Continues past the final scene of Season 5, Episode 5, "Detective Amenadiel"

"You're the only mortal who sees him for who he truly is."

The Friday night drive to LUX was quick by Friday night standards but nonetheless seemed interminable. As Chloe drove, Amenadiel's words kept echoing in her mind. She wasn't the gift. The gift was her immunity to Lucifer's charms. The gift was her ability to see the real him, something no other human being could do or had ever been able to do. It was daunting, and humbling, and… incredible. She'd spent so much time thinking her feelings weren't real, when the truth was—her feelings were as real as it gets.

She'd texted Lucifer to say she was coming, but he hadn't texted back. That made her nervous. Lucifer's open-door policy and general… Lucifer-ness… meant she wasn't always certain what she'd encounter when she arrived at his club or the Penthouse. She'd been burned before. Badly. But she was determined not to surrender to old fears and patterns. If Lucifer was willing to be vulnerable around her, then she was willing to be vulnerable around him. Trixie was with Dan for the weekend and they'd just wrapped a big case. It was the perfect time to take a leap of faith.

Chloe kept telling herself that when she arrived at the club and the bartender said he hadn't seen Lucifer in days. She was tempted to fortify herself with a preliminary beverage, but knew she was stalling. Lucifer would either be there, or he wouldn't. He'd either be ensconced in a pile of naked bodies, or alone. He'd either be sober, or midway through a multi-day bender. Her mind knew her fears were just that—fears. Since returning from Hell, Lucifer had been as constant and clear as he'd ever been. He wanted to be with her. She was the one hesitating, caught up in what it meant to be a miracle and whether she was designed to love the Devil. But her heart didn't always listen to her head. As she fidgeted through the elevator ride, her heart seized with an old memory of arriving at the Penthouse to find white sheets covering the furniture, unsure if she'd ever see her partner again.

Finally, the door hissed open and there he was. Lucifer. The Devil made mortal by her closeness, who chose her closeness anyway. He was alone at the piano, nursing a tumbler of whisky, wearing a crisp white shirt and a black waistcoat and pants, hair slickly styled, beard neatly trimmed. He was playing something classical or adapting something into a classical style. Chloe didn't recognize the song, but Lucifer played it beautifully, fingers dancing leisurely across the white keys as he subtly swayed to the rhythm. Peaceful. Serene. And so very touchable. The lights were turned down and the bar was lit blue, making Lucifer's white shirt fairly gleam in the dark.

"Hi Lucifer."

He looked up sharply but his voice was calm. Warm. Welcoming. "Detective."

"You mind if I sit?"

"Please."

He rolled the song to an impromptu conclusion as he slid across the bench to accommodate her. Chloe was struck by how different it felt from the last two times she'd shared his bench. On one occasion, he'd practically recoiled from her touch, smarting from her reaction to his Devil face, and with good reason; at the time, she'd been working with Father Kinley to send him back to Hell. On the more recent occasion, he'd practically thrown her out, not in so many words, but the implication was clear. He'd been tired of her judgements and attempts to turn him into someone he wasn't, and Chloe understood that, too. It wasn't easy loving the Devil. But she was trying. Because he was worth it.

Lucifer reached for his glass and took a slow, shallow sip, waiting for her to break the silence.

"Well," Chloe began, "I had a… interesting conversation with Amenadiel."

At the mention of his brother, Lucifer tensed a little, expelling an amused sound that seemed ever-so-slightly forced. "Please tell me you're not making him a police consultant. Anything but that."

Chloe offered a sympathetic chuckle. Trust Lucifer to be worried about the least likely, most mundane possibility.

"No," she assured him. "Actually, he has a theory. About why I make you vulnerable."

Lucifer perked up at that. "Oh? Do tell."

"His theory is that I don't."

Lucifer's eyebrows puckered. "I have many scars to prove otherwise."

That wasn't quite true. Lucifer didn't have scars, not anymore. Not since he got his wings back, and all the injuries he suffered in her presence healed when she wasn't around. Chloe had been mulling the magnitude of that for months, ever since Lucifer had jumped in front of an axe to save her and she'd been forced to acknowledge that in many ways, Lucifer valued her life above his own.

Chloe continued, "Amenadiel thinks that… you choose to be vulnerable around me."

