Lucifer Morningstar (
my_own_advocate) wrote2024-10-27 10:48 am
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Deck of the Cape Rouge, Sunday Afternoon
This certainly had been an emotionally eventful week, hadn't it? For the first time since Duke... exploded... Lucifer found himself in a decent mood, sleeping in to just about noon before cooking himself up a ridiculous breakfast.
Then there was coffee, and a still-somewhat-asleep Devil wandering onto the deck with a large mug that read 'Nail Satan' and a blanket slung over his shoulder. He sat down, facing the boardwalk, and stretched his legs out.
Sigh. A content one, for once. Not entirely without underlying strain, still, but close enough.
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Then there was coffee, and a still-somewhat-asleep Devil wandering onto the deck with a large mug that read 'Nail Satan' and a blanket slung over his shoulder. He sat down, facing the boardwalk, and stretched his legs out.
Sigh. A content one, for once. Not entirely without underlying strain, still, but close enough.
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"When I said it'd be nice if we could all get into the mood for one again, you said Duke would like one," he pointed out. "Whereas I meant all of us."
He put the bottle down.
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Boardwalk, so interesting.
She took another sip.
"I know you two have been working things out," she added. Softer, or at least more quiet. "It could keep the ball rolling on that."
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Octavia just seemed so ever so subtly off lately. And it was going on for long enough that even his unshakeable faith that she'd talk to him eventually if she needed it was... getting a touch shakey.
"But I believe that ball will continue rolling regardless."
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Guess they didn't need to talk about a vacation, then. See how that worked out?
This time, the sip was a much longer one.
"How has it been?"
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"Duke and I?" he asked. "Well, so far, between all the talking and the sex."
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That part? 100% right from the heart honest.
It sounded it, to boot.
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He sipped his coffee thoughtfully.
"We're not there yet, wherever 'there' is," he said. "But I believe at least the hurt feelings have fallen from our eyes, which makes it much easier to find each other."
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His knee seemed like an okay enough compromise.
"I think it scared me." Now her voice really was soft. "How you both blew up."
(That much she could see. How it had contributed to everything else she'd been feeling in the past few weeks, not so much.)
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As if that had made any real difference.
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He twisted the mug around in his hands. Looked at it.
"I didn't mean to endanger your safe space."
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She didn't put any stress on the 'our'. But there was an implication of it all the same.
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He sipped his coffee. Thinking.
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She raised her own cup for another sip. There weren't many left.
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"Octavia," he said. "I made you feel unsafe by 'having a screaming match' in our home. And I am deeply sorry."
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She'd been looking at his knee this entire time. Now, she slid her free hand onto his leg.
Palm up, an offer.
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Inside their home, anyway.
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"We are fixing it," he promised.
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And her voice sounded just a little more shaky, as she said, "Good."
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And then.
"... It's Sunday."
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Soft, but apprehensive, but lost.
Searching.
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"Octavia?" he tried.
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