eyemind | this year’s love; closed;

Chloe stays quiet, doesn’t try to say anything. She wants to soak in this moment in silence, focus everything in her being on it. The smells he carries, the beating of his heart mirroring that same hard, fast beat as her own, how he holds her as tightly as she’s got her arms wrapped around him, pressing herself as flush as she can. She even goes as far as to rise up on tiptoe so he doesn’t have to lean down as much.

Is this going to be the last time they ever get to share moments such as this? Is this the last time she’s ever going to feel his arms around her?

A breath hitches on a soundless sob, a sound she tries to keep to herself as her fingers grasp at the back of his clothing. Like he could be pulled away from her in the blink of an eye. Her face presses down to his shoulder to bury, to push back the fresh memories of the gun going off.

The lack of a pulse beneath her fingers.

He wants to hold her close and never let go, and certainly never leave her again. That's all he can think about, now that she's here. Not even that she shouldn't be here, which is true enough - as true as it is for Miss Lopez. Eventually, he'll be angry about that, but right now, right now, he just needs to hold her and remind himself she's real, she's here, she's in his arms.

Then he feels her breath hitch on a sob, and he frowns. True, his own eyes are prickling with tears, but still. He always hates it when she cries - if only because he's responsible for it sometimes.

He pulls back - just a little, just enough so he can see her face, meet her eyes, worry etched in his own look. "Detective?" he asks, hesitatingly. "Are those... bad tears, or good tears? I'm so sorry I left, you know I never would've if I didn't have to..."

Oh how she would’ve preferred to keep her face hidden, to hide the stray tear that treks down her cheek in escaping her bottom lashes. She nods. Then, realizing how she was responding and how that looks, she shakes her head. A little too quickly.

Her hands come up between them, touch his jaw. The left one then slides down, fingers pressing up along his jugular. There it is. Such a strong pulse kicking up from beneath warm skin.

Suddenly Chloe steps back out of his arms, and her hands begin to make gestures that might come off, to him, as ridiculous in their flailing—

You— she points to him, then slices a finger horizontally along her own throat, dead— here she lets her head drop sideways, eyes closing, tongue sticking out.

He's grasping the fact - strange as it is - that, at least for the moment, she can't speak. Like some sick fairy tale, but they'll... figure that out. One way or another.

But clearly, what she's doing is attempting to tell him something - about himself? About... dying? That's even weirder.

"I - I'm not going to die. I'm alive, right here, and I'm staying that way," he says as he pieces together what her gestures mean. "If I get injured, we know how to fix that." All she has to do is leave - like when he got shot at Lux. He was right as rain almost immediately when he got out of the building and her presence. Tentatively, he reaches for her again - wants to comfort her, wipe away her tears, make her grief go away.

Now, she mouthes, nodding, pointing to the small space between them. Yes, now, right here and now, he’s alive. Chloe doesn’t know how that’s possible, but here they are.

However, before he can get a hold on her to draw her back in to be comforted she shakes her head, finger pressing against his left breast somewhere between his heart and collarbone. There’s a bit of emphasis on the second jab of her finger, eyes lifted and searching his.

There, that’s how it happens. That’s what she’s trying to tell him.

Chloe looks down to the area. Her hand straightens out to lay flat, another soundless sob hitching on a breath. There’s no fixing this — her expression begins to fall.

Lucifer stops when she pushes at him. He is always, one way or another, at her mercy, and usually he's fine with that. His hands itch to pull her close, though.

He watches, follows her gesture, frowning. A wound? In his chest? Well, that probably would be more fatal than the last fatal injury he got, which had been in the stomach. His hand covers hers, and he sets his jaw.

"No," he says quietly. And then, "no," more firmly. "Miss Lopez is here, from our future, and she told me that I'm going to come back. To be with you. I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, but... Chloe. If that's true, if I do get to return to you - nothing would keep me from you again. Ever. I'd... stop it, somehow, I'd find my way back to you, I -"

He doesn't know what, exactly, but he sure as shit isn't planning to come back to her only to die. Nope. Absolutely not.

"I won't let it happen like that."

She needs to pull herself together.

One more hitched breath, and she forces herself to swallow, nodding. Okay. Okay, he’s promising that things will be all right, that he’ll be all right. Another nod, and she focuses on the larger hand covering her own, the warmth of it on top and his beating heart underneath.

