Chapter 7: The First Touch
The address led to a hacienda-style apartment complex clinging to the hillside, paint bleached pale by the sun. Lucifer stood at the door, the manila envelope containing his new identity tucked under his arm like a shield. He’d changed into his only other pair of jeans and a dark t-shirt, both clean. It felt absurd, this nervousness. He’d rebuilt transmissions with less anxiety.
He knocked.
The door swung open and the chaos of Robert’s life spilled out—the thrum of a Pixies bassline, the smell of clove cigarettes and espresso, the visual cacophony of a lived-in space. Robert leaned in the doorway, barefoot, wearing worn corduroys and a tight black shirt. His eyes, bright and assessing, swept over Lucifer. “You’re punctual. I like that in a giant.”
“I’m a mechanic,” Lucifer said, stepping inside. “Timing is everything.”
The living room was exactly as the forger’s warning had implied: a trail. Every surface held evidence. Vinyl records formed tectonic plates on the floor. Scripts were stacked beside overfull ashtrays. A guitar rested against a couch buried under jackets and magazines. Concert posters for Jane’s Addiction and The Cure were tacked to the walls, their edges curling. A single lamp painted everything in warm, low light, deepening the shadows.
Robert moved to a turntable, lifted the needle. The sudden silence was louder than the music. “Drink? I have whiskey. Tequila. Something green and dubious a fan gave me.”
“Whiskey’s fine.”
Lucifer watched him move—a contained, kinetic energy in every gesture. Robert poured two fingers into a tumbler, no ice, and handed it over. Their fingers brushed. A spark, deliberate or accidental, Lucifer couldn’t tell.
“To Luciano Rossi,” Robert said, clinking his own glass against Lucifer’s. “And his impeccable timing.”
They drank. The whiskey was good, smoky, burning a path to Lucifer’s stomach. He could feel the gold of his own eyes tracking Robert as he flitted around the room, a restless bird.
“You settling in? With the paperwork, I mean.”
“It’s a start.” Lucifer placed the envelope on a small table. “It feels like wearing someone else’s clothes.”
“All the best parts of us do, at first.” Robert slumped into an armchair, drawing his knees up. “So, prophet. Now that you’re a real boy with a social security number… what’s next? You gonna warn me about more stock market crashes? Tell me who wins the World Series?”
“No.” Lucifer’s voice was quiet, firm. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Robert’s gaze was sharp, no longer playful. “You show up. You say you’re from some fucked-up future. You look at me like… like you’re seeing a ghost and a sunrise at the same time. It’s disarming.” He took a long swallow. “So disarm me. Tell me the point.”
The air thickened. Lucifer set his glass down. “The point is you’re standing at a crossroads. I’ve seen the map. I know where some of the roads lead. The bad ones are… really bad, Robert. And the good ones are so bright they’ll burn your retinas. I’m not here to push you down one. Just to say… the cliffs are closer than they look. And you don’t have to drive so fast toward them.”
Robert stared into his whiskey. The bravado seeped out of him, leaving something younger, more fragile. “The cliffs are always there. Speed is just a way to forget the drop.”
“I know.” Lucifer took a step closer. “But you don’t have to forget. You can just… look at the view instead.”
Robert looked up. The distance between them collapsed in that look. He uncoiled himself from the chair, a slow, deliberate movement. He closed the space, stopping just a breath away, tilting his head back to hold Lucifer’s gaze. The humor was gone, replaced by a raw, hungry curiosity.
“What do you see when you look at me?” Robert’s voice was a whisper.
“A man who feels everything too much. And thinks the only way to carry it is to set it on fire.”
Robert’s breath hitched. He reached up, his hands sliding slowly up the solid plane of Lucifer’s chest, over the shoulders, until they cupped his face. His thumbs traced the high cheekbones. “And you’re here to be a fire blanket.”
“I’m here,” Lucifer said, the words leaving him in a rough exhale, “because I couldn’t stay away.”
Robert pulled him down.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a collision. Robert’s mouth was hot, insistent, tasting of whiskey and cloves. It was a demand for proof, for sensation, for now. Lucifer’s control, the careful wall he’d built, shattered. He groaned, a deep, visceral sound, and his own hands came up to fist in the back of Robert’s shirt, holding him tight as if he might vanish. The kiss deepened, turned filthy, all tongues and teeth and shared breath. Robert bit Lucifer’s lower lip, sucking it, and Lucifer growled, pushing him back a step until Robert’s shoulders hit the wall beside a faded Silkwood poster.
Robert laughed, a breathless, wild sound. “Fuck. Yes. Like that.”
He fumbled with the hem of Lucifer’s shirt, yanking it up. Lucifer broke the kiss long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside. Robert’s hands were everywhere then, mapping the broad expanse of his chest, the defined ridges of his stomach, his blunt fingers tweaking a nipple, scraping through the dark trail of hair that led down. Lucifer shuddered.
