Set during the final scene of Season 5, Episode 7, "Our Mojo" (What if it took a little longer for Dan to show up...?)

"Because you're vulnerable around me, I sometimes forget how strong you are. How powerful."

Lucifer wasn't sure if Chloe meant it as a compliment or as a simple observation. Truth be told, he was distracted by her fingers. As she talked, she was stirring his hair at the nape of his neck. She wasn't trying to escalate their interaction, not immediately, anyway. Instead, she seemed to be touching him for the sake of touching him. And because she thought it might feel nice. And it did; it did feel very nice.

He smiled ruefully, eyeing his whisky. "I seem to be less and less of both, as you're well aware."

Dr. Linda would say he was projecting, but surely even she would admit that their most recent case was a bit on-the-nose. After two days despairing about the seeming loss of his power to draw out people's desires—what Chloe called his "mojo"—he'd found himself subject to a paralytic drug and nearly sent back to hell by a serial killer. Chloe had saved him. She'd also stolen his mojo. Not consciously, and not entirely. Apparently, her newfound power only worked on him. It wasn't Chloe's fault, and Lucifer didn't blame her for anything. But that didn't make it better. He'd lost his invulnerability and now he'd lost the very thing that made him, well, him. What use could he be to Chloe, without any ability to keep her safe or help her solve cases?

Chloe moved her hand to his arm, stroking his bicep through his white shirt. They were standing on the balcony of the Penthouse, enjoying the cool night air. Their "new normal," as Chloe had called it, after he'd arrived home to find her ensconced at his desk with a stack of case files.

"Feeling human, feeling weak, having to rely on other people, it must be so hard, so… scary for you."

He didn't feel human, not really. But he understood Chloe was trying, and owed her the same. "I suppose what I call powerlessness, everyone else calls a Tuesday."

"I understand why you're so upset you lost your mojo. Of course it's a bad thing. But I just wonder if it could also be a good thing."

He eyed her, chuckling warily. "Now you're just spewing nonsense."

He'd thought he might dissuade her, but Chloe was determined. "The fact that I can mojo you… maybe it just means that I've put a tiny dent in the giant wall you're erected around yourself. Maybe, for the first time ever… you're starting to open up to me. To let me in."

Lucifer finished his drink, less because he wanted it than because he wanted a moment to think. His mind drifted back to an hour ago, when he'd stepped out of the elevator and found Chloe waiting. Despite how close they'd become—despite how close he'd wanted them to be for so long—it had unnerved him a little, finding her there, in his space, where he hadn't expected to find her. Then she'd flashed a nervous smile, and he'd realized—she was vulnerable, too. He'd wanted her to choose him, and she had. Somehow, she had.

He turned to her, into her light, into her warmth. "You're right. I think I may have dropped my guard."

Chloe shifted her weight on the low heels of her practical brown boots. She was clearly gearing up for something, though he couldn't guess what. Dropping his guard could be dangerous. But it was also exciting.

"You know…" she began, blue gaze glittering in the dark. "There can be benefits to opening up… to telling me what you desire…"

Lucifer's lips twitched, fighting a more enthusiastic reaction. He wasn't quite used to Chloe looking at him with that particular glint in her eye. It still didn't feel completely real.

"Detective…" he purred, "are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Chloe blushed, entirely charming in her guileless flirting. "A little role reversal can be fun…"

Usually, he'd be inclined to agree. Because he was predisposed to giving Chloe whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and because he was no stranger to roleplay. Many lovers had requested it over the years, including Dr. Linda. But with the notable exception of Eve, none of those lovers had known the real him. And he'd never actually had to surrender anything. He'd still been himself, with all his powers and strength, as well as his invulnerability to anything any mortal who wasn't Chloe Decker could throw at him. With Chloe wielding his mojo, they wouldn't be playing. He'd be open to her in a way he'd never been before. And in a way she'd never been before, since he'd never wielded that power with her.

