whatwas | (no subject)

The sea--?

It's hard, even for him, to be fully coherent right now.

Mine.

That doesn't really follow. But. She drives herself down hard, with a last wail.

And he follows soon after, holding her tight against him, shuddering. His hand reaches down to trace his name in her foot, making sure it's still there.

You're sure about this?

Not the foot, of course. Everything.

It's there, firm and raised under her skin. She cries for him, tears starting up again, nodding and trying to rock herself into a last, uncomfortable, raw orgasm.

He manages to stir himself enough to help her, and when she does come he'll just let her lie on top of him until she decides to move.

Given the wrenching scream he gets out of her, it won't be for quite some time. Break just braces herself up over him and tries to breathe.

"All right- you- hurry."

He flips them over so she doesn't have to try to balance, and lets himself just focus on fucking her until he's senseless. There's a mindless desperation to him at some moments, but by the time he hits orgasm there isn't a thought in his head that can be translated.

Never mind one in hers. She's wailing, hanging on to him, riding it out with wild sobs, clutching his shoulders for all she's worth.

The tears don't stop, even after he does.

He brushes her hair back--it's the same as when she's male--and murmurs to her softly.

"Xerxes...."

"I'm sorry!"

She nearly wails, hanging on tight.

"I'm so sorry, I just-!"

"Sorry?"

He lets her nails dig in, kisses her--mostly her neck.

"Why are you sorry?"

She can't stop crying. Really, genuinely, reduced to tears. All of the tension of the break up, the lingering pain of him killing her-

thinking about that opens the floodgates. Him hating her so badly he'd killed her. Not in a quick snap, either, no broken neck and darkness, a slow, agonizing, death by peeled soul.

He sees it then, and it strangles the faintest sound from him.

It hadn't been about hate--not exactly, not all. It had been helplessness, fear. Inability to imaging her dying on the other side. A refusal to let anyone hurt her but him--the same way that he had loved Gabriel so fiercely and still been able to drive a sword through his heart.

He doesn't realize how sick that is, of course. Lucifer still doesn't even realize he's evil.

"I never wanted to lose you," he whispered. The moment he'd thought she was dead, the despair had nearly swallowed him back up. He can't share that with her; he offers just a glimpse, the way he would try to explain Hell.

Break isn't really able to articulate anything in return, to acknowledge or accept what he's said, forgive him or even think about it.

She's still stuck trying to process the pain, feeling like her heart is being ripped out of her chest. Maybe wary of him- but not able to pull away, just frozen in a sort of agonized betrayal. The saddest part is she loves him enough to stay, even if there isn't an apology. But God Almighty, it hurts her.

It's perhaps for the best Lucifer hasn't offered one yet. All his apologies come out as accusations. But he does learn, and learn quickly.

"I will never--" All of it. Everything about it. He won't let that happen again.

At least he's good at keeping promises.

She knows that. So when he promises, she trusts him utterly, nodding, putting her arms around his waist and holding him against her body.

And finally, a shuddery, unsteady apology:

"I'm sorry I made you want to leave."

"I'm sorry I made you doubt your place."

She answers, reaching up to trail a fingertip over his bottom lip.

"If you asked me to, I would- but I love you because you do not ask."

"That isn't the only reason."

He doesn't need her to confirm that. There are a lot of people who wouldn't ask her to choose. There are also a lot of people who would be much, much easier to live with, to know, to allow into the nooks and crannies of your life.

"We know better things than we did this morning."

"Nothing is the 'only reason.'"

She reminds him, stretching out, with a shuddering breath. She paws at her eyes, then her nose.

"I'll do better to be sure you know, though. From now on."

"I usually do know."

All he has to do is look, really. But yes, there are moments of doubt, of bitter jealousy.

"The room made things trickier."

"You have to remember now."

Hand resting over his stomach.

"I do."

He strokes her cheek.

"Every detail, now."

"We're making offspring. They'd shatter, having their parents do something like that."

"We're going to have a girl."

He knows things like this. He knows what she'll look like if they do keep her. He knows she will almost certainly make a painting for Break out of chocolate and vanilla pudding and her own small hands.

"And you're right. She'd never know what to do."