Lucifer would really prefer that they come up in exactly zero conversations, whether held mostly naked or not, but he's probably not going to get lucky like that. Daniel seems to be a bit of a busybody, and, considering his stubbornly altruistic tendencies, will probably not be able to leave well enough alone. Not if he thinks that there's something he could do to help, anyway.

He tugs off the towel and tosses it aside before opening the shower curtain; there is steam starting to come out of the shower, heavy and humid. He steps in with wash cloth and soap, and the water that sluices over him is so unexpectedly blissful that he may have made a slightly less than dignified noise at the feeling of it. There was something visceral and immediate about being in his vessel with his Grace low, inches away from being human; less of a buffer between himself and the experiences of his body, perhaps. Whatever it is, Lucifer stands there for several long minutes reveling in it, eyes closed and head stuck underneath the spray. These few moments of animal bliss are the closest to Heaven that he's been in millennia.

Eventually, though, he has to pull his head back out, push his hair out of his face, and actually get to the point of this. The hot water will not last forever, which is a fucking shame, and he doesn't want to still be in there when it cuts out.

He takes the soap and the cloth and lathers it up, and starts working on scrubbing off the layers of road-dust.

The water goes cool before he's done anyway. He can't say he's surprised.