But he was learning that vulnerability had its benefits. He knew it should embarrass him, the way Chloe's influence made his performance just a little more human. But whatever embarrassment he might have felt was outweighed by how damn good it was. It was so special, and intense, and wonderful to feel—really feel—every little thing, to know her teeth and nails would leave marks, and that even without his mojo, she wanted him badly enough to hold him that tight, kiss him that hard. She also cared enough to kiss it better. He'd laugh to cover how much he loved that, and because he loved it; something about Chloe devotedly kissing the red rims of her own love bites made him slightly delirious, like a hit of cocaine off a curve of taut flesh, but better. Infinitely better.

Lucifer straightened his shoulders, looking down at her from his full height. "Okay."

"Okay to what?"

"To using my mojo against me. For sex."

Chloe pursed her lips. "How about using it for you? It's meant to be fun, not a punishment."

Lucifer almost made a joke about how punishment could be fun. But he decided against it. He trusted Chloe, or wanted to. But his darker impulses had scared her in the past.

"As long as it's sex, the answer is yes." That was true in general, but especially with Chloe.

"Do you really mean that?"

Lucifer studied her, wondering at her suddenly serious tone. "Yes…?"

"You don't sound especially sure," she observed.

"So ask me," he teased, trying to lighten the mood. He pitched his voice lower to add, "I'm at your mercy, Detective."

That did the trick; Chloe's eyes sparkled above a helpless hint of a smile. "Now?"

"Let's have another drink first."

Chloe led the way and he followed her, as he so often did—into interrogation rooms, into firefights, into the afterlife and back. She waited for him at the bar as he poured merlot for her, whisky for himself. They lingered there for a while, watching and feeling their lips become wet, and then dry, craving more wetness. Lucifer put on some music, something soft, that could be danced to, but didn't demand it.

The next time they moved, she followed him, into the open area past the piano. When he stopped under the dappled light from the chandelier, she stepped into his body and dropped her arms around his shoulders. His own hands found a home in the small of her back, gently rubbing her spine through her soft black t-shirt. Together, they swayed to the music, not really dancing, just being. At some point, one of her hands returned to the nape of his neck, thumb gently stroking the spot behind his ear. Lucifer sighed into her touch, letting his eyelids flutter. Why did it feel so nice…

"Are you ready?"

Lucifer was reluctant to open his eyes, but prepared to play the game he'd promised. His mind insisted on calling it a game, even though a deeper part of him knew it was anything but.

"Yes," he replied, pulling back to look at her. "Are you ready?"

"I think so." Chloe took a breath, stilled her hands on his neck, met his gaze, then said, "What do you desire?"

The pull was instant and irresistible. For a split second, his heart surged, responding, instinctively, to an imaginary threat. And then all was well. He wanted to tell her. It would feel so nice to tell her. "I want…"

"Yes," she coaxed, her voice like honey and drugs and bliss. "Tell me."

His chest bloomed with relief as he opened his mouth, and said, "I want you to give me a blowjob."

Chloe blinked and the spell dissolved, leaving him blinking in her wake.

Her hands dropped from his neck to his shoulders. "That's it?"

"I'm rather disappointed as well…" he admitted, still processing what he'd apparently said.

"I mean, it's fine…"

Lucifer stepped out of her embrace, awful truth dawning as his mind cleared. "It most certainly is not! I've tried every sexual act known to mankind and invented half of them, and that's what I come up with? How utterly mortifying."

Shaking his head in a continued effort to repair his clearly broken imagination, Lucifer returned to the bar and poured himself a fresh tumbler of whisky.

"I mean, you know how it works better than me," said Chloe, appearing again at his shoulder. "But I don't think it's about 'coming up with something'? Isn't it supposed to be the truth?"

"That's even worse!" be bemoaned, purposefully downing half his glass. Surely some additional lubrication would nurture his creativity. It usually worked for humans.

Chloe laid a hand on his arm. "Do you want to try again?"

