Chloe says dismissively. It comes out more petulant than anything.
She feels Lucifer’s eyes on her for a few more seconds, then he climbs to his feet. “I brought you your favorite latte and a treat for later,” he says quietly. “Enjoy, Detective.”
When he disappears around a corner, Chloe furiously wipes at her eyes and looks at the coffee cup and white bag on her desk. Tentatively, she opens the bag and feels her heart briefly soar before it sinks. A lemon square. Lucifer brought her a lemon square. And a sniff of the coffee cup confirms it’s her nonfat almond milk latte with sugar-free caramel drizzle—and not even spiked today. He did something nice for her for absolutely no reason (unless he did something she doesn’t know about yet), and was concerned about her. And she all but yelled at him and sent him away.
Guilt rolls in amongst the mortification of what she and Marcus just did. Feeling her eyes prickle again, she gets to her feet, ignoring the soreness in her muscles, and heads for the bathroom, unable to look at Lucifer’s kind gesture.
Lucifer is furious.
Not at the Detective; never her. But at Pierce. Even without being explicitly told, Lucifer knows precisely what just happened in that bloody evidence room, probably in the blind spot he himself has made use of several times. Never did he imagine Chloe would participate in similar behaviors; she is the epitome of rule-abiding and professional. Somehow, Pierce convinced her to betray her own principles.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the bloody oaf clearly didn’t treat her with any of the respect and tenderness she deserves. He didn’t treasure and worship her. He probably didn’t even leave her satisfied if the humiliation in her eyes was any indication.
Pierce hurt the Detective.
Lucifer caught every flinch and wince and hiss of pain that she made today, logging every last one so that he can return the favor to Pierce later. He suspects there will be bruises on Chloe’s perfect, unblemished skin. He’s tempted to pull her shirt up so that he can see where each and every mark is on her body. He wants to know exactly where her body aches. Pierce will feel it all tenfold.
Lucifer’s imagination is running wild—both with potential punishments for Pierce (bloody Cain) and with what happened in that room. When he went to speak with Miss Lopez, he found her sweeping up broken glass of tubes and vials and beakers and Dad knows what else. All of it came from the wall that is shared with the evidence room. And Miss Lopez is a bit of a blabbermouth when it comes to sharing gossip. That wall was rocking not long ago, and not from a centralized earthquake.
Just how rough was Pierce to make that wall shake?
Lucifer is glaring at the vending machine when he sees Pierce step into the break room. His lip curls and his fists clench, every nerve in his body begging him to be even rougher with the neanderthal.
“What’s your problem?” Pierce grunts, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“You bloody oaf,” Lucifer growls.
The bastard turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“How dare you treat her so callously?”
Pierce rolls his eyes, smirking. “What? Is this about Chloe? Did you enjoy the show earlier?”
Images flash through Lucifer’s mind of putting his fist through Pierce’s chest and ripping out his spine then strangling him with it.
“Chloe’s a feisty one,” Pierce says, leaning in conspiratorially. “She likes it rough.”
A low growl builds up in Lucifer’s chest. Heat spreads through his body. Now more than ever he wishes he had his Devil face back. “The Detective allowed you to touch her and you left her sore and aching and probably bruised. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.”
Smug amusement flickers across Pierce’s expression. “What’s wrong, Lucifer?” he asks with mock-sympathy. “Jealous I got to fuck her before you?”
Lucifer lifts his hands to wrap them around Pierce’s fat neck—
“What did you just say?”
Both men freeze. Alarm flashes in Cain’s eyes as they turn to find Chloe standing in the entrance of the break room. Her expression is a mixture of anger and embarrassment and hurt. Lucifer feels his fury fade away and his heart clench.
“Detective,” Lucifer says softly.
“Lucifer, can you give us a minute?” she says through gritted teeth, her eyes glimmering with tears.
Lucifer hesitates, not wanting to leave her alone with him again. But when she fixes him with a hard glare, he nods and slides past her, careful not to brush up against her already aching body. “I’m sorry, Detective,” he murmurs softly, for her ears only.
