A/N: Okay, so I'm going to clear up a few questions I've received in the comments. This is a very AU piece. There will be no supernatural elements in it, so I'm sorry if that's what you were hoping for. In this story, Lucifer is not the devil, I'm just taking the characters and their personalities and making my own characters and story with that. I hope that makes sense. In this story, Lucifer is younger than Chloe. I have it so that he is about 27 and she is about 35. Their pasts will come up eventually, but part of the story is the reveal of those pasts throughout. I apologize if any of you have felt lead on, but I do hope you'll continue to enjoy this story as it progresses. I have plans, and I like pace of things now. WARNING: I know you don't like any action between Lucifer and an OC, but it's part of his character. Even int he show he doesn't stop having sex just because he wants Chloe. So, yeah, I hope that helps. Feel free to PM me with other questions. I hope I can answer them. However, here's an update. I had some company and have had literally no time to work on this. Sorry for the wait! Enjoy! TRIGGER WARNING: Heavy alcohol and slight drug use in this chapter.
The day was dragging. It was only 3 pm, her meetings had lasted longer than they should have, but that's what happens when you have a bunch of administrators, with nothing to do, sit in a room together. It was not the kind of day she had hoped to keep her mind busy. Any time she felt herself relax, images of a few nights ago flashed in front of her, those images brought on images from months ago. It was like a bad movie on repeat whenever she let herself take a deep breath. She was good at the poker face. She was good at appearing perfectly fine. While her breath was shaky at times, no one knew her well enough to notice.
The trek back to her office was long, but the day was mild, a cool breeze from the ocean flowing through her hair. She could smell the salt, which was rare when living in a city under a perpetual cloud of smog. She noticed that her office door was ajar, she had not left it like that. She had left it unlocked, which was stupid, but she didn't leave anything important, so there was nothing to take. She couldn't see anything off through the small crack in the door, it wasn't until she started to push it open that she noticed the figure sitting in the chair in front of her desk.
As soon as the door moved, Lucifer look over his shoulder and Chloe didn't move closer, her eyes widening and her brows scrunching. "There's not someone under my desk, is there?"
His eyebrows drew together in a dumbfounded expression before busting out into laughter. "No, nothing salacious going on here, unfortunately," he replied, turning in the chair to face her.
"Okay, just had to make sure," Chloe said with a smile, walking into the office, leaving the door slightly open. She did not need to give off any sort of appearances. Lucifer noted the open door, smiling to himself at her potential thought processes. "Last time I was in this situation I saw way too much."
"Well, we can certainly recreate the scene, if you're interested," he suggested, one dark eyebrow shooting up, his fingers tapping on the desk. He started laughing when she said nothing, only remained standing next to her door, her expression complete bewilderment.
"You can't say shit like that to me. I am your teacher!" she yelled in a hushed tone. She walked along the walls of the small office, staying as far away from him as she could as she moved towards the chair behind her desk. "Now, are you here about class or are you here to just be inappropriate?" Her tone was irritated, but her face was amused. The accent and looks really helped him get away with a lot.
"While I always approve of inappropriate behavior, alas, I am here for neither," he admitted, leaning back, his legs spreading slightly in the small chair.
Chloe couldn't help but roll her eyes before looking at him. He no longer wore his smug grin, nor had a flirtation spark in his eye, he was all seriousness. "So, why are you here?" She looked at him quizzically. She could see a thought-train going on behind his eyes, she could tell he had something he wanted to say by the way one of his knees bounced lightly.
"I wanted to talk with you," he stated, wetting his lips nervously. His knee began bouncing harder as his nerves neared overdrive. He wasn't much for talking, more for doing, really, but he had been bothered by what he saw in her eyes. He had been interested in why she didn't shy away from him after beating that sad sack into a pulp, like her friend had. He had never really cared to talk to anyone about feelings or experiences before, not outside of sex-related activities. He was just as confused as she was. This was new to him.
"What about?" she asked casually, pulling out her laptop but leaving it closed on her desk. She had an uneasy feeling about the direction of this conversation, but really wasn't sure what he would want to talk about.
He could see her discomfort, he could even feel the tension of it in the air. She was being polite, professional, but he could tell she didn't really want to go down that path, but his curiosity was strong. He had the urge to know, to understand what he saw. To understand why she had the same tortured look in her eyes that he had when he would let himself get sober enough. It was a desire he had never experienced before. Typically, he wasn't too concerned with the emotions of the people entering and leaving his life, but this woman, Chloe Decker, was different. He felt compelled to understand the pain in her eyes just as much as he felt compelled to soothe it.
