A/N: NSFW. CW attempted murder, mentions of rape. Lincoln Lawyer x CXGF x Lucifer. Louis Roulet/Serena Sublime. Prequel to Chapter 1.

—

Louis stirred as he thought he felt something next to him in bed. But that was impossible. He didn't have a wife or girlfriend, nor did he make it a habit to take girls home with him. He brushed the feeling off as probably part of a dream and nestled deeper into sleep.

Later that night, he stirred awake, and there was definitely someone in bed with him. Before he could let out a yelp, a firm hand covered his mouth.

"Quiet," whoever it was whispered. He couldn't tell if they were male or female. He thought he felt long strands of hair tickling his shoulder, so he decided female. He nodded his understanding and she waited a moment before withdrawing her hand.

"What are you doing in my house?" he hissed.

"Why shouldn't I be?" the woman— definitely a woman— asked. "You were in mine." As she sat up into a patch of moonlight streaming through his window, he gasped, eyes wide with sheer panic.

"That's impossible," he breathed. "I thought I'd killed you."

Serena Sublime nestled close to him again, clinging to his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. "You did kill me," she said. "I just didn't die."

"I don't understand. What does that mean? Are you here for revenge? What—" He started to sit up, but she climbed on top of him, straddling him comfortably.

"Calm down," she murmured. "I'm not mad. Although Lucifer isn't too pleased that you shredded my dress. It was a custom-made Valentino."

"Then why are you here?" Louis's voice turned acidic.

"Isn't it obvious?" Serena asked. "I want you. More of you. You thrill me. A hardcore fuck who happens to have sadistic, even murderous tendencies? You're exactly the kind of man I've been looking for. Don't worry, I'm not going to charge you this time. I just thought we could have a little fun."

Louis gaped at her. "You're insane."

"And you stab like my granny." She pressed her body against him and draped her arms over his shoulders. He felt the silk and lace of her corset dress against his bare skin.

"Ooh..." She let out a little moan as she rocked her hips, grinding against his bulge. "There we go. You want this too, don't you?"

He shouldn't do this. He knew he shouldn't. He should be calling the police on this crazy bitch. But she was right, the sick, irrational part of him did want this, wanted to make her scream, wanted to see what it would take to wrench out that last dying breath. She smirked in victory and kissed him, an aggressive, passionate kiss, as she got his dick out and rolled a condom on expertly, then slathered him in lube and impaled herself on him, letting out a loud moan of pleasure.

"Keep your fucking voice down," Louis snarled, grabbing her throat.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered as she began to ride him. "But you feel so good inside me."

Louis had to admit, she felt good, too. Uncommonly tight, it almost hurt to be inside her. But she seemed to have no problem taking him, riding him hard and fast and bottoming him out. His eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to stifle his own moans. He bit her shoulder savagely, and she cried out and he slapped her and she moaned, she was fucking impossible, he hated her, but god she felt so fucking amazing! He released her throat and moved his hand to cup her tiny tits, but she batted his hand away. He frowned and grabbed her hips, stopping her riding.

"What's your problem?" he asked. She just scoffed at him. "And why are you still wearing this ridiculous thing?" he asked, tugging at the top of her corset dress.

"You didn't have a problem with me keeping my clothes on last time."

"What kind of girl breaks into a man's home to fuck him and doesn't even take her clothes off?" he argued.

She blinked at him. "Oh." Her tone was one of dawning comprehension. "You didn't clock it?"

"What?" he asked flatly.

Again, she didn't answer. She just kissed him again, cupping her hand behind his head as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. He squirmed; he wasn't exactly comfortable kissing a hooker, especially an undead hooker who'd somehow mysteriously snuck into bed with him. But she arched her body, rocking her hips just enough to make him moan, before pulling herself off him, turning around to sit in his lap with her back to him, and impaling herself on him again. His eyes fluttered closed.

"Choke me again. Please," she whispered, and he obliged her, wrapping both hands around her throat, strangling her. He loved how her body twitched and writhed as she fought to stay alive while he thrust up into her. The fact that she clearly enjoyed it too dampened his arousal only slightly. When she stopped struggling and passed out against him, he kept one hand tightly squeezing her throat but slipped the other one down under her corset.

'She' was completely flat.

His eyes widened in horror as he pulled that hand out and ran it under the whore's skirt. His fingers touched leather, and as he groped around, he realized what it was. He drew back as if he'd been shocked and shoved the intruder off his lap. Furious and disgusted, he stormed off to the shower.

—

As soon as Serena heard water running, she stopped playing dead and stretched out, cat-like, in Louis's bed. He'd probably be in there for a while, she reckoned. With tantalizing, aching slowness, she removed the chastity belt and set it aside, then began to stroke herself, biting Louis's expensive duvet to stifle her moans. The bed smelled of him, and she liked it.

Serena didn't know where her head was at lately. Sebastian had been rejected by a guy he'd only been pretending to like to gather intel, but surprisingly, it still stung, so he'd retreated into the glamour of Serena, a persona she knew was adored by Xander and Lucifer at the very least. She flirted with hunky men, but didn't allow anyone to get too close, and had even been withdrawing from those she truly loved. Louis was the first client she'd picked up in a while and somehow, his attempts to rape and brutally murder her had resonated more with her than the tenderness of Lucifer, Xander, or Trent. Her sense of identity was so fractured and fragmented, she couldn't believe them when they claimed to love her, and when they held her in their arms, she could only wonder when they'd inevitably let her down and let her go.