"I choose to…" Lucifer scoffed, taking another sip of whisky. Then his face fell, struck with a visible wave of realization. "Well I'll be damned. I think he might be right."

He looked at her, dark eyes sparkling as his lips moved with silent words, trying to find the right ones. Seeing the silver-tongued Devil struck speechless sent something fluttering in her gut. How had she gone so long without seeing it—how she could change his world with words or a touch or a promise?

"Lucifer, if that's true… if you choose to be vulnerable around me… then I choose to be vulnerable around you."

She'd practiced the words but hearing them leave her body was something else entirely. She felt unmoored and giddy with bravery and above all, eager to make good on her promise. Which she did, tilting her chin and inching her lips toward Lucifer's. It had been so long since she'd kissed him, and that kiss had been a goodbye, on the balcony with his wings unfurled, ready to fly him to Hell.

Lucifer met her halfway, pressing her lips firmly but so very gently, bottom lip tugging reverently as he reluctantly pulled away, heavily lidded eyes blinking slowly. All their kisses had been like that—close-lipped and chaste, a tentative testing of boundaries between two people with too many questions about each other. This time was different.

After a pregnant pause indulging the novelty of their warm, wet closeness, they crashed back into each other, mouths opening, tongues clashing. Lucifer seized the back of her head to taste more of her and damn, he was good at that, skilled and certain but desperate too, just enough to know it wasn't a performance. It was desire. Lucifer's desire. For her. Chloe's mind reeled as her own hands fumbled for a handhold on Lucifer's close body, aiming for his neck and settling for his shoulder and the hard curves of his bicep, straining against his perfectly fitted shirt.

When they finally parted, they were mutually breathless and used that excuse to consider their options. Chloe wanted him. Had been wanting him for months upon months and probably years. But suggesting they head straight to the bedroom seemed presumptuous, not to mention nerve-wracking. The anxiety she'd carried through the journey to the Penthouse was still swirling in her stomach, exaggerating fears she definitely didn't want to be feeling. About measuring up. About being desirable. About being enough. Suddenly on the precipice of a clear-eyed dive into exactly where she wanted to be, she couldn't dream of being enough.

Lucifer sensed her trepidation. His soft thumb stroked her cheek as he said, "We could move this elsewhere, if you…"

"Yes," she replied, a little too quickly. "Yes, I think… Yes."

"Is everything okay…?"

He was retreating in earnest now, regarding her quizzically. Chloe cursed herself and her insecurities. She wanted this, as badly as she'd ever wanted anything. Why couldn't she just let herself have it?

"It's fine," she insisted. But she didn't move from the bench, still caught at an impasse about where to move the proceedings. The couch? Surely Lucifer would find that a juvenile choice, fit for handsy teenagers. Maybe they could stand? It would feel nice to have Lucifer's full length pressed against her, face ducking to catch her lips…

As if on cue, Lucifer took her hand and urged her to her feet, applying just enough pressure to remind her how strong he was. That was something else she hadn't considered—Lucifer's strength. Chloe remembered jokes from middle school about Superman and Lois Lane, which hadn't seemed particularly interesting or relevant at the time but suddenly seemed important. About an excited Superman being so very strong, and Lois being so very mortal…

Thankfully, Lucifer was keeping her distracted with gentle, teasing touches, nuzzling her neck and tickling her hip as he guided her toward the bar. Chloe was walking backwards and started a little when her backside made contract with the counter. But she quickly forgot about that because Lucifer was looming over her, placing his large hands on the bar on either side of her body. His hips moved into the orbit of hers without touching her, an invitation, not a demand. Chloe's heart thrummed in her chest, and not just in her chest. His warmth was everywhere, radiating like waves, like his blood was pulsing through the air to join her heart and quicken it. Despite that, Chloe felt paralyzed, unsure where to touch him or how. She'd been waiting so long, and Lucifer had waited longer; by his own admission, he'd spent thousands of years in Hell imagining their reunion. And Chloe had dreamed about it more times than she cared to admit, dozens of sweaty fantasies about Lucifer's hips and lips and even horns and wings. Now she was there, really there, not in a dream or a late-night drunken booty call but fully in command of her faculties. Lucifer's warm, ready body was eager to receive her and her own body was eager to respond. Yet she couldn't seem to touch him.