She doesn’t respond, turning her glare to Pierce. Before he’s entirely out of earshot, he can hear Pierce’s voice. “Chloe, I can explain...”
Lucifer should feel smug that Pierce was caught out, certain that Chloe’s relationship with Ham-Hands is about to come to an end. He should feel triumphant and elated that she’s probably ripping him a new one right now. Instead, his heart feels like it’s in a vise. All he can see is that hurt expression Chloe was trying to hide, the tears in her eyes. She’s in pain right now—emotional on top of physical.
And Chloe hurting in any way hurts Lucifer in turn. Her pain is his pain. He wonders if this is his fault for confronting Pierce in the precinct. Now Chloe is seeing him for the callous pig he truly is.
He spends five minutes pacing in front of her desk, his eyes locked on the break room. There are no raised voices or the sound of someone throwing things. Not even the resounding slap in the face echoing through the bullpen. Whatever excuses Pierce is coming up with in there, Chloe will see through; she’s far too clever to fall for his charade.
She fell for Pierce’s fake persona once. And she still thinks you’re just another messed up, delusional human instead of the Devil himself. What if she falls for Pierce’s bullshit again?
Lucifer stops pacing when he spies movement. Pierce stomps out of the break room with a furious expression on his face. The glare he shoots Lucifer suggests the conversation with Chloe did not go well—at least, not for him. Lucifer waits for the Detective to follow, but she doesn’t make an appearance.
Feeling impatient and apprehensive when another five minutes pass, he goes searching for her. At first, he doesn’t see her and wonders if she perhaps slipped away somehow. Then he hears a muffled sniffle in a women’s bathroom. Lucifer’s heart stutters to a stop; he knows precisely who is behind that door.
He knocks softly. “Detective?” he calls quietly. “May I come in?”
Chloe doesn’t respond. Perhaps she wants to be alone. He should leave her alone. To let her gather herself. But he imagines her in there, crying on her own, and can’t abandon her to that.
“I’m coming in,” he warns softly, pushing on the door. It’s locked... for a second, before he uses his celestial ability to unlock it. When he opens the door, he pokes his head in and looks around. What he finds simultaneously horrifies, infuriates, and breaks his heart.
Chloe is standing in front of a mirror turned sideway with her back to him. She’s holding up her shirt and staring into the mirror, probably at the bruises all across her back. Black and blue and yellow, some deep red and painful looking. No wonder she couldn’t sit still today. Her hips and waist are just as bad; Lucifer can see a line of large black circles on both sides—fingertips where Cain held her too tightly.
“Detective...” he whispers, anguished.
Her wet eyes snap from her back to his in the mirror. Averting her gaze, she drops her shirt. “You shouldn’t be in here,” she mutters hollowly.
Ignoring that, Lucifer steps into the bathroom and lets the door close behind him, torn between comforting her and ripping Pierce apart piece by piece. As always, she wins. “I realize this is a foolish question,” he says softly. “But are you alright?”
Chloe turns to lean against the sink counter, crossing her arms and staring at the stalls. “Yes,” she says shakily. After a few seconds, she sighs and shakes her head. “No. I’m not.”
Lucifer closes the distance between them and holds his arms out in invitation, giving her the option to take the comfort or not. She hesitates, then turns, pressing herself against him. Carefully, he wraps his arms around her shoulders, his hands on her upper back and cradling her head. Her arms snake around his waist and she presses her face to his shoulder, her entire body trembling. Every sob she tries to stifle is another dagger to Lucifer’s heart. He grits his teeth, logging every sob and tear she sheds so that when he punishes Cain, he pays him back for them all.
He thinks he should say something, but he has no idea what. Comforting humans is not one of his strong suits and he doesn’t even know if he’s doing this correctly. Punishment is what he knows and he’s suddenly glad that Pierce is immortal; it means that Lucifer can beat him to death with every stupid rock in the bastard’s house. Twice. And he’ll just pop right back up for more punishment.
Nobody lays hands on Chloe Decker and gets away with it.
After several minutes, Chloe pulls away. Lucifer immediately loosens his hold on her and memorizes her bloodshot, red-rimmed, puffy eyes, the tears streaking her cheeks, the hurt in her expression. When she starts to roughly wipe her face, Lucifer tuts and reaches for his pocket square, bumping her hands out of the way. Gently, he erases every tear and even her running mascara.