"Yes," he said quickly, eager not to overthink it. "Ask me again, but differently. Ask for my deepest, darkest desire. And really concentrate. Focus all your energy while you—"

"I got it. Are you ready?"

He finished his drink, replaced the empty tumbler on the bar, breathed, then turned to regard her squarely, offering a single nod of confirmation.

Chloe's blue eyes bored directly into his dark ones as she said, "Lucifer Morningstar—tell me your deepest, darkest, naughtiest desire?"

He could feel it—could feel her—pulling on his consciousness, some place he didn't want to think about or touch but suddenly did. In a clear voice, he replied, "I want to know what I desire." He felt the same jolt of pleasure as he said it, followed by the same confused disappointment. "Useless…"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm supposed to be telling you what I desire, not inventing riddles worthy of Dad."

"What if you legitimately don't know what you want?"

Lucifer scoffed. "That's ridiculous. I'm hardly known for denying myself. Besides which, we solved this the other day. You challenged me to tell you what I desire. I told you. And we made good on it. After a slight delay." The slight delay had involved a phone call about a new case, followed by two days babysitting Chloe's ex-boyfriend. Jed. With his wash-and-wear hair and easy smile, with his adoring fans and his charity named after Chloe and his admittedly charming dimples…

"I don't think this is the kind of issue you just 'solve,' Lucifer."

Chloe sounding like Dr. Linda definitely wasn't the kind of roleplay he'd had in mind. "Until a week ago, I didn't know it was an issue."

"I think that's how issues work…"

As he nursed the remainder of his drink, Lucifer permitted himself a moment of nostalgia for a time before he'd become familiar with words like "issues," and "denial," and "transference," and "trauma." But that meant a time before Chloe. And he didn't want that, not even a little.

"Let's stop," said Chloe. "It was supposed to be fun, but it's clearly upsetting you."

"No." He was studying the amber liquid in his glass, but his tone was certain.

"No?" she echoed.

Lucifer sought her blue gaze. "I don't want to stop. I want to know… I need to know… if I'm really that empty."

"Lucifer…"

His gaze fell. Her sympathy felt heavy, like a gift he didn't deserve. "Whatever powers I gain or lose, whatever face or form I use–I'm not human, and never will be. I don't always feel things the same way you do. And I don't know…" He swallowed, steeled himself, and tried again. "And I don't know if I can."

He'd hurt her. He was sure he'd hurt her. He was always hurting her, was destined to hurt her, and how could he ever think otherwise? He was him, and she was—

"I'm sorry."

Lucifer looked at her. His Detective. His miracle. "What could you possibly have to apologize for?"

"For not understanding," she replied. He was resting his forearms on the bar and she joined him, shoulder not quite brushing his. "I think of you as human because I know you. And because for years, I thought you were."

He made an amused sound, remembering those early years. "You must have thought I was crazy."

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But I meant what I told you. I think deep down, some part of me always knew. Maybe I just didn't want to see it. And maybe… Maybe I'm still keeping myself from seeing it."

He blinked slowly as he pondered her face and her words, trying to figure out her angle, finally realizing there wasn't one. Words without an agenda took getting used to. He'd probably always be getting used to it.

Chloe continued, "But I'd like to see. I'd like to understand."

She touched his wrist and his gaze flickered toward her fingers, so small and so strong. He covered her hand with his, and said, "Mojo or no-mojo, you're welcome to ask me anything, Detective."

After a moment, Chloe began, "Do other angels have… you know…"

"Desires?"

"But specifically…"

"…sex?"

"I mean, I know Amenadiel does…"

"Not before four years ago."

Chloe's eyes widened. "What?"

"I said—"

"I heard you. I'm just trying to get my head around this. Angels have been around since… well, since the beginning of time… and most of you never…"

Lucifer shrugged. It seemed very simple to him. "Most angels spend their lives with their family in the Silver City."

"But not you."

He looked at his glass but couldn't bring himself to raise it. "No."