Once again, Lucifer picked up the slack. He dropped his weight onto his right hip, enough to angle his thigh toward hers and ever so gently rub.

"Detective." His voice was sultry, deep and breathy and rich with desire. Her own breath hitched at the sound. She wanted to seize his shirt and pull him all the way into her hips but stopped herself, embarrassed by her own urgency.

Lucifer lowered his chin and tilted it, black eyes slick with mischief, gazing up at her through a veil of dark lashes. "Would you like to undress me?" His gaze flashed between her eyes and the buttons on his vest, pulled tight across his chest.

Chloe did want that. Very much. But her hands wouldn't seem to obey her. Her pulse pounded and her cheeks burned, but her lips and fingers were numb.

After a moment, Lucifer retreated again, affixing her with another quizzical expression. "Either I've gotten much worse at all the things I'm best at, or something is definitely wrong."

Chloe swallowed. "It's just…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "You'll think it's stupid."

"I promise I won't," he said, stepping out of her orbit to regard her squarely. "Tell me."

"I'm just…" Her body fought the words, teeth grinding inside her mouth. "I'm…" She scrunched her eyes shut, knowing she was only making it worse. "The thing is…" She dug her fingernails into her palm. "I'm nervous, okay?"

When she opened her eyes, Lucifer was taking another step back, hurt clouding his features. He tried to hide it, but it was there. "If you're not sure, we certainly shouldn't—"

"No," she insisted. "I am sure. I'm just… nervous."

"Okay…" Lucifer continued to eye her as he retreated to the piano to fetch his drink. "Would you like to… talk about it?"

"No… Yes… I-I don't know."

She closed her eyes long enough to take a steadying breath. When she opened them, Lucifer was handing her a glass of red wine. "Perhaps we should slow down. Join me in the sitting room?"

Chloe gratefully accepted the glass and followed Lucifer to the Italian leather sofa, settling into the corner a safe distance away. She tucked a foot up under her thigh while he leaned back, whisky resting on the crest of his crossed knee, one red Louboutin sole angled toward her.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little," she agreed. "I'm so sorry. Things were so good, and then I just…"

"Talking about it is still on the table. I'm no Dr. Linda, but…"

Something about the prospect of Lucifer impersonating a therapist caused Chloe to blurt, "You've been with a lot of people."

Lucifer sipped his drink leisurely, thoroughly unbothered by her outburst. "Is this about precautions? Because I'm happy to take whatever safety measures you'd like. Though I assure you, I shoot blanks and I'm immune to STDs. Besides which, I haven't been with anyone since… well."

"What?" she prompted. She knew it wasn't exactly polite, but she still wanted to know.

"Since I broke up with Eve." He hadn't finished his drink but topped it up anyway, eyes lingering on the decanter.

Chloe stared at him. "But that was—"

"Months ago, yes. And that's your time. For me, it's been considerably longer."

Chloe swallowed some wine. It was probably delicious, but her brain and limp tongue couldn't tell. Lucifer Morningstar, the man who proudly bragged about his multi-day orgies, who claimed to have inspired the Kama Sutra, who'd once slept with 92 people in two months and called it a dry spell, had just told her he hadn't had sex for thousands of years.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "I suppose that makes my confession a little easier."

Lucifer studied her, another realization blooming on his face. "Oh. You're nervous about—"

"Yes."

Suddenly, he laughed. Not ironically, but genuinely, like she'd just told a prize-winning joke.

Chloe frowned, sliding her wine onto the coffee table. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you."

Lucifer placed his own glass on the table, uncrossed his legs, and wiped the smile off his face. "I didn't mean it like that," he assured her.

"Then how did you mean it?"

He cast his gaze skyward. "I think you may be underestimating me. And yourself. And the effect you have on me."

Chloe flexed her jaw, detective senses tingling at the promise of a new puzzle to solve. "If you can't sense my desires, does that make it… different for you?"

Lucifer met her gaze and said, "Like nothing I've ever experienced."

"Are you saying I give you… celestial performance anxiety?"

Lucifer recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Certainly not."

"Then what—"

"When I use my gift, my 'mojo,' as you call it, it feels… good. And… right. Like something I'm meant to do. Which is probably more of dear old dad's manipulation, but I like to think I've made it my own. With you… I don't feel that. With you, everything's always been difficult."