Chloe watches him silently, her expression indecipherable.
“There,” he murmurs when he finishes. “That’s better.”
She scoffs, glancing in the mirror. “I look pathetic.”
“You most certainly do not,” he corrects her gently. “You’re always beautiful.”
Shaking her head, she leans against the sinks again. “Is this where you tell me 'I told me so'?"
Lucifer furrows his brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, you warned me, right? Told me to be careful. Tried to keep me away from him. Go ahead, get it out of your system.”
He huffs, his arms dropping to his sides. “I was going to say no such thing, Detective,” he whispers, aghast. “I would never.”
“Either way, clearly I’m an idiot. If it wasn’t bad enough I let him—” Her face turns pink and she looks away again. Lucifer imagines she was going to say something about shaking Miss Lopez’s lab wall. “But then he was bragging about it.” She sighs heavily. “At least it was to you. I know you won’t go telling everyone else.”
“No. I won’t,” he says without hesitation. “And you’re not an idiot, Detective. Far from it. Any fault to be assigned is his, not yours. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Except pick the wrong guy. Every fucking time,” she says bitterly. “I just... don’t understand how this keeps happening. What is so wrong with me that—”
“Enough of that,” he says gently but firmly. “Listen to me, Chloe.” She looks up at the sound of her name, something shivering across her expression that he can’t identify. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”
Chloe scoffs. “Perfect?” she echoes. “Lucifer, I am far from perfect. According to Pierce, I’m—” She breaks off abruptly, turning away again.
Lucifer frowns, his blood beginning to boil with the need to punish. “What?” he whispers.
She shakes her head, swallowing hard. “Not worth it.”
If ever there was a moment that Lucifer was grateful to not have his Devil face, it’s this one. As it is, he feels his eyes flash briefly. Wrath is a feeling he’s familiar with and it’s flaring up. He’s going to rip Pierce’s throat out with his bare hands.
“I’ll kill him,” he states calmly, turning on his heel and starting towards the door. His hand is wrapped around the handle, prepared to rip the door off its hinges, but a small hand appears on his forearm, stalling him. Even through his layers of clothes, he feels the warmth of her touch.
“You’re not killing him,” she says sternly.
“Detective...” he sighs.
“Stop, Lucifer. Just stop. I dealt with it, okay? I don’t need you causing a big scene in the middle of the precinct by attacking the Lieutenant. It isn’t worth it.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw as he turns his head towards her. “You are worth it,” he growls, refusing to let her believe otherwise.
She stares at him for a moment. “This is none of your business, Lucifer,” she says harshly.
“Of course, it bloody is!” he exclaims. “He put his hands on you, marked you, bruised you. Hurt you. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
“I said, it’s none of your business!” she says loudly. “Why can’t you just leave this alone?”
“Because I love you!” he shouts.
Everything stops. Neither of them moves or breathes as they stare at each other. Lucifer’s fury drains away along with his blood as he realizes what he just admitted. Chloe’s brow furrows as her eyes bounce across his face.
She backs up a few steps to the sinks again as if she needs something to help her keep her balance. “What did you just say?” she whispers breathlessly.
All the fight in him is long gone now. The only thing left is a heart frantically beating back to life. As it does, a feeling like terror he only has whenever he thinks of how he feels about her rushes through his veins. Those are words he’s kept locked away, believing they didn’t matter; not when she couldn’t love him back of her own free will.
Now, he knows better. Or at least, he suspects he was wrong about what her being a miracle means. He doesn’t understand what it does mean, and likely never will, but she does have free will. After all, she chose Pierce.
Chloe is watching him intently, awaiting an answer. He could flee. Rush out of this bathroom like a coward and never look back. But he’s tired of running. He’s never felt so strongly about anything. His heart beats for this woman and he can’t hide it anymore.
Inhaling deeply, he meets her gaze, trying to read her expression and knowing it’s futile. “I said, I love you,” he repeats, softer than the first time.
