#c:saveit ft.lukas

[rennisaturate]

she sucked her teeth, the soft click of her tongue followed by a huff of disbelief and shake of her head at his upset with her words. of course he had to find issue with her thought process. sariyah hated every moment of this, her head reminding her firmly again why entertaining him was a bad idea in the first place. " 'cause girls like me are toys f' men like you. steppin' stones to your trophy wives or pit stops t' the next fun time. not t' take to dinner, or care about, or want for anythin' else but to get off with. that's jus' how this all works... " because if she started expecting more, wanting it even the slightest bit, all it would be was setting herself up for easily avoidable disappointment and heartbreak.

it would've been different maybe if they'd met anywhere else but at the club. she didn't sleep with patrons. it was a fast track to complicating things in all the wrong ways, but he had been so hard to pass up. breaking one of her most steadfast rules would really only work for someone like lucifer. a likely once in a lifetime hookup, how could she ever say no and not wish later she hadn't?? lucky her to be living out the one outcome she wouldn't have ever bet on...

the hastiness of his ' i'm sorry ' made sariyah lightly recoil and sniffle, cursing herself in her head. no, no, don't cry, don't you fucking cry. her lashes were fluttering, willing her eyes to stay dry and partially to avoid his gaze, sure it'd only make it harder. but she could always feel his eyes on her, no matter where they were or what they were doing, up close or across the room. in her periphery she caught him reaching for her, and a single tear broke free as her eyes met with cerulean again. part of her thought she should tell him no, but she didn't really want to, so instead she closed her eyes, his touch a comfort she'd yearned for so badly it was nearly unbearable. as his voice met her ears once more, something warm and soft curled snugly around her rib cage and nestled itself in her chest.

her hands that had been gripping her coat tightly closed loosened a bit and she sighed, the pass of his thumb over her lip making a shiver travel pointedly down her spine. it shouldn't take so little, but suddenly the thought of refusing him felt as if she'd be tearing something vital out of her. even still, a small part of her was still bracing itself. forgiveness was so close for her, but not where it needed to be just yet, and she wouldn't say she forgave him if she didn't fully mean it. " i know... " she murmured, her voice quiet and froggy, as close as she could let herself get for the time being.

she nodded slowly at his offer to take her home, careful not to move too far from his hand. " okay... let's not walk. my feet are killin' me anyway, " which was true. she hadn't had many moments to sit all night due to how busy it'd been, and her body always ached when she got off work, no matter how used to it she was. her calves and thighs left with fewer bruises as time went on until she managed to be good at avoiding them, but tonight she could feel one forming on her shin where she'd hit a pole just a little too hard. the quicker she could get into a hot bath the better.

     𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, then, wasn't it? This broken-record of lovelorn waltz. Lucifer, and his dismissive heart, of which tried everything it could to sabotage the very need he was starved of. If he were any less of a prideful man, might he realize that Sariyah was not an easily vexed woman, and might he realize how lucky he was that she was even speaking to him at this point, and had not written him off entirely the moment he stepped out of the limo. But he was not; Lukas was sick with pride, down to the bone, and it seeped its way through every genuine word that could have been mustered from his chest. No, of course, he could not be more honest than he just had, because to do so would mean Sariyah would get too close, and not just close enough, where he could withstand the danger of her love. In his mind, he was already imagining the two of them cuddled up on the couch, watching the next episode of their show, and this conversation was just a hurdle to that. Why could he not give a proper apology? Why could he not explain himself?

     "Figured this out the first time?" he asked, pivoting their conversation to hinge on her words, which drove spear into his heart. He did feel the pain of it—he was not totally devoid of passion. The implication that she'd been right, the first time, when she'd given up on him, it echoed something searing and untouched; something that had been the reoccurring theme in his life that he refused, intrinsically, to process. Instead, he took offense. He took blatant offense, and his features hardened with it, and he huffed, and looked away from her. Only for a moment, before his gaze sought out hers again, out of yearning, again. "Why would you say that? I've never felt unsure about you." Pointing fingers. Placing blame. Deflecting, deflecting, deflecting. "I still don't. I just needed some goddamn time, Sari."