"Last Friday," he began, observing the way her expression tightened at the mention of that day. "I can't shake this feeling that your reaction was caused by something else," He paused, cautiously looking across the desk at her.
"My reaction?" she asked pointedly, folding her arms across her chest. "You feel my reaction to being assaulted in an alley next to a bar was unjustified? What? Was wrong for the situation?" Her voice started to rise as her anger increased. She could feel her heart rate increasing along with her breathing, the beginnings of a flush burning at her neck.
"No, not at all," he assured quickly. He was growing more and more uncomfortable as he realized he was making her mad. He was not equipped to talk about things like this. All he knew how to do was suppress feelings, drown them with alcohol and numb them with drugs, not talk about them. "I'm trying to say that I saw something else. Something more like trauma." He was treading rough water, he knew that. He could tell by the way the blue of her eyes faded to more of a grey, the way the ocean turns the color of stone in a storm.
"Yeah, situations like that can be traumatic," Chloe retorted, clenching her jaw before forcing herself to lower her raising shoulders. His questioning was making all the muscles in her body tense and ache. She could feel her body begin to tremble, a slight panicked tremble that only she was aware of. It's why she didn't talk about this. Talking about it made her feel it all over again.
"A previous trauma, Professor," he whispered, his bouncing leg stiffening before his knee continued to bounce uncontrollably. "I think something happened to you before that night, that's why you couldn't fight back; you were paralyzed by it, I could see that."
Chloe sat, frozen, nervous, worried. She felt shame for being so transparent that a stranger could see past her strong façade. She was ashamed with not being able to hide it better. If he could see that, anyone else could, too. However, no one else had questioned her, had asked about anything further than what she reported at the hospital. All while the sinking fear washed over her, a sense of false calm hit her hard. There was absolutely no way he could know anything.
"How could you possibly pretend to know anything like that?" Chloe asked, her voice soft, but firm. She felt threatened, mentally confronted. For the first time in a while, she was being questioned deeper than anyone, even the people she knew, had ever tried to go. She decided to pull out her inner detective, the person she had packed away neatly in order to act like a civilian. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I don't pretend to know anything, I'm just perceptive," he replied, his tone heating slightly. "I don't claim to be the best at understanding, but I can tell when someone is hiding something."
"You think I'm hiding something?" she asked incredulously, her face as stoic as a statue. "You don't even know me." She fought the urge to scoff at him, doing so would give away her thoughts too much.
"True, but I recognize that look in your eyes. That pain, that seething anger," he started, leaning forward in his chair. He eyed her for a moment, his gaze darting between her eyes and lips, analytical. "It's the same look I see every day in the mirror."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated softly as she looked down at her hands in her lap. She didn't have to listen to this, to him. She could ask him to leave and she knew he would, but the softness in his voice was comforting in a strange way. His words wrapped around in her forebrain. The same look I see every day in the mirror. Had something happened to him that made it easy to look through her façade as if it were glass? Asking about it would only drag him further into her own problems, and that was not something she wanted.
"Being perceptive also helps me know when people are lying, Professor," he said, leaning back in his chair. "That moment in the alley, when I was close to you, I saw it. Behind that panic, there was anger."
"What are you, a psych major or something?" she bit out harshly. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. He was right. She was angry, she had been fuming behind all of that paralyzing fear and anxiety. How could he know that? No one knew what happened months ago. What truly happened, beyond the beating.
"Business, actually," he replied quickly, raising an eyebrow at her assumption. He could tell he finally struck a chord. He was getting somewhere, even if he wasn't sure where he was getting.
Her eyebrows knitted together and she shook her head. "Business? Why are you in my class?" That possibly explained why he looked so out of place in her class. He was entirely put together while all of the other students looked as if they had just rolled out of bed or had better places to be.
Lucifer narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she was trying to change the subject. "I'm working on my MBA, I needed an elective." He answered matter-of-factly.
"Wait, you're a grad student?" she asked, holding up a hand in his direction. He nodded, giving her a quizzical look. Well, that's why he looked older. "Why the hell are you taking an undergrad criminal justice class?"
He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "I have a busy schedule this semester; I fucked around too much last year. I just wanted an easier class, and yours was open." She tilted her head to the side, taking in the man before her. Business explained the suits.