She nods slowly, her feelings on the matter still a mystery. “That’s what I thought you said,” she says faintly.
“Detective...”
“I have to go.”
His heart thuds once and stops. “What?”
She isn’t looking at him anymore. “I need to get out of here.”
Even though every nerve in his body is shouting at him to stop her, he watches numbly as she rushes past him and out of the bathroom, leaving him standing here like an idiot.
What the hell was he thinking?
He’s still asking himself that question hours later as he stands at his balcony sipping a glass of scotch. Most of his evening was taken up tracking down Marcus Pierce. The bastard was at home, drinking a beer on his couch like he wasn’t the most disgusting pig the Devil has ever met. Lucifer kicked his door in and released some of his fury, leaving Pierce groaning and bleeding on top of the glass coffee table Lucifer slammed him through.
Most of it is a blur in Lucifer’s mind. All he could see the entire time were the bruises on Chloe’s body and anguish on her face. He does remember Pierce bragging more about what he did to the Detective. Lucifer snapped his neck for the vulgar things he said. When he came to Lucifer broke his jaw so he couldn’t spew anymore filth.
It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Lucifer hoped it would be. Because in the time it took for Cain’s neck to repair itself and his heart to restart, Lucifer replayed what he confessed to Chloe and her reaction. Or lack thereof. He almost wishes he never said it at all. Chloe was already going through something difficult and Lucifer just piled onto that.
He considered stopping at her apartment on the way back to Lux, but then he looked down at his bloody knuckles and clothes. Her witnessing him in that state would only make the situation even worse.
The next sip of scotch burns as it goes down his throat. He frowns. The only time that happens is when—
Somebody stands at the railing beside him. Without turning to look, he knows exactly who it is and closes his eyes, sighing. He’s almost afraid to open his mouth, lest he confess something else he’s kept hidden for years.
“How long?” she asks quietly, looking out over the LA skyline.
“Sorry?” he murmurs, bemused.
Chloe takes a shaky breath and turns towards him, leaning her hip against the railing. “How long have you... felt that way?”
Rather than playing dumb, Lucifer considers the question for a few long seconds. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “Quite a while, I think.”
“You... think? So, like, you felt this way during that prom you threw me? My birthday?”
Lucifer nods.
“When you went to Vegas, after I was poisoned?”
Taking a breath, he lets it out slowly. “Yes.”
“Our kiss on the beach?”
Again, he nods. “And the night we had burgers and fries, when Jana interrupted. The morning you made your father’s egg sandwiches. Even further back, when we played 'Heart and Soul' on my piano. And when you shot me. And when you asked if I used a stage name.”
Chloe lets out a breath like she’s been holding it for long minutes. “All this time?”
“Yep. Of course, I didn’t understand what any of it meant. I never knew what... this felt like or even looked like. Let alone what I was supposed to do with it. All of these feelings are utterly foreign to me, Detective. My entire life has been devoid of any real connections or emotions. Until I met you. I don’t think you realize just how long I’ve lived the same routine. Between the Silver City and Hell and my brief escapes, I’ve never met anyone who... mattered.”
“But I matter?” she whispers.
Lucifer turns to face her. Her eyes are bright even in the semi-darkness and he wishes he was better at reading her. There was a time he’d have given anything to pull out her desires. Now, he rather likes that he can’t. Not only because of the novelty, but because he’d rather hear it all directly from her lips.
“More than you know.”
“Did you go after Pierce tonight?”
The sudden change of subject catches him off guard. Her expression didn’t change in the slightest. He knows she won’t be happy with his answer, but he won’t lie to her. Even if he could. “Yes. I did.”
Chloe sighs in exasperation, pinching the skin between her eyebrows like she has a headache. “Lucifer. I told you not to.”
“I know.”
“So... why did you do it, anyway?”
Lucifer lifts a hand to cradle her cheek. “You know why, Detective.”
“I did handle it, you know.”
“I’ve no doubt that the verbal lashing was satisfactory, but he deserved punishment for what he did to you. And what he said about you.”
Chloe’s small hand covers his on her cheek, pressing his palm closer. “Thank you. For sticking up for me.”