     His features softened then, just slightly, in a forgiveness that was reserved in its hastiness solely for her. He'd learned quickly that it was difficult to stay angry with her. It was difficult to see the consequences of his actions, too, dressed upon her features. Shame, poisoning, consuming, it seeped its way down through Lucifer. Because perhaps she shouldn't—believe anything he said. He knew he was a goddamn liar. He knew it, and yet he felt this compulsion, to prove to her that he could be what she needed. That she, somehow, had made an honest man out of him. "I'm not... I needed time to figure out all of this, alright? I was overwhelmed. I turned off my phone. It was stupid, and I'm sorry."

     A moment passed, as he searched her gaze, for that coveted forgiveness he so desperately pined for. And then he lifted his fingers, in a momentary hesitation, a murmur of, "Can I?" before reaching forward to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. In his touch's retreat, his thumb brushed at her cheekbone, and then palm found her cheek, where he cupped her face into his hand gently. "I'm not good with these things... I know I hurt you, and I shouldn't have ignored you, and I'm sorry." The words, this time, fell from his lips with an authenticity, calmer, serious. His thumb brushed along her lesser lip, gentle in its pursuit. "Let me take you home. Please? You have to be tired... Shouldn't walk in the cold alone." A pause. "If you don't want a ride, at least let me walk you home. I hate when you walk home this late."

[rennisaturate]

from the moment sariyah had decided to go into this work, into stripping, she knew at the heart of it, there was no one she could really trust. she and her sister, zinnia, only had each other through all of it. sure, she liked the other girls at the club, their boss was as nice a boss they could hope for, didn't ask for too much, looked out for them when it suited her, but sariyah's real and true trust was something she held very very close and did not give without a very strict trial basis. lucifer was the first person sariyah had met in a long time that trust seemed to flow from her without even her own permission. it was scary, but how do you fight something that felt written into the fiber of you??

she'd cursed her heart when she'd begun to realize she'd been taking his word at face value. when he told her he'd come she believed him, when he said he wanted her, her usual doubt lead her judgement less and less with the weeks that'd gone by, when he'd touched her, when he was inside her, imagining anyone else ever doing so felt farther and farther away... then he'd disappeared. it felt like taking a sure step and having the ground crumble and fall away beneath you. it'd taken so much self control not to come barging to his own front door, because it didn't make sense. at least, she didn't want it to. disappointment in herself and her shift in her expectations kept her from ambushing him. why had she let herself expect anything but this?? to be dropped unceremoniously. he was lucifer goddamn vale. how important was some dancer to him really?? it was her own fault for expecting. for hoping. for falling.

she was trying to find a chip somewhere in him, something she could poke and make the facade fall away. she found that some people could be good beggars, could say " baby please " down on their knees so convincingly, and still bamboozle you. but a chip was hard for her to find when he was standing right in front of her, unhelped by the fact that very bit of her ached with having missed him. the sharp chill of the night air made her shiver and she pulled her coat tighter around herself. " yanno, 's fucked up 'cause i thought i had this all figured out the first time... an' then you had to go an' mess with it, " she shook her head and blinked back the sudden push of tears that blurred her vision. " how am i... " she paused to breathe, but it couldn't stop the tightening in her chest, her airy voice wavering. " how am i supposed to believe anything you say to me right now?? radio silence, an' now suddenly you pull up on me, drunk, an' tellin' me you feel... what?? what do you feel?? "

     𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑾𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫—over—it seems to hang amongst the cooled night air like some poison, and Lucifer inhales it deep and steady, and feels the density of its seriousness in the very core of his being. And if it was—over—he would have no one but himself to blame. The man, of course, understood that in some fundamental and unconscious way, but to the Narcissus, he could imagine nothing but a future where over was not the end result here. A large hand went dragging through dark curls in a sort of huffing desperation, to help her see, that his silence hadn't meant he was finished with her at all. It was... a manifestation of his emotional avoidance. How he could not stand the heat of her fire, and somehow he both wanted to be consumed by the flames and stomp them out. A conundrum raged on within him, and he spoke now without really having any idea of where his absolutes stood. Would he change his mind later? Was she right on the money?

     "That's not—I didn't change my mind about you, Sari," he tried, his gaze trying to search hers. Perhaps it was a moment of humility, or more likely just clarity, that had the man catch himself before being too pushy. "I'm... I'm sorry that I didn't text you back. And, I'm sorry that I stood you up. And I..." he paused, gave a little shake of his head before he continued. "I don't know how to do any of this, baby. I've never... felt this way. Before." He finally confessed, his lips pursing as the vulnerability seeped out of his demeanor. How strange, a man usually so poised and unyielding, and Lucifer found himself wide-eyed and tense with worry now, worry that he had just opened himself up entirely to having his own heart ripped out of his chest. "That's why I didn't answer." His hand met his beard, and he palmed at it in self soothing, as he ducked his gaze. It was so much harder, now, to face the abandonment he'd inflicted, with her doe eyes on his face. Shame constricted in his abdomen about it all, and the businessman silently chided himself for ignoring her in the first place.