"Do you miss it?"

He looked at his fingers, curled over Chloe's, curled over his wrist. "No."

"So at least you know what you don't want."

He exhaled a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I suppose so."

Chloe stroked her other hand over his forearm and back up his bicep, deliberately outlining his muscles on her way. He flexed a little, which made her squeeze a little, feeling and testing his strength.

Low and lovely, Chloe said, "What do you want right now?"

She wasn't using his mojo. It was just her, just asking. Lucifer knew what he wanted, but hesitated. It was too small, too simple.

Her hand curved over his shoulder, fingers massaging his neck. "Just this once—let me take care of you, Lucifer." When he continued to hesitate, she favored him with a hint of a smile, and offered, "Roleplay, remember?"

That helped. Roleplay he could do. "I want to kiss you," he said. Then he remembered the game, and amended, "No—I want you to kiss me."

He slid his arms off the bar and let Chloe slide into them, watching, waiting, letting her come to him. She cupped his cheek and stretched to reach him; even in her boots, she needed help to properly kiss him. He quickly surrendered to assisting her, ducking to catch her warm lips and wet tongue as his right hand urged her hips into the crucible of his. He sighed into her mouth and the gentle friction of her jeans against his pants.

Against his lips, she breathed, "What's next?"

That was easy. "I want you to take off my shirt."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"Then I want to go to the bedroom."

"And then…?"

He paused, considering. He didn't fantasize much. Before Chloe, he never needed to; whenever he was on Earth, pleasure had a way of finding him, without him needing to look. But he had fantasized about Chloe. In Hell, his soul had pined for her. On Earth, his body had joined his pining, dreams of her joining his frequent nightmares. Too many times, he'd woken up needy and nothing made it better, nothing except seeing her, which sometimes made it worse. Mostly, he fantasized about her wanting him as badly as he wanted her. He'd never told Linda that, and barely admitted it to himself. Except in those moments he couldn't help it—like when he was wanking off in the shower before meeting Chloe at the precinct, desperately imagining any warm part of her touching any aching part of him.

He knew what he didn't want; he definitely didn't want that, now or ever again. And then he knew what he wanted.

Lucifer said, "When we get to the bedroom, I want to peel back the covers…"

Chloe hummed her agreement.

"…then I want you to use your handcuffs to lock my wrists to the headboard."

The fingers stroking his shoulder faltered a little. Their first night together hadn't included any accessories, and Lucifer strongly suspected such things were much less common in Chloe's world than his.

"You won't hurt me," he assured her. "I may not have my mojo, but I still have my strength. I can free myself whenever I want." He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone and added, "Roleplay—remember?"

Chloe dragged her lips through his beard to place a hot kiss beneath his ear. "Once you're at my mercy—what should I do with you?"

"Whatever you want."

"No."

"No?"

"You have to tell me."

She was right. He was cheating, hoping she'd know without being told. But under the circumstances, he could risk telling her. It was just a game, after all.

"I want you to touch me."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

Chloe breathed deeply against his neck as her hands got to work on his shirt.

They exchanged teasing kisses and ticklish touches as she backed him into the bedroom. With every step, his bare skin felt everything—her soft t-shirt, the scratchier edge of her bra underneath it, and the delightful squish of her breasts under that. Her cult-famous breasts, which he'd admired in a silly movie years before he'd met her, and which were so much better in person, realer and so much more touchable. And kissable. And suckable…

When they reached the bedroom, he revealed the golden silk sheets, then maneuvered to where he wanted to be—at the center of the bed with lots of room on every side, ready for whatever happened next.

Chloe stopped at the edge of the bed. "I don't actually have my—"

"Top drawer."

She shot him a look, but dutifully opened the top drawer of the bedside table, withdrawing a pair of LAPD-issue handcuffs. They were her handcuffs, from two years ago, after he'd asked to borrow them and she'd told him not to bother bringing them back.