"Okay, fair enough," she said, lowering her hands to her desk. She was content with the new topic. It answered a few questions for her that were probably the reasoning behind him living in the back of her head, the idea of him just barely conscious.
"Since you've changed the subject," he started, his hands resting on his knees. "You never did answer my question from the first day of class. Why are you here and not with LAPD?"
Chloe regarded him for a moment. She could remember how he surprised her with that question, how that was when she first saw him in class. "There was an incident while I was on the job," she began, looking down at her hands before looking back into his eyes. "I got hurt, my daughter asked me to stop, so I did."
Lucifer's lips parted as he dipped his head, a hint of recognition in his eyes. "You were the cop on the news a few months ago?" Chloe nodded, chewing on her lip. She remembered the headlines, Female Cop Brutally Attacked and Hospitalized. They had managed to keep her name out of the news, for her safety, in case anyone who knew the guy wanted to finish her off.
"Yeah, so that's why I'm here. It's safe. My daughter's happy." She did not think she would be sharing this much information with him. He was easy to talk to, and that frightened her a little. He was a good listener, he made very word seem important, and that was a rare skill these days. "Now, are you done or are you going to try to interrogate me more?" Her words came out harsh, berating, more so than she intended. She could see the hurt in his eyes and for a second, she felt guilty, but that quickly faded from her mind.
He sat there, blankly. He opened his mouth a few times before closing it with a sigh, deciding nothing he could say would better the situation. He gripped the armrests of the chair, pushing himself up to stand. Lucifer ran his hands down the front of his jacket, smoothing the wrinkles as he rolled his neck, releasing a kink. "I was just trying to help," he stated softly, giving her a sad smile before turning towards her office door.
Chloe watched as his hand grabbed the handle, he hesitated, head dipping as if waiting for her to tell him to stay. She wouldn't. "Why do you care?" she asked, façade gone, genuine curiosity flowing through her thoughts. She could see his grip on the handle tightened, but he stayed facing the door.
"I don't know," he replied with a frustrated sigh before opening the door. He stepped halfway through the opening, staring at the ground. "I'll see you Thursday, Professor," he finished, quickly walking out and closing the door behind him, leaving Chloe sitting in her chair, shocked, staring at the empty seat in front of her.
Fuck. Why did he care? That was the million dollar question. Lucifer hastily walked away from Chloe's office, the ache in his head rocked with every step he took, reminding him of how sober he mistakenly allowed himself to get. He never let himself care. What was the point? It was so much easier to go about his life giving into the sins of the flesh, without all of that emotional muck to get in the way. However, he was willing to drag himself through her emotional muck to get to her. He loathed himself for that. Of course he would find the one woman he wanted to understand who wanted nothing to do with him.
He needed a drink, he needed a few drinks. Any substance to stop the ache in his head and chest. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, grabbing the slim flask. He unscrewed the lid and took a long pull, savoring the oaky finish. He kept it out, knowing that its content would last him until he got to his apartment. There he would binge, allow himself to sleep it off just enough to be able to get himself to some sort of pretentious club filled with willing and able bodies to take one by one. It was still afternoon, he would have many hours of drinking and sleeping to do before the nightlife he needed would wake up.
Luckily he didn't live far from campus, just far enough to be away from the dorm-life he dreaded, but close enough to still have his fill of co-eds. He was just starting to feel the alcohol from his long-empty flask as he entered his dwelling, immaculate and simple. He walked over to the counter where half a dozen bottles were lined neatly against the wall. He grabbed one of the cheaper whiskeys, deciding not to waste exquisite taste on the pure need of getting drunk. Cheap would do just fine for that job.
He sat on his couch, bottle in hand, his other hand resting across his forehead, fingers and thumb pressing into his temples. The ache in his head was subsiding, but the tightness in his chest had yet to be drowned away. He unscrewed the bottle, tossing away the cap and taking a few swigs before lowering it. He exhaled loudly as the alcohol rushed down his throat, burning and comforting. Lucifer was nearing his therapeutic level of intoxication, but he wanted to go past that to let himself sleep peacefully until the evening.
