It should have felt more strange than it did. Mary's lips on his lips. Mary's hand on his face. Mary's breast under his fingers, her shirt teasing and taunting with its existence. But it felt normal, or as normal as it could have been.
It wasn't lust or desire or want that brought them together. It was need. Some kind of love, friendship or otherwise, pulling them together. With a courage Lucifer hadn't known he was in possession of, his hands started undoing the buttons on Mary's blouse, and this became a very more real proposition.