“My turn,” Lucifer murmured, and made quick work of Robert’s black shirt, buttons pinging onto the hardwood. He stared at the lean, toned body revealed—pale skin, a hint of ribs, the dark swirl of hair on his chest. He bent his head and licked a stripe up Robert’s sternum, then took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.
“Jesus Christ,” Robert gasped, his head thumping back against the wall. His fingers tangled in Lucifer’s black hair, holding him there. “You’re fucking huge everywhere, aren’t you?”
Lucifer didn’t answer with words. He kissed down Robert’s stomach, tasting salt and skin, his tongue dipping into his navel. He unsnapped the corduroys, peeled them and the underwear beneath down in one rough motion. Robert’s cock sprang free, already fully hard, curving up against his stomach. Lucifer admired it for a second—long, thick, flushed an angry red—before wrapping his hand around the base and sinking his mouth down onto the head.
Robert cried out, a ragged, obscene sound. “Oh, fuck! Oh, your mouth…”
Lucifer took him deeper, using his tongue, his hand working what he couldn’t swallow. He loved the weight, the taste, the frantic, jerking movements of Robert’s hips. He wanted to devour him, to imprint himself here. He sucked harder, using just a hint of teeth on the upstroke.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Robert chanted, pulling at his hair. “I’m gonna come. I want you to fuck me. I need it. Now.”
Lucifer released him with a wet pop, looking up. Robert’s face was flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes black with need. Lucifer stood, his own erection straining painfully against his jeans. Robert dropped to his knees, making quick work of the button and fly, freeing him. Robert’s eyes widened.
“Okay,” he breathed, a mix of awe and lust. He leaned forward and licked the broad head, a slick, teasing stroke that made Lucifer’s knees almost buckle. “Okay. I see the challenge.” He took the tip into his mouth, humming, his tongue swirling.
“Robert,” Lucifer warned, his voice guttural. “If you keep doing that…”
Robert pulled off, grinning wickedly. “Bedroom. Now. Before I change my mind and just have you ruin me right here against the wall.”
They stumbled through a doorway, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses, shedding the rest of their clothes. The bedroom was darker, just streetlight filtering through a single window. The bed was unmade, sheets tangled. Robert pushed Lucifer down onto it and straddled his hips, reaching for a small bottle on the nightstand. He poured slick liquid into his palm, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s.
“You ever done this?” Robert asked, his hand stroking Lucifer’s cock, spreading the lube.
“Yes. But not… not with you.”
“Good.” Robert rose up on his knees, positioning himself. He guided Lucifer’s cock to his hole, pressing the head against him. He was tight, clenching. “Then this is the only one that counts.”
He sank down, slowly, a breathtaking, burning inch at a time. His face contorted, a beautiful mask of concentration and pleasure. Lucifer gripped his hips, holding still, letting Robert set the pace. The heat was unbelievable, the tight, velvet squeeze stealing the air from his lungs.
“Fuck, you’re big,” Robert gasped, fully sheathed. He rocked, a small, experimental movement. “Oh, God. Yes. Move. Please, Lucifer, move.”
Lucifer obeyed. He thrust up, a deep, rolling motion that knocked a sob from Robert’s throat. He set a punishing rhythm, each drive hitting the perfect spot. The bed slammed against the wall in a steady, rhythmic crash. Robert rode him, his own cock leaking between them, his head thrown back, tendons standing out in his neck.
“Harder,” Robert begged, his voice broken. “Come on, give it to me. I’m not glass.”
Lucifer flipped them over in one powerful motion, pressing Robert into the mattress. He hooked Robert’s legs over his shoulders, bending him almost in half, and pushed back in. This new angle was deeper, brutal. Robert screamed, his nails digging bloody tracks into Lucifer’s back.
“Right there! Fuck, right there, you giant bastard!” Robert babbled, his eyes rolling back. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna…”
Lucifer reached between them, his big hand fisting Robert’s slick cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Three pulls was all it took. Robert came with a strangled shout, hot stripes painting his stomach and chest, his body clamping down around Lucifer in pulsating waves. The intense, milking pressure threw Lucifer over the edge. He drove in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and roared as his own orgasm tore through him, spilling deep inside, wave after shocking wave.
He collapsed, catching his weight on his forearms, their sweat-slicked chests heaving together. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant wail of a siren down in the canyon.
Robert’s hand came up, weakly brushing the damp hair from Lucifer’s forehead. His eyes were hazy, sated. “So,” he whispered, a ghost of his earlier smirk touching his lips. “That’s one cliff we drove right off.”
Lucifer, still buried inside him, still trembling, kissed him softly. It was an answer. It was a surrender. It was the end of the road he’d tried to build and the beginning of the fall he’d always known was coming.