Relaxing into the soft embrace of his couch, he closed his eyes, his fingers playing along the neck of the bottle before taking three more generous sips. There is was. That sweet spot he needed. He could feel the tension in his body melting away, the tightness in his chest lifted, allowing him to breathe once again. He licked his lips, the sweet taste of whiskey was all he could taste as a contented smile turned the corners of his lips. His contented expression quickly changed when flashes of her face invaded his mind. First was her nubile face from the movie, then it flashed into her face from the first day of class, then back to her movie face, then to her face that night in the alley. Slowly, only two of her faces kept flashing back and forth, the needy, wanting one and the fearful, angry one. He squinted his eyes tightly, shaking his head as his imagination kept going between sun-kissed skin, full, parted lips, sexy gasp, to a wide-eyed, panicked, breathless face.
Lucifer forced his eyes open, the images of her face disappearing in an instant. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, his breathing ragged, and a light sheen of sweat covering his skin. He clearly needed more. As he stood to walk over to his nightstand, bottle loose in his hand, he noticed how his pants were a little tighter. He felt himself half-hard, no chance of the blood draining anytime soon. What the fuck was wrong with him? He continued to stumble towards his bed, sitting down and sliding towards the drawer on his nightstand. He opened it and searched for the small baggie he knew was in there. He smiled when he found it, the chalky bag with a handful of white pills. He shook out two pills, deciding caution was best since he couldn't quite remember what they were. He swallowed them down harshly with more whiskey before setting the bottle on the table. He pushed himself back on the bed, letting his body sink into the mattress, quickly forgetting his whisky fever-dream he had on the couch. Whenever he woke up, he would go out and find someone to take care of the erection in his pants.
Lucifer woke to the sounds of honking horns and distant yells from the street. He opened his eyes to a dim light, the last remaining rays of sunlight just barely making it through his windows. He blinked his eyes a few times, he could still feel the alcohol in his system, as well as the high from whatever those pills were. He really needed to start labeling those. His mouth was dry as hell so he willed himself to get up and get a drink of water. Still therapeutically intoxicated, he rested his hands on the bed as he walked around the edge. Once he felt like he had his bearings, he let go and walked towards the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, downing it in only a handful of gulps, regaining some of the hydration he lost that afternoon.
He checked his watch, squinting his eyes to right his blurry vision. Just after 7 pm, it was almost time to head out and continue his escapades as a young, foreign bachelor in L.A. He hummed to himself as the blissful vibrations of drink and drug coursed through his body. He almost couldn't remember why he wanted to numb his mind to this degree. Almost. The hurt feelings were still there, but barely noticeable. He had tried to feel something, he had tried to be helpful for a change, and instead, he just pushed her away, made her mad and uncomfortable. It's why he didn't talk, it's why he only used his mouth for more pleasurable things.
He left his kitchen to fetch the whiskey bottle from his nightstand. He sloshed the remaining liquid around, watching the amber color glow in the orange light from the setting sun. He took one large swig before setting the bottle back down and shrugging out of his suit jacket. It was completely wrinkled from sleeping in it. He decided that the rest of his attire was decent enough for the evening, choosing to undo the top two buttons of his shirt to give him a more inviting look. Well, inviting in the I'm-here-to-fuck-someone kind of way. It never failed.
He left his apartment without checking the state of his appearance, opting to walk instead of drive or take a cab. The fresh air felt good on his skin, filling his lungs with the usual scent of salt and gas. The good thing about L.A. was that there was a club on, at least, every other block. One did not have to travel far to enter into a din of inequity in this city of sin. He walked until he saw a neon sign hanging in the air. The ones with neon signs always had the best girls: young, eager to drink themselves sick, and more than willing to accept his company wherever it may lead. He approached the door, glad to see there was not line yet. The bouncer motioned him forward, his less than put-together appearance making him look old enough to be there.
The inside was just as he expected: black light posters and lights hanging from every ceiling and wall, too-loud music bumping, almost painfully, throughout the large room. There was a decent crowd of people dancing, but it wasn't full yet. He always liked to come at this hour so he could sit at the bar and wait for someone to walk in who piqued his interest. Once at the bar, he ordered a double scotch, leaning with his back against the bar to survey the dance floor. It was nights like these where he felt the most predatory. The alcohol and drugs enhancing his senses, his libido radiating like a sexual aura, and his eyes searching for the prey that stood out the most. It is what helped him forget everything else and focus on a singular goal.
