THE RAIN HAS LIGHTENED in the early hours of the morning. Stray droplets slip down the slightly frosted glass of the window. The warmth of the electric heater whooshing on full fights to rid the tiny bachelor apartment of the lingering chill that's set in from lack of occupancy for the last six months. The heat of the summer is still in full swing, but the stormy weather these last few days has brought the temperature down significantly.

Maybe all the rain and dreariness are an omen. The ache that won't abate in his gut tells him it is. He can smell the petrichor in the air from the slightly open window. He swears there's something else there beneath the dreaded aroma of death that clings to this damned city.  

Whatever it is has his instincts on edge.

There's a creak of the floorboards, followed by a gentle caress of fingers on his upper back. He hums appreciatively, the touch doing more to heal the hurt he's carrying than any whiskey bottle.

He places his cigarette between his lips and lets it bob as he says, "This is shit, I know, but it's temporary until the agents are off our backs."

"Yes," Asha says softly. "I like this place. Do not worry." Her small hand slides over his shoulder and to his cheek, applying coaxing pressure for him to turn.

The apartment has a bedroom, a kitchen that he's made sure is stocked, and a four-piece bathroom. It's functional, but it's a safe house through and through. He's kept this as a contingency for years. He pays the rent to the landlord and visits every so often to make sure the place doesn't have squatters and to turn the heat on in the winter so the pipes don't freeze.

He doesn't want to leave her here of all places, but it's better than being in the thick of the fighting. The Pancake Express attack was too close for his comfort. Anyway, there's Wi-Fi here, and she has a laptop, so she can entertain herself plenty. It's not the best neighbourhood, but she has a pistol and knows how to use it. He taught her years ago. She'll be fine.

And he's only a call away. He can displace here in seconds.

He plucks the cigarette from his lips so she doesn't burn her fingers and blows the last wisps of smoke from his lungs before squashing the lit tip on the paint-chipped window frame. He'll clean it up before he leaves in a few hours.

He closes the window before turning with a soft smile that rises as a pair of soft palms settle on his cheeks. Asha's intense almond eyes flicker over his face, and every graze of her gaze leaves a shiver across his skin.

"My heart?"

Lucas lays his hands over hers. He's pretty sure he knows what her ambiguous question is asking, but he chooses to ignore the concern on her beautiful face. "You'll be alright here, alone?"

Asha nods. "I think so, yes."

She's been having fewer visions. He knows the thought of the unknown scares her. She's been having difficulty sleeping and has begun to question her every decision.

He has a theory.

It was never Kane's mistake in the bathroom that messed everything up. Maybe, Asha stopped believing in the future she'd been chasing. Due to that, whatever her gifts come from, have begun to stop answering. She had the tap on full, and now it's trickling, giving her glimpses but nothing like before.

In truth, whatever the reason, he's relieved, despite everything. He's seen her fall to madness when her reality began to slip. Past and present melding. She can start living for today instead of tomorrow. He should do the same, but it's easier said than done.

Asha's hands slip from his. She takes a gentle hold of his wrists and tugs him with her towards the bed. He knows what she wants. Not just what's making him hot beneath his jacket. There's a pleading in her gaze, beneath the glaze of desire. 

He was fully intending to give her a goodbye that'd leave her satisfied until he returned in a few days. He's not so sure about this, however.

Lucas lets her unzip his jacket and push it down his shoulders. "Love..."

He grins a little when she shushes him, moving her hands to his belt. Brat. As she unfastens the button on his jeans, the fucked man he keeps shackled deep down when he's with her enjoys her cheekiness. And if she were anyone else, he'd show her how much he'd appreciate breaking her of it. But she's small and fragile, and even if his hands are scarred and his heart is cold, he won't hurt her.

Never her.

"I don't know if I can," Lucas admits gruffly, pulling the hem of his shirt over his head. "I'm not..." Here they go. He's been holding off telling her this. He grazes his fingertips across her exposed collarbone, calluses catching on her soft skin. "Something happened."

Asha presses flush with his chest, and the heat and slide of her bare skin nearly make him forget all his protests. She lays a palm on his cheek. "What? Tell me, please."

Her asking is strange. She always knows everything, but now she's looking at him with pleading eyes. He's sure that if he doesn't tell her the truth, the tentative trust Asha's having to learn anew will snap and splinter.

Lucas takes his fingers to the tiny buttons on her rosy satin shirt. "I did—nearly did something terrible." He gently pulls the fabric down her slim arms and appreciates that she decided not to wear a bra.

He stays silent until he's unfastened her jeans, pulls them down tenderly, and she's standing in front of him, clad in only lacy black underwear. She looks good—really good. He often wonders if she knows how beautiful she is. She could have anyone she wishes, but she has never shown a desire to have anyone else.

"Reid..." Lucas watches her expression closely, but her concern doesn't morph to hurt, so he continues, "He told me to stop, to get off...I didn't until he pushed me away."

He has the urge to scream. He hates that he can't control himself and try, really try, and be the man Reid deserves. But there's a roar in his chest when he's close enough to touch Reid that he's never felt with Asha or anyone before; possessiveness and want in every respect.

He's an addict, and those blue eyes are his drug, and they have been for seven years.

"You aren't fucked, Lucas."

"I am," Lucas says, laughing. She rarely curses, and when she does, it's always cute. He tucks her hair behind her pierced ear before cupping her chin with a palm and rubbing his thumb along her jawbone. "I know I am, and that's why I told him it's over."

Asha's eyes widen. "What?"