Chloe made a face. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

Lucifer sighed, then tried again. "When I first realized you were immune to my charms, it was confusing. Then frustrating. Then exhilarating. Then terrifying. Until it finally became… intoxicating. After all these years, literal eons—I finally felt something new."

He leaned forward, dropped his forearms onto his knees and his weight onto his forearms. He was looking up at her as he said, "You've been so worried about being made for me. But sometimes I wonder… if I was made for you."

There was a time when she would have laughed at him in turn, clocking his romanticism as a ploy, a trick or a metaphor or some other subversion, designed to do exactly what it was doing—make her feel vulnerable. Chloe might not have super-strength. She might not be immortal or divine. But she wasn't used to being vulnerable, or at least, she wasn't used to accepting it. Her whole life, she'd fought. Fought for what she wanted. Fought to be taken seriously. Fought for her daughter, and her job, and the things she thought were right. But Lucifer wasn't lying. He didn't do that anyway but definitely wasn't doing it now. She knew him, better than any other human being in the history of the world. And he believed what he said was true.

"Amenadiel said you're a mirror," she said. "That you reflect people's desires back to them. Which means… I'm the only one who sees you as you truly are."

"My brother isn't always a complete fool. Even though he dresses like one. I mean—button-ups over T-shirts? He looks like a single-episode boyfriend from a late-90s teen drama."

An amused sound escaped her, and it felt good. She so rarely let herself laugh at Lucifer's jokes. But she also knew he was trying to deflect, and she wasn't ready to let him.

"But if that's true, Lucifer… how do you know what you want?"

Lucifer straightened, smoothy re-crossing one long leg over the other as his lips spread into an equally smooth smile. "I'm quite certain I know what I want."

Past-Chloe would have rolled her eyes. But past-Chloe was in the past. "Tell me."

Lucifer placed both feet on the floor and his hands in his lap, upright and guileless. "I want you, Chloe. I want to make you happy. I want you to feel desirable and beautiful. I want to give you the best night of your life and many more nights after that. I want to show you exactly how special you are in all the ways I'm uniquely qualified to do. I want you to come undone with the Devil on his knees."

Chloe swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. That sounded pretty good. Yet a nagging doubt remained, a clue that didn't quite fit. "But what do you want?"

"I just told you."

"You told me how you want to fulfill my desires," she observed. "But you didn't tell me yours."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, head tilting in that particular way he had, which she used to think was performative but now knew to be anything but. Some of Lucifer's denseness was self-inflicted. But also—he wasn't human. Things that seemed normal to her often seemed strange to him, and vice versa. This time, she'd clearly stumped him. Chloe could practically see the gears turning in his brain as his gaze flickered, then retreated to the coffee table, eyeing his drink, but ultimately rejecting it. Instead, he stood, walking slowly toward the balcony doors.

Facing the night was his hands loosely folded in the small of his back, he said, "I want us to go back to the bar. I want to pour you two fingers of the Jefferson's Ocean bourbon, in the Luigi Bormioli glass. A bit showy, but it will look nice in your hand, because it catches the light when you lift it. I want to watch you drink it and lick the fire off your lips. Then I want you to kiss me. Gentle at first, then harder, and deeper, until you're clutching my hair and moaning sounds that aren't words into my mouth… Then I want you to undress me. I want you to touch my chest as you do it, thumbing my nipples because you want to see if I like it (I do, by the way)… I want your lips on my neck and to feel you test your teeth on my shoulder. No one's ever left a mark there, but you will. I'll hiss but wear it proudly… I want to feel your breasts grinding against my bare skin as your hands slip down my back to grab my ass, and I want you to squeeze…"

In three long strides, Chloe was on him, hands fisting in his collar to yank his face down to hers and kiss him quiet. Lucifer kissed her back greedily, hands roving over her back as she forced him toward the wall, knocking him roughly into the stones. She could feel Lucifer smile into her lips, strong hands scooping under her thighs to pull her tighter into his hips. At which point she groaned, because there it was—his desire. His very obvious, very large, increasingly hard desire.

She expelled a different sound when Lucifer seized her wrists, pinning her hands at her sides while the rest of her pinned the rest of him.

Voice husky and honey-sweet, he said, "I wasn't finished."