As frustrating as it is being unable to speak to him, that doesn’t stopping her from touching her other hand to his jaw, to slide it forward to cup at the back of his neck. Leaning up she’s tugging him down to her, pressing their brows together, a shuddering breath released in relief and gratitude.

He leans into her touches, eyes falling closed as he savors them. She’s here. She’s here, with him, after so long apart. At least, for him. Centuries, in Hell, thinking about her, worrying for her, missing her more desperately than he’s ever missed anyone in his long, long existence.

She’s here with him again.

“We need to get you your voice back so you can scold me properly, this is downright unnatural,” he finally says, attempting to lighten the mood but not sure how successful he is, given his voice is thick with emotion.

That attempt works on getting a chuckle out of her. It would be nice if she could communicate verbally with him and not have to rely on a damn game of charades. Yet even as she sees the attempt he’s making she can hear the strain behind the words.

Tilting her face up then, her lips brush his. And again, and then they press for more. Wordlessly comforting him, wanting to soothe them both.

It always comes as something of a surprise when she kisses him. It’s not as if Lucifer is unused to kissing in general. It’s just that - well, Chloe has seen all of the ugliest, most broken, most monstrous parts of him. She’s seen through his facade of carefree narcissism to the lonely, rejected soul underneath - and she is still here. Still choosing him.

It is, really, a miracle.

He lets her direct the kiss, but pours all of his longing into it, all of his desperate loneliness from the years in Hell. She tasted just like this on his balcony before he left - like her, and their tears. But this isn’t goodbye now. He’s not leaving again. He couldn’t possibly.

It's like she can sense it, the desperation and loneliness in the kiss, he's letting it all out and she's not shying away. Chloe is accepting it all, taking it on so he doesn't have to continue feeling trapped in those feelings. Of course she's not quite sure what's going on; he was under some idea that he was still in Hell? And Ella is from their "future"?

Does any of that matter? Absolutely not.

Chloe leans up to press for something deeper, mouth opening under his, tongue seeking. Both hands hug his jaw to hold him there then, to savour the taste of him, to reach for more. Without thinking, she takes a step back, and takes him with her not wanting to break the contact, a moan sounding low in her throat.

Lucifer makes a surprised - yes, surprised sort of noise in his own throat as she deepens the kiss, his hands gripping tighter at her waist. Not that he's not eager, too! He is very eager, but it's becoming clear that yes, the Detective must be from this near-future Miss Lopez was telling him about when he would come back and they would finally, finally be together.

He will follow wherever she leads, so long as he can keep touching her, even ignoring that pesky voice inside him sneering you don't deserve this, you'll only ruin her.

Actually, it's not so difficult to ignore that voice when she's doing these things to him.

The grip at her waist is nice and tight, spurs her on. Chloe can't help but try to angle her hips to press to his then, another low sound rumbling in her throat. He's here, he's alive, and he's kissing her back with the same eagerness she's feeling. The same need driving them both. God, was she going to really lose him? What if this is the last moment she'll have with him? The last chance, in this weird place on this ship?

What if Ella was wrong?

Fingers slipping off his jaw, they drop down between them to find buttons. She knows that he'll follow her lead, and so while she's working at the buttons on his clothing (his vest? shirt?) she's beginning to walk backward to where the double bed is in her cabin, not breaking the kiss. If only to nip at his lip, anyway.

[ It is new and surprising and amazing and somehow he doesn’t trust this at all when she starts dragging him in the direction of the bed, when she starts plucking at his clothes. They’ve spent so long dancing around each other, he honestly didn’t think this would ever happen!

And in Hell, well. In Hell there was nothing but shattered hopes and despair. ]

Chloe - [ He says her name to get her attention, into the kisses, he’s not pulling away or putting a stop to this - just dragging a hand through her hair and attempting to meet her eyes. ] Are you sure about this?

[ Here, now? In these circumstances? ]

[ Any time he says her name, not the nickname he’s kept for her all these years, but her actual name, it almost always works on grabbing her attention. His fingers are in her hair and she instinctively leans into his hand, eyes briefly closing. His question is heard and although their faces are still so close, Chloe lifts her eyes to his.

The very first time, there’d been no questions. No room for them. No hesitation. They both knew what they wanted and it had been the right moment, despite her questions and insecurities before. He’d simply offered his hand and she’d willingly taken it.

A small furrow appears between her brows; he’s not so sure? He shouldn’t have to ask. Maybe then it becomes more obvious, what he’d said earlier about being in Hell and somehow ending on the ship.