[rennisaturate]

truly, sariyah had written him off after the third day with no word, no single message back to her when she'd tried. the message felt loud and clear to her: don't bother. and she'd felt like a fucking idiot. she knew, knew good and well from the first time they interacted that there was no way he was actually coming to her for something real. she was a toy to him, something to fuck and forget about. her instincts had rarely been wrong, so she'd ghosted him. because it didn't matter.

but then he had to ruin it. he had to come looking for her, asking for her. he had started to make her think that maybe this was different, maybe he actually cared about her... why'd he have to do that?? why'd he have to stoke a flame in her only to stomp it out?? cruel was the only word she could conjure for it. just mean. and she'd cried so much. how pathetic was that?? she didn't like being stuck on people when they hurt her, so every day since she'd been trying to erase him from her mind.

now there he was and she didn't want to look at him. he called her " baby " asked her " please " in that goddamn voice and a wound she'd been hellbent on closing tore wide open. god, how fucking unfair... " what's there t' make up?? you made your choice, i accepted it. 's over, " she huffed, her eyes shifting over his face briefly before he caught her gaze. why'd he have to do that?? look at her like that?? he was drunk and it was so obvious. was that all this was?? a drunken bout of guilt?? something he would simply brush off when he was sober again?? she shook her head and looked away again. " why?? so you can tell me you sorry then change your mind again later?? nah... i can't do that shit, "

     𝑵͟𝑬͟𝑾͟ ͟𝒀͟𝑶͟𝑹͟𝑲͟ 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑴𝑺 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 the cheats and the sinners, and, lord, he knows that he is one. Lucifer is running on empty, wandering the too-big-for-its-own-good Apple of America in a tinted black limousine. His fine pressed dress shirt has found itself disheveled and unbuttoned not once, not twice, but three down by the time the clock hits midnight. His driver is irritated with him. He is irritated with his driver. Still, he demands some impromptu tour of Manhattan, at midnight extending into two am, and then three. That poor old bastard driving Lucifer Vale's limo like some glorified taxi driver. The man who had earned himself the title of The Devil from industry alone now found himself a mess, in the back seat of all that damned wealth, disheveled and drinking and thinking about her.

     God, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Why the hell couldn't he stop thinking about her? He'd embarked on this late-night-escapade as a means of coping; of avoiding. Because Lucifer Vale, the Devil of New York, the "Porn King", he had been brought to his knees by this dancer. And he might think to himself, how dare she? How dare she weasel her way into his mind and his soul and take root there? Lucifer had gotten so much more than he bargained for with her. At first it was supposed to be one night, of mindless and rough fun, and then he started pining, and then she... ghosted him. Him! He was so offended that anyone would decide he was not completely and wholly irresistible that it suddenly became his entire life's mission to prove to her that he was perfect for her. He needed to be. Be it compulsion, or love, he needed to be perfect for her. And then, in typical Lucifer fashion, when things started getting real... he fell off the face of the earth. Love was terrifying to him. Even the tiniest ghost of something that resembled it would send him running for the hills. And yet, here he was, showing up to the club like some lost puppy after all his avoiding and posturing was through. Ready to feel her warm embrace again. Ready to melt into her. Even a few days had been too long.

     Under the reigning moonlight, he stopped the antics to finally be a man, and show his face again. Though, truly, his main motivator was yearning. He'd missed her. His normally so confident demeanor had taken on a shameful relaxing, and his cerulean eyes held a hue of desperation in them. Because he couldn't lose her. He'd decided right then and there—he just couldn't lose her. "I'm... I'm sorry, Sariyah. Baby, please..." he paused, wracking his mind for some way to atone for his sudden absence. And then gestured over towards the limo. "Please. Let me make it up to you? Just..." The man huffed, and it sent his dark curls lifting and falling again out of his face. Lips puffy, complexion paled... he was very, very clearly drunk. "Please?" his gaze fell into hers, and held it securely. "I know you're tired. Five minutes, and then I'll drop you off at home, and you... never have to see me again, if you still don't want to."