He watched for an hour, enjoying another glass as the club continued to fill up. So far, no one had stood out to him. He had some glances, a few smiles and giggles from crowds, but he hadn't seen the look he was after. He wanted that hungry look in their eyes because he was in no mood for taking his time. He had almost given up on the place when a woman with golden brown hair approached him. She was in a short, tight, red dress that accentuated all of her curves. She was older, but she looked great, her lips were painted the same color of her dress, no wedding ring in sight. The woman sauntered over next to him, sitting on a stool, just barely glancing in his direction. She was tall with long, delicate limbs; a statuesque beauty.
He watched her order a drink, vodka neat, and she looked over at him while she took a sip of the clear liquid, her lips stamping the glass. "Now, why would someone who looks like you come to a place like this?" he asked, downing the contents of his own glass. He shifted closer to her, turning to the side to be able to look at her better.
She eyed him up and down before speaking, devouring him with her eyes. "I could ask you the same question," she replied, a small smile forming on her lips as she crossed her legs in his direction. He watched the way the light glinted off of her tanned skin as she shifted. He raised an eyebrow at her, nodding his head at her retort. There was an unspoken moment as they both stared at each other. He could see the hunger in her eyes, the pure desire of finding exactly what she wanted. She wasn't a woman that needed anything. She got what she wanted when she wanted it. Lucifer was happy to be her kill for the night.
"Ask me something else," he stated, his eyes going dark, glistening over with hope. He knew he wasn't wrong. He knew the moment she sat down next to him that he was going to have her. He let his tongue barely fall past his lips as he moved even closer to her.
The woman smiled dangerously, her pupils dilating in excitement, her prize right in front of her. "I'm staying at Hotel Gleam. Come back with me?" She asked, but it was more of a command than a question. She didn't lean in closer to him, didn't even try to reach out to touch him. She knew she would get to do so much more once in her room.
Lucifer pulled $40 from his wallet, throwing the bills between their drinks, easily covering the cost for both. "After you," he said, motioning for her to lead the way. She said nothing as she stood up and began walking towards the doors, moving along the side of the wall to avoid the drunken dancers as best she could. Lucifer followed closely, but not too close, watching her slim hips sway with every step. He had no idea who she was, but she didn't even know his name, either. He was fine with that. Sometimes, knowing anything ruined the thrill.
The hotel was a short walking distance away. It was a dark, sleek building intended for those of wealth and power. She looked completely at home in the stark surroundings. She never once looked back to see if he was still behind her, she knew he would be. Lucifer could appreciate her confidence, he often felt the same way about some of the people he met while out. The ride in the elevator was quiet, not even soft elevator music tainted the silence as they rode up to her floor.
Her pace quickened as she walked down the hall, turning towards a door and pulling the key card from her clutch. He stood right behind her, his hand poised to touch her as she pushed the door open, pulling him inside by the top of his pants. There it was. That hunger he was craving. She attacked his mouth, shoving him against the closed door, pressing her body into his. He gladly accepted, vodka and scotch mixing together between them as she pulled his shirt out of his pants and started opening the buttons. She was fast, but not frantic, stepping back to admire him as he slipped out of his shirt.
She walked back towards him, turning around just before leaning against him. His hands found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down and peeling the fabric from her body, biting at the top of her shoulder as he pushed it past her hips. That earned him an appreciative groan as she stepped out of the dress, kicking it off to the side and out of their way. He kissed along her neck as he moved them forward in the room, turning her around before pushing her down to the bed. She sat on the edge, leaning up to get a better view of him as he knelt between her thighs, draping a single leg over his shoulder, the heel of her stiletto digging into the skin of his back.
This is what they needed. Without more than a few sentences, they could tell they were both after the same thing. Someone to use to get away from their thoughts. To escape to a world where emotions and drama had no place. To be in a moment that would end without tragedy or pain. To pour their souls into their task, be selfish in seeking their pleasure, and then leave it all behind and continue on with their lives. He didn't know her name, he didn't care to know it, he didn't care to know what she had experienced in her life to make her this way, to make her look cold. It wasn't like with the Professor, someone that made him feel something he couldn't recognize. This was comfortable, the purely physical connection, what he felt around Chloe was uncomfortable, but addicting. Hopefully he could get solace from that between the thighs of this woman.
It worked. For only a moment.
A/N: So I kept non-Chloe action brief in this. I felt that it was just enough to further his story. Any guesses as to who the woman is? Also, how are we feeling about their angsty little conversation? PM and Review! I love reading them! Until next time, my dark ones!