Chloe touched her fingers to the bared skin beneath his shirt collar as if to indicate him. Him, and then a small shake of her head, the furrow deepening in question as she tilts her head.

He’s not sure about this? You’re not sure?

How could she show him that this was exactly what she wanted? Or perhaps this wasn’t…her Lucifer? Oh, god, should they be sitting and having a talk instead? ]

[ In a moment of clarity, Lucifer realizes that he may be on the path to what Doctor Linda calls "self-sabotage" - again. The circumstances may be far from perfect - but when will they be? There may be questions that need to be answered, but one of them can't even speak right now.

But he knows this: he knows she wants him. Her pupils blown, her breath shallow, her heart rate up, her hands plucking at his clothes. Chloe clearly knows what she wants. And there is nothing, nothing Lucifer wants more than to give it to her. Whether he deserves it - her - or not.

In one smooth movement, he wraps his arms around her, picking her up like she weighs nothing at all, and carrying her to the bed with a sound that's a sort of half-moan, half-growl. He's done second-guessing. ]

[ Pulled up, feet leaving the ground, her legs automatically wrapped at his waist as she gave a soft hum of approval to what he’d decided on. Good — good. She’d been hoping things would go this way. In the time it takes for him to stride to the bed, Chloe doesn’t waste a precious second in getting back to the business of working open the small buttons of his vest, working then at the shirt buttons. Halfway through the hurried motions, she pauses long enough to shrug out of the denim jacket and let it drop to the ground, leaving her in a plain black tee.

Rather than move back to what she was doing before, her hands change direction and move to catch him by the jaw. To capture his mouth on a quiet moan, taking the lead again with the kiss, another deep one, seeking, needy.

At his back her feet are trying to kick and toe off her ankle boots, not at all worried that he’ll drop her; she knows how strong he is, knows that he could hold her up with one arm if he really wanted to. The perks of having a celestial for a lover. ]

[ It's like she knows - but she does, doesn't she? From what she and Miss Lopez have said, it seems that she's from his future - a future in which they have had sex.

It's a strange feeling, being almost envious that she's experienced this before, but he hasn't. Not that he's not fine with learning her, with throwing himself into this - what are the odds he'll even remember it whenever he gets tossed back to his own timeline? Back to Hell?

He pushes that thought aside - that way lies a major mood-killer, and he's got an eager, beautiful Detective kissing him hungrily. He's going to live in this moment, right now.

The bed isn't nearly as nice as the one in his penthouse, but he presses her down into it anyway, helping her by shrugging out of his jacket, vest, shirt. She's flushed, her chest rising and falling with her breaths, and he has to, he has to go in for another searing kiss, or he thinks he might just die. His hands find her waist, slide up her shirt, and he groans with the loss when he has to momentarily break contact again to get it up over her head.

He kisses her like he never wants to do anything else, ever again. ]

[ Somewhere along the way in the process of kicking off her boots, she’d lost a sock. The bedding is cold and smooth under her bare foot as it’s pressed down, legs widening only so far in her skinny jeans to take his weight. She lays there and doesn’t move, watching as he strips the upper layers to give her the wonderful sight of muscles and freckled skin. It’s no wonder, really, that’s she laying there flushed and her breaths panting.

Chloe bites down on her lip, fingers wanting to touch him, needing to span over the expanse of his chest and shoulders. As he’s dropping back down then for another kiss, his hands hot on her waist as they travel upward with her shirt, her moan, though muffled, is sharp. Now he’s in better reach and now she can fulfill that need to touch him, even if it’s to greedily plow both hands into dark hair and grip.

Wait, he’s pulling back? He’s left her in somewhat of a daze, or the kiss had, that she had to briefly wonder if something were wrong. Then her shirt is pulled off over her head, dirty blonde hair loose and falling at a shoulder, and she’s left in a black lace bra and jeans. Oh. Right. His mouth catches hers again to pick up where they’d left off, and her hands are back in his hair until an arm drapes over his shoulder and her fingers push down between his shoulder blades to feel muscle and hard lines.

She wants so badly to be able to say his name, moan it into his ear, knows what that does to him. Unfortunately, there won’t be any of that for who knows how long. ]

moving it here

this year’s love; closed;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

like_a_virgin_-_madonna.mp3

RUDE (but accurate)

😉✨

no subject

no subject

time to update the warnings...unless we time-skip? i'm fine either way!

what’s a time skip? 😉😉😉

no subject