He sipped the last of his drink just in time to hear Lucifer as he said how if Stephen asked it of him, he would be willing to give monogamy
He sipped the last of his drink just in time to hear Lucifer as he said how if Stephen asked it of him, he would be willing to give monogamy a try.
Stephen choked on the whiskey and Lucifer looked at him with genuine concern, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.
"Are you alright, darling?" he asked, his hand still resting lightly against Stephen's back.
Stephen blinked rapidly, clearing his throat.
He felt warm and it wasn't because of the whiskey. He still wasn't sure what shocked him more. The fact that Lucifer just said that. Or the fact that he meant it.
Lucifer Morningstar—the literal devil, hedonist and the most insufferable, smug bastard Stephen had ever met—was saying he would be willing to try monogamy?
For him?
What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
Stephen tried to laugh it off and ignore the weight of those words, but Lucifer was still looking at him like he was waiting for an answer.
Like he wasn't joking.
Like it was a real offer.
And that was dangerous, because Stephen was selfish and didn't share. If he let himself believe it—if he let himself think, even for a second, that Lucifer actually meant it—He wasn't sure he'd be able to say no.
So he had to end this conversation. So, he forced himself to roll his eyes, forcing a smirk back onto his face.
"You must say that to all the guys you seduce," he muttered, leaving the now empty glass next to the bottle, on top of thin air.
Lucifer tilted his head. "Only the really interesting ones."
Stephen hated how that made his stomach flip.
"Would it be such a terrible thing?" Lucifer asked, too soft, too careful. "Being with me?"
Stephen froze.
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because he didn't know.
Because he wasn't sure if the answer scared him more if it was yes or if it was no.
And Lucifer—damn him—seemed to know that.
His golden eyes gleamed with something knowing, something patient.
And Stephen hated that most of all. How he was not smirking, not teasing—just smiling.
"Why me?" he couldn't help but blurt out and he didn't know why he'd asked that. Didn't know why his chest felt tight and why Lucifer was looking so damn fond like he'd expected the question and had been waiting for it.
Like he'd already decided the answer.
Stephen shook himself as he stood up.
Doesn't matter.
He was leaving.
He came for his wallet.
That was it. Nothing else, nothing more.
He wasn't staying and asking anything else.
He was just—
"Second drawer on the left, darling."
Stephen froze from where he had stopped next to the bedroom's door. His fingers curled tightly at his sides because Lucifer's voice was smooth, amused, like he was having far too much fun watching Stephen try to escape.
Stephen gritted his teeth.
Marched to the room, yanked open the drawer and sure enough—there it was.
His wallet.
Right where Lucifer said it would be.
Stephen's fingers twitched.
Because somehow, that pissed him off and made his face burn even hotter.
Somehow, Lucifer knowing exactly where his things were—like Stephen belonged here, like he was always going to come back—made him feel even more unsteady.
He swallowed hard.
Focus.
Wallet.
Exit.
Nothing else.
Nothing more.
Nothing—
"I didn't answer your question. Wouldn't you like to know?"
Lucifer's voice was soft and right behind him.
Stephen exhaled sharply and gripped his wallet a little tighter.
"Know what?" he muttered, being dense on purpose.
Lucifer's breath was warm against his ear. "Why you?"
Stephen's entire body locked up when he heard and felt Lucifer's breath as he chuckled quietly.
"All you have to do," he murmured, "is ask."
Silence.
Stephen's pulse hammered because he hated how badly he wanted to.
Hated how part of him wanted to stay.
But he couldn't.
Wouldn't.
So he turned—quick, sharp, decisive.
"I'm leaving," he said firmly.
And Lucifer just smiled. "Of course you are, darling. However, remember my doors are always open for you."
Stephen scowled, pushed past him and left without looking back. He wouldn't call it running, exactly—more like a purposeful retreat, a strategic exit. Like a very, very necessary getaway.
Even through the closed doors, he could hear Lucifer singing Rihanna's 'Stay' as he waited for the elevator to come.
"Not really sure how to feel about it
Something in the way you move
Makes me feel like I can't live without you…"
When the doors opened, he practically bolted into it, pressing with more force than necessary on the button that lead to the garage.
His feet moved faster than they should and his chest felt too tight because Lucifer's voice—that damn voice—was still in his head. Haunting. Low. Smooth.
Dripping with something too raw, too real.
"It takes me all the way
And I want you to stay…"
Stephen gritted his teeth and ignored how his fingers clenched tighter around his wallet as he watched the elevator door close.
He just knew that Lucifer had done that on purpose because he knew Stephen would hear.
And Stephen hated that it worked and how it made his pulse skip. Hated that it made him want to turn around.
But he didn't. He just tapped his foot as he tried to steady his breathing and convince himself that it was fine and that he wasn't flustered.
Fast.
Sharp.
Decisive.
The elevator door dinged open.
He stepped out into the garage and to his car.
Away.
Far away where Lucifer's voice couldn't get to him, hoping that the lingering echo of that song would stop making his stomach twist in a way he didn't like.
He wasn't, absolutely wasn't, going to hear Lucifer's voice for the rest of the damn night and he should be happy about it.
However, when he sat in the car and started it, as usual, the radio turned on.
And Beyonce's Halo sounded.
"I found a way to let you in
But I never really had a doubt
Standin' in the light of your halo..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Stephen cursed as he exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary.
This was absolutely Lucifer's fault.
Had to be.
Because what were the odds—
"I've got an angel now…"
Stephen's eye twitched and he stabbed the button to change stations.
Now, Alicia Keys' Fallin'.
"… Lovin' you, darlin', makes me so confused…"
Stephen shut the radio off as he gripped the wheel and stared at the road ahead.
Silence, finally.
He took another breath, steadier this time.
His pulse still wasn't normal and his thoughts still weren't quiet, but at least now he could breathe and think. Maybe even convince himself that this was fine and Lucifer was just playing and that Stephen was just another entertainment. That this wasn't—
Wasn't—
Wasn't something he wanted.
"Goddamn angel."
He shoved the gear into reverse.
Pulled out of the parking lot and drove without letting himself think, because if he did—If he really let himself think about the warmth in Lucifer's eyes, the way his wings reacted to Stephen's presence, the weight of those whispered words—
"If you ask, I'll tell you."
—he might have turned the car around.
And he wasn't ready for that.
Not yet.
So he drove in silence for the first time in years, because every damn song was out to get him and Lucifer had infected his brain. He couldn't afford to think about this, not now. Not when his chest felt tight and his skin still buzzed from where Lucifer's wing had curled around him. Not when his stomach still twisted at the memory of Lucifer's voice—low, smooth, aching with sincerity—
Stephen's fingers clenched, and he pressed harder on the gas, while he kept his eyes on the road and his thoughts locked down. Because if he let them wander—if he let himself feel and acknowledge the ridiculous, impossible, overwhelming way Lucifer made him feel—He didn't know if he'd be able to stop.
So, he drove without music and distractions, just the hum of the engine as his background. He could only hear the rhythm of his own breathing, the pounding of his own heartbeat, and the distant, unshakable feeling… That he was already falling.
.
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