Beach Olympics
Lucifer collapsed onto the bed, sweat-slick and panting. His wings had receded, leaving only a dull ache between his shoulder blades. Beside him, Ezra lay sprawled, her chest heaving, hair a wild tangle around her face.
"Fuck," Lucifer managed, eloquent as ever.
Ezra snorted, turning her head to look at him. "That's one word for it."
They lay in silence for a moment, catching their breath. Then Lucifer propped himself up on one elbow, a smirk playing at his lips. "So, who conquered who, you reckon?"
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "You grew horns and wings. I'd say I definitely drew out the devil in you."
"Ah, but who's the one who can barely move right now?"
"Bastard," Ezra muttered, but there was no heat in it. She reached out, tracing a finger along the line of his jaw. "You know this changes things, right?"
Lucifer caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Worried I'll go all evil overlord on you?"
"Please. I could take you."