Chloe clearly remembered. "You kept these all this time. By your bed."

"I've never used them," he assured her, touching his bare chest in an exaggerated gesture of innocence. "Not those ones, anyway…"

"You were just… saving them?"

He met her eyes and said, without a hint of humor, "Yes."

Chloe bit her lip as she dropped her gaze. This time, Lucifer didn't fight his smile. Their new normal didn't exclusively involve losing stuff. Since their first night together a week ago, he could already read her so much better. At present, he knew Chloe was excited, and trying not to show it.

"How should I—"

"There's a steel bar behind the headboard," he replied. He sat up straighter and raised both arms above his head, wrists together. "Detective Chloe Jane Decker—would you do me the honor of restraining me?"

Chloe kicked off her boots and slowly, deliberately climbed onto the bed. As he continued to admire her, she did as he bade her, threading the chain through the bar and adjusting each cuff before clinking them closed. Lucifer leaned into the slightly uncomfortable stretch, nose ghosting Chloe's sweet-smelling flesh as she completed her task and retreated. He had to resist the urge to shift in his equally uncomfortable pants, wanting Chloe to take her time. This game required patience.

Chloe slung a knee over his legs, straddling his body below his crotch. She started with his arms, making a firm, certain sweep up his biceps to his forearms, wrists, and hands. She jiggled the cuffs while she was there, confirming he was sufficiently immobilized. Then she moved on to his face, gentle fingers tracing the shape of his forehead and each of his features, smoothing over his eyebrows and sliding down the slope of his nose. Years ago, a cosmetic surgeon had cornered him at a party and offered to "fix" his nose, to break the bone and reset it, smoothing its aqualine curve. Lucifer had laughed in the man's face. So many humans had such a narrow view of beauty, it would be infuriating if it weren't tragic. And for someone who'd witnessed thousands of years of human beauty trends, it could only ever be funny.

After observing his objectively perfect nose, Chloe dropped a thumb into the peak of his lips. Lucifer closed his eyes as her fingers outlined his mouth then danced up his cheekbones, tickling his beard as she went. She carded both hands several times through his hair, and he smiled again at that. If Chloe had her way, he'd probably wear it like that—loose and bent in the shape of her hands.

She completed her inspection of his face without kissing him, but her lips got involved as she proceeded down his body, trailing kisses along his neck and shoulders and into the groove of his chest. She thumbed his nipples, then nuzzled them, then flicked them with her tongue and smiled into his skin when he groaned, cuffs rattling. She lavished his belly button with a truly sinful amount of attention before finally addressing his belt. The cuffs rattled again as he raised his hips to help her strip off his pants. His cock popped free, eager but not desperate. Not yet. Chloe deliberately ignored it in favor of worshiping the curve of his hip and drawing her cheek and damp lips along the inside edge of each thigh. A low growl escaped him when her hot breath tickled his neglected balls, hands twisting in the cuffs as his bare feet clenched in the silk sheets.

Finally, Chloe massaged and kissed each of his feet, then stepped off the edge of the bed. She stood there for a moment, admiring the view. Heat surged in Lucifer's chest and other increasingly needful body parts as he watched Chloe's eyes rove over his bare flesh.

"Lucifer…" her voice was husky, as hot as he felt. "Tell me what you want."

Another easy question, that didn't require mojo. "Undress for me."

Her striptease wasn't showy. Chloe Decker didn't need to be showy. She was herself, and that was enough. More than enough. Every part of her was exactly her. Each scar and stretch mark was a memory and a victory and a visceral reminder of her miraculous love, several scars marking times he'd almost lost her to the one place he couldn't follow. Yet here she was, standing at the foot of his bed, unclasping her bra and stepping out of her panties, eyes never leaving his needful flesh, pinioned by her handcuffs for her pleasure. And his. And theirs. He couldn't possibly want anything more. Except…

Chloe read his mind, or more likely wanted the same. She climbed back into the bed and back up his body, stopping at his hips to run two heavy hands up his thighs.

