The Ancient One was gone and the hospital was settling into its usual rhythm.
And Lucifer?
Lucifer was waiting.
He leaned casually against the entrance doors of Metro General, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, golden eyes flickering with thought.
How exactly was he supposed to approach Doctor Stephen Strange?
Lucifer Morningstar did not get nervous. That was beneath him. And yet, as he exhaled a slow curl of smoke, he had to admit there was a hint of uncertainty twisting in his chest.
Not hesitation. Not doubt.
Just… something strange.
(Fitting, really)
Then, the doors to the hospital slid open and there he was. Dr. Stephen Strange stepped out, still in his scrubs, looking utterly exhausted.
Lucifer had seen arrogance, precision, control when Strange was in his element.
But now?
Now he was just a man barely standing.
Strange yawned, rubbing at his eyes as he stepped onto the sidewalk. His movements were sluggish, his body on autopilot, his focus elsewhere—And then he stumbled mid yawn.
Lucifer reacted instantly, reaching out and catching him by the arm before he could fall. It wouldn't hurt. At most, Strange would dirty his pants. Still, Lucifer went in and grabbed him.
Smooth.
Strange startled violently, jerking upright, his entire body tensing and Lucifer immediately let go, raising both hands in a gesture of peace.
"Sorry about that," he said smoothly, his voice low, warm, laced with the barest hint of amusement. "Didn't want you to fall."
Strange blinked at him, still half-asleep, clearly processing while Lucifer tilted his head slightly.
"You okay, Mr….?"
Strange frowned, blinking slowly before answering, voice rough with exhaustion. "Strange. Stephen Strange."
Lucifer stared at him before he snorted. Hearing the name aloud was funnier than he expected.
"Sure, Mr. Strange," he said, lips curling.
Immediately, a flicker of indignation sparked in Strange's tired blue eyes.
"Dr. Strange," he corrected, the correction automatic, backed by sheer force of ego.
Lucifer's smirk widened.
Ah.
Even exhausted, even barely functioning, this man's pride remained intact.
It was adorable.
"Oh, of course," Lucifer purred, mockingly indulgent. "Dr. Strange."
Strange squinted at him, clearly debating whether or not to be irritated.
Lucifer found himself enjoying this immensely even if it was clear that Stephen Strange was not in the mood for games.
He was obviously exhausted, running on nothing but stubbornness and caffeine fumes, and now he had to deal with this.
"Listen," Strange grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I don't have time for this. I've had a long shift, and I'd rather not stand here having a—whatever the hell this is—with some random—"
He pulled his keys from his pocket, intending to end this interaction and go home… But Lucifer took the keys away from his hand.
Stephen blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Are you kidding me?" the doctor snapped, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he whipped around to glare at Lucifer, who was now twirling his keys between his fingers, too entertained for his own good.
"Oh, Doctor," he drawled, golden eyes practically sparkling with mischief. "Attempting to drive in your condition? Tsk, tsk. I simply cannot allow it."
Strange's jaw clenched.
"Give. Me. My. Keys."
Lucifer arched a brow, unfazed.
"And let you become another tragic case on an operating table?" he mused. "No, no. I'd rather not have your death on my conscience."
Stephen bristled.
"I can drive just fine."
Lucifer took one pointed look at him—at his bloodshot eyes, sluggish movements, and the way he had nearly fallen on his face minutes ago.
Then he gave him a flat, unimpressed look.
"Mm-hmm," he said, voice dripping with skepticism.
Strange scowled.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he snapped, reaching for his keys—
But Lucifer had already turned on his heel, pressing a button on the key fob.
A sleek, luxurious sports car in the parking lot flashed its lights.
Lucifer smirked. "Oh, very nice, Doctor."
Stephen, outraged, stalked after him. "Give me my damn keys!"
Lucifer hummed, walking toward the car as if it was already his.
"You know, Stephen," he mused, "it's really quite rude to refuse a kind gesture."
Stephen tried to grab the keys from his hand.
Lucifer effortlessly dodged him.
"Stop doing that!"
Lucifer chuckled, unlocking the car. "Now, now, let's not be ungrateful."
Strange, increasingly furious, moved to block the door.
Lucifer sighed dramatically.
"You truly are insufferable, aren't you?"
Stephen folded his arms. "Me? You're the one trying to steal my car!"
Lucifer gave him a delighted grin.
"Oh, no, Doctor. I'm merely chauffeuring you home."
Strange opened his mouth to argue—But Lucifer had already slid into the driver's seat.
"Coming?" he asked, voice silky smooth, eyes glinting.
Strange stared at him. Then he muttered, "What the fuck," yanked open the passenger door, and got in.
.
.
If this asshole was going to drive his car, he sure as hell wasn't leaving him alone in it. That was his first thought after entering. However, the man drove like a dream.
