Prompt:

75. "I'm not going to stop poking you until you give some attention."

serendipity
/ˌsɛr(ə)nˈdɪpɪti/
noun
1. the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

It was an unusually slow day at the precinct on a sunny Tuesday. The July Heat struck L.A. like a furnace, probably anyone with an ounce of self-preservation is hunting for air-conditioned places, or just simply stays at home to avoid getting heatstroke. Today, so far, had only a few hit and run, but it's nothing that patrol can't handle, and it's practically the only time Chloe feels lucky that she doesn't have another case. She's quite frankly more than happy to stay behind her desk and sip her cold brew, than be a detective outside and likely obtain third-degree burns.

Which means she can catch up on the giant stack of paperwork on her desk.

Which means, Lucifer is bored out of his mind, because God forbid that he actually do something productive and be a valuable member of society.

But on the other hand, she probably wouldn't trust him to correctly fill out the reports - under cause of death he would no doubt list something along the lines of 'fatal humiliation by lack of fashion sense'.

She doesn't really know why he stays still, he's always more than eager to slip out of her sight and out of the precinct when the forensic part of the investigation begins. And it's not like he doesn't have the latest and probably most expensive AC system at his penthouse.

But when the fifth paperclip flies by her right shoulder and lands right next to her currently empty pen holder, she's about ready to flip over her desk in frustration. Because it's not enough that he is the Master of Evasion when it comes to paperwork, he has to be a big ass distraction too. It's kind of his childish way of telling her "I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention".

Her partner is a child. A child-Devil. Satan has a mental capacity of a five-year-old.

Sometimes she really wonders why she puts up with him.

And how the hell did she fell in love with him?

Those are the big questions of the universe, philosophers like Aristotle or Plato can kiss her ass with their 'meaning of life' crap.

But it's probably because of his big heart and his unmatched ability to make her ridiculously happy (when he's not acting like a child).

"We don't have a case, you know. And probably won't have one for the rest of the day. You can really just go home if you like," she tries to inform him as calmly as she can over her shoulder, hiding her annoyance behind a smile she's sure he can tell is fake. Her acting days are way behind her, so sue her.

"And why would I do that, Detective?" he raises one dark eyebrow in question, his forehead crinkles into that familiar frown that means he thinks she's speaking nonsense.

"Because you are obviously bored?" she gestures to him and then to her desk, where his impromptu fun-fair is taking place.

"Well, I'm here to help you. That's what partners do, are they not?" he asks innocently, as he raises his arm to aim another paperclip towards her desk.

"You don't actually help, Lucifer," she replies, her voice takes on a biting tone. "You are just distracting me."

"Umm, I care to disagree, Detective," he shoots her a mildly offended look. "Was that iced latte I bought you earlier not helpful? I know how sulky you get without your shot of caffeine in the morning."

"I meant actual work, Lucifer," she rolls her eyes. But that cold drink really helped her, though.

"I also tidied up your desk. After all, you can't work in chaos properly," he gives her a smug expression she would really like to wipe from his stupid, handsome face.

And by "tidied up" he really means he removed all the office tools from her desk, so he could play with them later.

"You have an explanation for everything, haven't you?" she shakes her head with a fond smile she tries very hard to suppress because she's supposed to be annoyed with him.

"I'm the Devil, darling, of course, I have."

He rises from his seat and walks in front of her desk, placing the paperclip in the pen holder and gives her a contemplative look.

"Detective?"

"Hmm?" she replies as she glances back down at her unfinished report, and starts filling out the details about a victim in a robbery gone wrong. Only 25, poor guy.

"Have you seen the new vending machine in the break room?"

Frowning and slightly taken aback, she lifts her eyes at him again. She really did not expect that question. "Yeah, I just bought a turkey sandwich from it yesterday, remember?"

"Yes, but have you really seen it? It has the newest flavors of Pringles and they added your favorite jalapeño chips as well. And the design is just..phew," he makes a small whistling noise and Chloe thinks her frown is becoming a permanent feature on her forehead. "I think you should check it out again, Detective," he suggests as he gestures behind his back to the break room.

Now, it's hardly the first time Lucifer is being odd and babbling nonsense - and even after learning that his metaphors aren't actually metaphors, he can still surprise her from time to time with his weirdness.

"I have to work, Lucifer," she states matter-of-factly, and returns to her still unfinished police report.

"But, Detective, I really think you should look over the selection again. Maybe you find something that would really...excite you," he insists and she looks up at the tone of his voice.

He has that expression on his face, the one that tells her he's up to no good, a playful smile at the corner of his lips that makes the crow's feet she adores around his eyes appear.

She sighs, exasperated. "Ok, fine," she gives in as she stands from her chair.

Will there be a time when she's able to say him no? Probably not, and she's learned a long time ago to just roll with it and humor him. Besides, she really needs to stretch her limbs a bit, she's been sitting in that chair for hours.

"Excellent!" he exclaims and turns his back to her, an eagerness in his steps as he strolls to the aforementioned room, not waiting if she follows him or not.

Of course, she does.

And when she steps into the dimly lit room to ask him what the hell she's doing here, her back is suddenly pressed against to the closed door, soft and greedy lips finding hers as she lets out a surprised yelp.

"Lucifer, wha-"

"As I've said before," he interrupts her, placing a kiss on her neck before whispering close to her ear, leaving goosebumps all over her body. "...partners help each other, and now I'm helping you relieve some stress."

Stress that he's half responsible for, but she's not about to complain when his mouth is doing these glorious things to her body and he proves his point with a gentle nip at her earlobe that turns her legs into goo and her brain into mush.

But still, she supposed to be professional and not have sex at her workplace with her ridiculously hot boyfriend and Devil, and is about to open her mouth to tell him that, but when his lips find that sensitive spot on the side of her neck and his other hand finds its way into her jeans to cup her through her already soaked panties, all thoughts of professionalism flies out the window.

She lets out a moan, and he gives her a proud grin, shedding his suit jacket in the process. Her fingers start playing with the hem of his white shirt before ripping it to the sides, exposing his muscular chest as the buttons scatter away on the floor.

She's not afraid to ruin his expensive clothing ever since he told her he doesn't mind replacing them as long as she's the one responsible for their untimely deaths.

He lifts her up by her waist, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist, and carries her to the other end of the room as she gets rid of her shirt. His mouth explores her collarbone while she's busy making a mess of his always perfectly coiffed hair. He gently places her on the only available surface; the blue couch.

And even though the ancient thing is lumpy as hell and probably the most uncomfortable couch she's ever had the chance to sit on, he makes her forget all that with his expert fingers and other body parts as he takes her to the edge and back, lighting up stars behind her eyelids as they ride out their orgasms.

He's good. Too good. The best, really.

"Now, isn't that better, than all those boring paperwork?" he asks when he tucks her gloriously naked and satisfied body on top of his, placing a kiss on her hair.

She lets out a snort, that kind of laugh he once called a "demented witch on crack" but secretly loves and answers "Yes, it is."

They dress is comfortable silence, and as he buttons up his suit jacket over his buttonless shirt to cover the damage she'd done, she places a quick kiss on his lips before slipping out the door.

She returns to her desk with a smile.