Her husky voice said, "I need to tell you something."

"Anything." He would have agreed to anything to keep her from stopping. The cuffs were starting to hurt, but not as much as something else.

"Linda broke doctor-patient privilege. But it was important."

"Tell me. "

"It was about your cock." She kissed one hip, then the other. "She told me it was perfect."

He started to laugh but it dissolved into a moan when she greedily licked up his shaft and took him deep into her mouth. The handcuffs clanked and screeched against the steel bar as he squirmed with pleasure—simple pleasure, but with Chloe, it never was.

When she decided she was done driving him mad, she climbed the rest of the way up his body, dropping into his lap and roughly falling into his chest and face, two sets of wet-hot lips driving him madder. That prompted Lucifer to make his own decision. With a vigorous flex, he snapped the handcuffs in two. There was a brief flare of pain as the metal tore into his vulnerable flesh, and he touched blood as he ripped the remaining steel off his wrists on his way to seizing Chloe.

They exchanged rough kisses as his lonely hands finally, properly touched her, anywhere and everywhere he could reach. Without coming up for air, he shook her hair free of her ponytail, variously combing through her gold-kissed tresses and gathering greedy fistfuls, then burying his face under the waves, inhaling a living river of Chloe.

Chloe's arms were hooked under his, her hands searching his shoulder blades for leverage. But instead of holding him she kept searching, returning again and again to a particular spot. Or rather, a particular pair of spots, smooth skin where he used to have scars. Lucifer wasn't sure what drew her there. Maybe it was the way his breath changed when she touched him, or the way his own hands became distracted, mind wandering elsewhere, to something that was there, but wasn't.

She mumbled his name and he was sure she was going to ask. He was scared she was going to ask. He wanted her to ask.

Lucifer wrenched his lips free, enough to cup her cheek and find her eyes. "Do it."

"Do what?"

"Ask me."

"Are you sure?"

He held her face with both hands and her blue gaze in his blackest one. "Ask me." The edge in his voice was desperation, not anger. He didn't want her to ask him. He needed her to.

Chloe settled around his hips, laid both hands flat on his chest, filled his eyes with hers, and said, "What do you desire, Lucifer?"

"I want…" As badly as part of him wanted to tell her, another part fought the confession. "My wings…"

Chloe stroked his cheek and his chest, eyes welling with concern. "Did something happen to your wings?"

"No, I want…" The pull was fading, too fast, yet not fast enough. With a rush of feeling, he said, "I want you to touch my wings."

Chloe inhaled a sharp breath. "Oh. Oh. I didn't know you… liked that."

"I don't. Usually. But…" Words failed him, the confession taking its toll. He was reeling in the wake of it—of saying it to Chloe and admitting it to himself.

But Chloe—his gift, his miracle—didn't miss a beat. Slinging herself off his hips, she crawled back toward the foot of the bed. She raised herself onto her knees, regarding him squarely in all her glory, and said, "Show me."

Lucifer inhaled a shaky breath and followed her, copying her pose at the center of the bed. Then he rolled his shoulders—and showed her.

Her hair rippled in the rush of wind, amber waves buffeting cheeks that glowed like wet pearls, bathed as they were in the divine light of… him. His wings, and her reception of their divinity. Lucifer's heart performed a sickening somersault, overwhelmed by her beauty and hating it, because she wasn't seeing him. Not the way he wanted.

"Chloe… it's me. It's just me."

She blinked, then nodded, and she was back. Still beautiful, but not because of him. Purposefully meeting his gaze, she closed the distance between them and replaced her hands on his chest. She stayed there for a while, feeling his heartbeat and studying his face before moving her gaze to the less familiar parts of him. His eyes followed hers as she absorbed the breadth of his wingspan, gaze traveling from one splayed tip to the other. Seemingly of their own accord, his wings preened under her gaze, subtly stretching and ruffling to catch the light. But he didn't want her admiration. He wanted something better.