"Last night, I told him, I'm done."

"What...did he say?"

Lucas tries not to think about the hurt he saw in Reid's eyes before he'd gone inside to lie awake for half the night. 

He knows that Reid likes what they've been doing. It was hard to hide that want when he'd had his hand in Reid's pants last night, even if the man wanted to play coy. 

But when Kane caught him in the hallway and shoved him against that wall before threatening his balls, that shit stuck with him. If he cared, he'd stay away. And fucking kill him because he's obviously gone mad if he's agreeing with that crazy bastard.

Reid is on the edge of something bad. Asha said it at the restaurant. There's a chance Reid will fall into darkness. Lucas wants to be a good influence in Reid's life, not another outlet for Reid to abuse himself with.

For now, he's done. Even though it hurts like hell. 

Maybe, one day, they'll revisit what had Reid panting and trembling in his arms last night, but then, when they play, it'll be with a safe word and enthusiastic consent. And there will be love. He wants there to be love. Whatever their definition of it will be, he wants it all.

And fuck Kane and his jealousy. He's had his chance. He's so in love with Reid that the only person who doesn't see it is himself. Reid is always looking at him. Always. For a pair of men that take on the Bureau and crazy vampires daily. They're both blind.

"He looked fuckin' miserable..." Lucas says against the soft fingertips that graze his lips reverently.

Asha smiles sadly. "He cares about you. You're a touch in the dark, but he wants you in the light."

"Yeah?" Lucas grazes the curve of her breast with his fingertips, and she shivers sweetly. Always so receptive to his touch. "Would be easier if you liked him too."

"He did not seem opposed to kissing me."

Lucas can't deny that he's not turned on by the fantasy. He knows it was chaste, but in his musings, the kiss was hot and deep with tongue.

He growls heatedly and gathers her into his arms, basking in the giggle she gives when her feet leave the ground. She drapes her arms around his neck and hooks her knees around his hips.

"Once more," Asha begs softly.

Lucas holds her against him with little effort, with a hand under her thigh and his other supporting her lower back. "Why?"

"I want to see the fireflies one last time. Please."

His answer is to tip her onto the mattress and kiss her soft lips tenderly. He undresses her fully, then mouths at her neck, down her stomach, and lower; her shaking fingers take a gentle hold of his hair.

Her moans rise higher, sweeter, and more desperate.

Then, after she trembles against his mouth and whimpers sweetly for a reprieve, he rises and removes the rest of his clothing. Her thighs shake, but she's eager when he slides between her bent knees and takes her.

Their breaths hitch in tandem.

He's always taken aback by how perfectly they fit together. She's warm and soft, and he's lost to her. He kisses her and tastes her until the syrupy heat coiling in his stomach grows tight. His motions grow harsher, losing control. Her moans are higher-pitched and needy, and he knows she's right there with him.

"Lucas!" Asha gasps. Her fingers rise to graze his face, and he knows to let her into his mind without resistance. His magic flares, and hers invades his every sense until he's falling.

After years of visions, they've found this to be the least detrimental. He was drunk once and found the recovery from her gifts to be nonexistent. His mind must instinctively put up barriers to protect itself, but when he's lost himself, he's most vulnerable.

His breath hitches, shaking with surmounting pleasure. And visions fly across his mind—fireflies too fast to catch, but a few linger, giving him a glimpse of what they could be.

A pointed triangle burned into a rune of dark magic.

Blood drips from a chair onto a glossy stage of dark wood.

Brown eyes and familiar, unkempt hair, with glasses slipping down his nose. He's holding a smoking shotgun, and his gaze is furious. 

Lucas resists the drowning pull, which he knows will take him deeper into the future than he dares. He comes back to reality, gasping, the pain and mingling ecstasy tip him over the edge. His mind blanks. Nothing matters for a few precious seconds. 

No heartache. No worry. Just peace.

Then the rush of euphoria is over; he lays a palm on the mattress and tries to catch his out-of-control breathing while he comes down. His head aches and his vision blurs, but nothing serious.

He stares down with a soft look. Asha smiles up at him with flushed cheeks and whispers excitedly, "That was Milton, Lucas."

Lucas rasps, "Love, it could've meant anything."

She frowns. "I know. He's gone. But I hoped..."

He sits back and hooks his arms under her thighs. He's not done—not even close. And when he shows her just how not done he is, her miserable expression shifts to pleasure.

Her fingers scramble to grip the sheets above her head. "Harder," she gasps. 

He shouldn't, but he obliges with a growl. The churning emotions he's been resisting spill out, but Asha pushes back against him, eager for the roughness. The headboard bangs against the stained floral wallpaper.

Her nails scratch his back. She whimpers his name with tears in her pretty eyes. And that roar is in his chest. He's close to growling against her ear, you're mine.

He's awakened something that refuses to abate. Possessiveness that he thought only extended to Reid, but he's feeling it now when he curls his fingers around Asha's throat. He's never dared touch her like this before.

She tips her head back, submitting to the light pressure baring down on her rapidly pulsing neck. Her dark lashes flutter closed. Her ankles hook around his back, and her replying moan is thin and sweet-soft.

His heart leaps, as if wanting to escape his chest to show this woman how much he loves her in ways he can never hope to convey with words.

He doesn't need to voice his possessiveness aloud because they both know she's his—body and heart.

Everything would be easier if he were hers in kind. He might not be able to give her his heart fully, as she deserves, but he can give her this.

So he kisses her deeply and groans, "I love you."

Asha smiles against his lips. "I love you, Lucas Amala."