This man, this vile, reprehensible monster, had engaged Sebastian as his new defense attorney. Louis Roulet was on the hook for the rape and murder of a prostitute, and Sebastian knew without a doubt he was guilty as sin, because he'd tried to do exactly that to Serena. Serena hadn't cared. She'd welcomed the violence, the hatred, because it was all she could process right now. Louis had raped her at knifepoint— well, he'd intended to, not that she had resisted or struggled in any way— beaten her, and stabbed her what felt like a hundred times before leaving her for dead. It was thrilling, and it had broken her out of her post-spy-game malaise for a time.

She hadn't entirely realized Louis was straight, and Louis hadn't entirely realized Serena was a drag queen. The fact that he now knew what she was could lead to complications if he took a closer look at her face and realized who she was. But that was a gamble Serena was willing to take, still high on adrenaline and oxytocin even after having been rejected once again.

She closed her eyes and began to fantasize about a threesome with Louis and Trent, something Rebecca would never allow, something Trent would probably also not allow. Trent, Rebecca, Nathaniel, George, and Lucifer all knew what Louis had done. It had caused a deeper rift between Sebastian and Lucifer that Sebastian would dare to defend Louis in a court of law, but Sebastian had promised to hand Louis over to Lucifer, for Lucifer to put the fear of the Devil into him. But regardless of what Serena's friends and lovers thought, there was no denying that Louis was a very attractive man. Or maybe Serena just liked him because he resembled Sebastian, only with straighter hair and bluer eyes. Trent claimed he wasn't attracted to Louis, but neither Serena nor Rebecca believed him.

Lost in thought, Serena hadn't heard the shower stop, and was taken by surprise when suddenly, she was being struck and shouted at and— once again— gutted!

"You're going to ruin your sheets," she said calmly as she opened her eyes to see Louis glaring at her.

"Why won't you DIE?!" he snarled.

"I'll die when I feel like it," she answered, the glumness in her voice attesting that even that wasn't true. "Does it really matter to you if one filthy whore lives or dies? If she's a woman or a man? Does anything really matter?"

That gave him pause. "No," he said after a moment, setting the knife down. "I guess it doesn't."

"You can keep playing with that." Serena nodded to the knife. "I don't mind. I have another friend who likes to cut me, during. He lets me cut him, too."

"I'm not your friend."

"You're close enough."

"You're fucking twisted."

"We've established that."

They stared at each other tensely. Moments ticked by. Then, without warning, Serena launched herself onto Louis and began making out with him. She clung to him harder when he tried to shove her off.

"Come on, don't be like that," she whispered. "I'm a damn good lay. You were close, huh? Before you realized?"

"You—" He grabbed the knife again and held it to her throat; she moaned quietly.

"Yes," she breathed, "stab me, fuck me, slice me up. I promise, I won't tell anyone." She pressed her cheek against his shoulder as she looked up at him, her expression turning serious. "No one is going to judge you for this," she said gently, "least of all me. You're not the first client to not realize I'm a drag queen. You're also not the first one who's tried to kill me, although I had a history with that one from college."

—

Louis's eyes traveled downward despite himself as the whore rambled. Serena— or whoever— was throbbing hard and Louis realized they were the same size exactly. He quickly looked away; he didn't want to think about the fact that he'd been fucking a man, one who was still trying to coax him back into bed.

"I'm not going to fuck you again," he said flatly. Serena looked stricken, somehow more shocked and upset than when he'd tried to kill her. Her eyes became shiny and he realized with a sinking feeling that she was a hot second away from crying. Great. "But you can stay the night, and if my mother asks about you, I'll say I brought you home," he bargained.

"Can I hold you?" she asked, her voice so plaintive, still so feminine. He hesitated, thinking about it. If he said no, he'd have to deal with her crying about it all night. If he kicked her out, she would probably make a fuss about that, too.

"Okay. Fine. Hold me. Suck my dick if you want" — That was probably a mistake, as she lit up like a Christmas tree and immediately began pressing him down into his satin sheets — "just stay quiet, and let me sleep after you swallow."

Her expression relaxed into a peaceful one as she settled herself between his legs and gave his shaft a languorous lick, cupping his balls with a little squeeze and then licking them too. He shifted into a comfortable position and locked his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, letting her do her thing and trying not to overthink it. He had to admit, he liked the way she sucked his balls and the way she pressed her tongue against his glans and the way she swirled her tongue around his mushroom head like she was French-kissing it. He'd never wanted for female attention, but he'd also never had someone this eager to suck him off, to pleasure him, to make him moan and make him question everything he thought he knew about himself! God, what was she doing to him—? He barely had time to wonder before he came in hot bursts down her throat; she swallowed expertly, not missing a drop, even sucking and licking at his overly-sensitized tip for more.

"Did you like that?" she asked, and there was something so vulnerable in her eyes and her voice. It cut straight to his black little heart, and he stopped himself from giving a sarcastic answer ("I let you finish, didn't I?"). He pulled her up on top of him and held her there, chest to chest, letting her scoot up along his body and rest her cheek against his. She was still hard, and dripping, but making no effort to draw attention to it, and even shifted a little, seeming embarrassed when he made contact with that part of her.

He thought about offering to get her off, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. If she wanted to, she could hop in the shower and get herself off. Nothing was stopping her. But she didn't seem concerned with that at all; she only seemed to want to lie there, on top of him, relaxing and being held. He half-expected her to chastise him for being a selfish lover, to tease him at least, but all the playfulness seemed to have gone out of her. So he dozed off to sleep, hazy thoughts passing through his muddled brain, with her nestled peacefully against him, curly blonde hair that was probably mostly extensions spilling over his shoulder and chest.

"Don't think I'm going to fall in love with you" was the last thing he remembered saying.

Was he dreaming, or did she whisper, "I hope you don't" into his ear?