A corner of his mouth twitches up. “Always happy to defend your honor, Detective,” he murmurs.
She looks down at where she’s twisting her fingers together. “Why have you never said anything? About... how you feel.”
Which of the dozens of reasons does he give her? “I didn’t think you... would feel the same way.”
“You’re wrong.”
The words are spoken so quietly he thinks he may have imagined them. “Am I?” he breathes with so much hope, his heart stops beating so he can hear her response.
Biting her lip, Chloe looks up at him through her lashes. “Definitely.”
Some sort of strangled sound escapes Lucifer’s throat. He wants to make some quip or literally anything rather than staring at her like an idiot. “I... don’t know what to do now,” he exhales slowly.
Lips twitching into a smile, Chloe slides closer to him, her hand on his chest. Can she feel how hard his heart is beating right now? Or that skip it just did? “What do you want to do about it?” she asks.
A dozen possibilities flash through his mind in a matter of two seconds, all of which involve Chloe and his bed. Or the settee. Hell, he would be happy with the balcony doors. Those images are replaced by one of Chloe in the precinct bathroom this afternoon, looking at the bruises on her back.
“I think you should tell me, Detective,” he says quietly, lifting a hand to cover hers on his chest “After... well, today.”
She looks away for a moment, rubbing her shoulder with her free hand. “Well, I mean, do you even want to do something about it? Just because we... feel this way, it doesn’t mean we have to—”
Lucifer huffs. “Detective, I can’t imagine anything I desire more than you.”
“Are you talking about just one night? Or like... dating? A relationship?”
All the above. Every bloody night. “I love you, Chloe. Whatever you are willing to give me, I want it. If that means work partners and nothing more, or friends... or something more, I’m just selfish enough to take it.”
Chloe frowns up at him. “I don’t think you’re selfish, Lucifer,” she whispers.
Oh, but he is. Here he is, confessing he wants to be with her because he loves her after the day she’s had. All the while, she has no idea exactly who is saying these things to her. And if she did know, would she still confess that she feels the same way, or would she walk out of his life for good?
The problem is, he doesn’t know. With most humans, it would be a foregone conclusion that they would be terrified of him, but Chloe isn’t like others. She doesn’t react to him the way they do; what if she could be okay with him being the Devil? What if she could accept him?
Standing on tiptoe, she presses her lips lightly against his. Light and warmth shoot through his body from the point of contact down to his toes. He feels his wings flutter in response, but manages to keep them from popping out in their excitement; that would be the icing on the cake for this night.
“Are you sure?” he breathes when she presses her forehead against his.
“I’m sure. I love you, too.”
Bloody fucking hell. Lucifer never knew four little words could make him feel like he’s both invincible and on the verge of falling apart at the seams. Or make his heart take off at a gallop. “Chloe...”
He doesn’t know what else to say so he kisses her, hands on her face and in her hair. He kisses her the way he’s dreamed about for two years, infusing it with all the things he feels for her. Chloe hums against his lips and it sends a shiver through his body. As badly as he wants to deepen this kiss, he allows her to guide where it goes; when she brings it to a gradual end, he feels himself smiling.
“I don’t know about you,” Chloe says quietly, her fingers brushing across the hairs at the back of his neck, “but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I am starving.”
He raises a disapproving eyebrow, but thinks he understands why she hasn’t had an appetite. “I could order us something?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing along her jawline. “Whatever your heart desires. Or stomach, rather.”
She huffs a laugh. “I’d like that. Surprise me.”
Wondering if this counts as their first date, he retrieves his phone from the bar and orders them burgers and fries from the best diner in the area. As light as he feels right now, he knows this is the easy part—declaring feelings he’s been denying for years. Some time very soon, he’s going to need to show her his wings to prove his identity and assuming she sticks around, come clean about her being a miracle and about Cain and Uriel. All he can do is trust that she won’t run and hope she’ll still want him.
Looking at her now, stretched out on his custom Italian leather settee, more relaxed than he’s seen her in weeks, the only thought in his head is that this could be the start of having everything he never knew he wanted. And that if Pierce ever lays a finger on her again, he’s going to find himself waking up on bloody Neptune.