Not just well—flawlessly. Smooth, effortless movements. A perfect blend of precision and confidence, as if he owned the road itself and it simply bent to his will. Not a single jolt. Not a wasted motion.
It was infuriating.
Stephen Strange had expected recklessness—maybe even some disastrous display of ego-fueled showmanship—but no. He was annoyingly good at this.
Stephen slumped in his seat, glaring at him.
"You know," he said dryly, "if you were trying to prove a point, congratulations. I'm not dead yet."
The man smirked. "Yet."
Stephen sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Just drop me off."
He raised a brow, golden eyes flicking to him briefly.
"Ah," he mused, "but where would that be, Doctor?"
Stephen blinked.
Then his eyes narrowed.
"You want my address."
The madman smiled, all teeth and mischief. "Well, I could drive around aimlessly all night, but I doubt you'd appreciate that."
Stephen crossed his arms.
"Not giving it to you."
He heard a hum. "Stubborn."
Stephen shot him a pointed look. "You stole my car."
"Borrowed."
Stephen exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, but if nothing else, his reaction seemed to amuse him even more.
"Fine, then," he said easily. "If you refuse to tell me where you live, I suppose I'll just have to take you to my home."
Stephen frowned.
"… What?"
Before Stephen could protest, the man smoothly took a turn—Not toward Stephen's apartment, but to who knows where. Stephen's jaw tightened as he realized they were no longer anywhere near his neighborhood.
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Where are we going?"
"Why, to my lovely new residence, of course."
Stephen glared. "That's not my home."
He chuckled, golden eyes glinting. "Well, as you didn't want to share, I feel obliged to do this."
Stephen let out a frustrated breath, gripping the seat as he turned fully toward his source of stress.
"You kidnapped me."
His kidnapper sighed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, don't be so dramatic."
Stephen scowled. "You stole my car. You ignored my protests. You refused to take me home."
He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. "Hmm. Yes, that does sound rather bad when you put it that way."
"Because it is."
Another smirk.
"Relax, Doctor. You'll have a very comfortable place to rest soon."
Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose.
He was too tired for this.
The man, of course, was thoroughly entertained.
.
.
Stephen was suspicious.
Lucifer could feel it, see it in the way Strange kept flicking sharp glances his way, his exhausted yet ever-calculating mind trying to piece together just what the hell was happening.
It was adorable.
Especially when they started approaching the more affluent part of the city.
Stephen frowned slightly, his gaze shifting from the luxury apartments lining the streets back to Lucifer, then back to the cityscape outside.
His brows furrowed deeper.
Lucifer smirked. "Something the matter, Doctor?"
Strange's fingers twitched on his lap. "Where exactly are we going?"
Lucifer let out a mock-offended gasp.
"Have you not been listening?" he mused, smoothly pulling into the private parking lot of an extravagant high-rise building. "We're going to my home, darling."
Stephen's jaw tightened.
He stared at the towering building, then at the well-dressed doormen, then back at Lucifer.
His suspicion deepened.
Lucifer, of course, was having the time of his life.
"Come now," he purred, opening his door. "No need to sulk."
Stephen didn't move.
Lucifer grinned, stepping out and walking to his side of the car, opening the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish.
"You're free to go," he said lightly, leaning against the doorframe, eyes glinting with amusement.
"But you could come inside. Have a drink. A meal. Perhaps even a good night's sleep?"
Stephen's stare was flat.
"I'm not hungry."
Lucifer arched a brow, unconvinced.
"Are you sure? I could give you the finest steak, cooked to absolute perfection," he said, voice dripping with temptation. "Decadent desserts, rare wines, perhaps even a perfectly tailored meal just for you."
Stephen rolled his eyes, utterly unimpressed.
Lucifer smirked.
"And if none of that tempts you, I do believe I have an exquisite pasta dish waiting to be cooked, made with the finest pancetta, rich parmesan—"
Growl.
Stephen froze.
Lucifer beamed.
Stephen's jaw clenched, his ears reddening slightly, but his expression remained haughtily unimpressed.
"That was coincidence."
Lucifer chuckled, delighted.
"Oh, darling, there's no need to be shy," he purred. "A hungry doctor is a dangerous thing. Surely, for the good of your patients, you must eat?"
Stephen exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Lucifer tilted his head, eyes roving over him, noting the way Strange tried to maintain his dignity despite his exhaustion, hunger, and clear irritation.
The sheer determination to look nonchalant—the straightened shoulders, the sharp look—despite the red staining his cheeks… Lucifer found it utterly charming.
Oh, this was too good.
"So?" Lucifer grinned. "Shall we?"
Stephen let out a long, deep sigh.
Then, finally, he stepped out of the car, muttering, "One meal. That's it."
Lucifer smirked, victorious.
"Of course," he said smoothly, leading the way inside.
.
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