Chloe's gut churned and flexed. "Okay," she panted. "Go on."

With his lips tickling her ear and his stubble tickling her cheek, he did. "I want to wrap my hands around your hips. I want to lift you, and drop you onto the bar stool. A bit roughly, not enough to hurt but enough to make you gasp. While you're still trying to catch your breath, I'm going to kiss you again. Wetly but softer than you want, because you haven't yet realized—I'm not going to stay there. I'm going to drop to my knees, and then—"

Chloe started at the familiar sound of her phone. It took two rings for her to remember what it was, and another to remember where it was, in the back pocket of her jeans. She nearly dropped it as she stumbled backwards, misty eyes blinking at the screen.

"It's Ella."

"Hm, say hello for me," Lucifer drawled, lounging against the wall where she'd tossed him, the fingers of his left hand continuing to tease her hip.

Chloe inhaled a shaky breath and answered the call, running on autopilot as she acknowledged the facts of their latest case and assured the forensic scientist she was on her way.

She hung up and intoned, "We have a case. Suspicious death at an outdoor rave. Apparently, a DJ was electrocuted by his own headphones."

"Shocking," Lucifer replied, predictably yet somehow charmingly. It probably had something to do with his mussed hair, swollen lips, and disheveled shirt, which was popped open to reveal the groove of his chest.

"You don't have to come," she said, and immediately regretted it, knowing she'd walked right into that one.

"I most certainly do," Lucifer assured her. "Which is why I'm offering my services to help solve this case as quickly as possible."

He ducked past her to collect his suit jacket from an armchair, straightening his cuffs as he glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Ready when you are, Detective."

Chloe gaped at him, then realized she was gaping, and closed her mouth. He suddenly seemed entirely put together, while she was…

"Ready," she said. "Definitely ready."

As they stepped into the elevator, she couldn't resist cocking an eyebrow at his lower half. "That was fast."

Lucifer glanced down at himself. "Big Ben goes where he's told," he said, then added, "Big Ben is my—"

"I got it, thanks. I'm just saying—if I make you vulnerable to getting shot, maybe I make you vulnerable in other ways." She indulged a self-satisfied smile, pretending to examine the ceiling as she waited for him to react.

"I'll thank you not to question my stamina until you've had a proper test drive."

"What about your strength? Is it hard to control when you're—"

"When you bed the Devil, nothing is hard expect the things that should be."

Chloe snorted, prompting Lucifer to add, "I also have it on good authority that my tongue was at least as responsible for changing the course of human history."

"You're that good, huh?"

She said it distractedly, an automatic reaction to his outlandish claims. Then the elevator door hissed open, and she stalked into the parking garage, texting Ella on the way, confirming their ETA. After several steps, she realized Lucifer wasn't beside her.

"Lucifer, what—"

The words died on her lips as she watched him drop his hip against the glowing golden wall of the elevator, his whole hard body suddenly liquid. His head lolled, exposing his long, smooth throat as he trailed a hand down his chest, fingers absently flicking his buttons. Then he dipped his chin, flashing a close-lipped, crooked smile before parting his lips, just enough to slide the very wet, very pink tip of his tongue very slowly across his lower lip. The whole time, his black eyes glistened through the dark fringe of his eyelashes, just like he'd look if he were—

Chloe cleared her throat as she tore her gaze away. While she was still collecting herself, Lucifer bounded up next to her, all light and improbable innocence, like he hadn't just rendered her weak-kneed and speechless miming oral sex in an elevator. It got worse when she realized—he wasn't kidding. Lucifer was the Devil and Chloe had met Eve...

"Now, Detective," Lucifer beamed at her shoulder, bright teeth flashing. "Onward to our next tasty murder."

In rapid succession, Chloe imagined a dozen different, very satisfying ways of wiping the smirk off his face. She didn't do any of them, but it wasn't nerves that stopped her. This time, it was a case of Herculean self-control.

It was going to be a long night.

~The End (for now…)~

Notes: That detail about Lucifer being a mirror has always intrigued me; how does he experience desire if he always reflects desire? It was fun to play with those questions a little. Next! I think I should probably let them actually have sex. Maybe mojo-swap sex? Maybe super-sex…? We'll see ;) If you've got a suggestion for other scenes you'd love to see expanded, drop me a comment to let me know!