"Touch me, Chloe. Please." He sounded as needful as he felt, but he didn't care. Now that he was naked in bed with Chloe and his wings out, nothing seemed impossible. Or maybe everything did. In any case, there was no turning back.

She shuffled forward again, slinging her arms around his neck as his own hands caught her hips, massaging her thighs as she reached up, past his shoulder, and touched the arch of his left wing. Her touch was light at first, almost ticklish, and he shifted impatiently under it, kneading her flesh to encourage her. Her smooth cheek glided over his rough one as she got closer, then sank both hands into his feathers, until her fingers closed over the bone and sinew beneath them.

He made a helpless sound, something between a grunt and a groan, and dropped his face into her neck.

"Are you…"

"Yes. Yes…" He said it a third time, and a fourth, then said it again as a moan of abject pleasure. Whatever she was asking, the answer was yes.

Chloe proceeded along the arch of each wing, as far as she could reach, breath warm and deep in his hair. His own breath came haltingly against her skin, mixed with more moans and messy kisses. When she changed her grip, reaching under his arms to flick her fingers through the short feathers that marked the transition from skin to wings, Lucifer couldn't take it anymore. He shifted his weight to pull her the rest of the way into his lap, grinding her heat against his need. Chloe scrambled to hold on, hands clenching around the closest available part of him. His wings. Each small, strong fist closed in a handful of feathers.

Lucifer swore under his breath and with one mighty flap of his wings he was pinning her to the mattress, devouring her with kisses as his hand swept between her legs, stroking through her wetness. He wanted to devour that too, but not now. Now, he needed to bury himself in her divinity with her hands fisted in his. Chloe agreed, sweeping one hand down his back to grab his ass, deliciously desperate.

He slid into her and practically choked on his pleasure. It was like the first time and nothing like that, because his first time was the first time, and because this was Chloe, who was still touching his wings, fingers threaded through feathers under each of his shoulder blades. She sighed his name as she spread her hips wider and clenched her thighs, pulling him deeper. Lucifer was happy to oblige, falling gloriously into her heat.

His wings joined each thrust, sending dappled light cascading over Chloe's flushed, writhing flesh. Her head fell back, mouth gaping, as she arched her back into the rhythm. He sucked a bloom of golden light off her exposed throat, drinking her shivering moan and shivering in turn, through every bone and muscle to the preening tips of his primaries. Her hands were questing up again, along the crest of each wing, and she was looking up again to see it, watching herself touch him, watching him fall apart. And he was definitely falling apart. Tears pricked his eyes and when he blinked to clear them Chloe was kissing him, then kissing the tears off his cheeks, then moaning again and hooking her heels into the small of his back. The world sped up, then slowed, then stopped, or seemed to, catching Chloe in a perfect paroxysm of pleasure, gasping in ecstasy inside a bath of divine light. His light. Their light…

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders to fall wingless into the mattress, breathless and wonderfully empty. Chloe tumbled into his chest, trembling through the aftershocks of her pleasure. They were under the ceiling mirror, and Lucifer stared dumbly into the spectacle they made. His wrists were red and his face was damp, his hair reverting to a loose mess of curls. Chloe was tucked against the sticky, spent length of him, small, pale, and radiant. He smiled to himself as he tried naming the scene. The Devil and his Detective. His miracle. His angel…

"That was…"

He turned toward the sound of Chloe's voice, nuzzling her hair and lazily stroking her thigh, signaling his agreement with a throaty sigh.

"Could we… do that again sometime?"

He paused, blinking against her neck. "Maybe." He tried to leave it there, but knew she deserved more. "My wings and I have a… complicated relationship."

"I noticed. And I remember."

Chloe rolled onto her back and Lucifer seized the opportunity to switch positions, curling his larger body against her smaller one, head pillowed on her collarbone. She accommodated him easily, as though cradling a spent Devil on her chest was the most natural thing in the world.

Quietly, she asked, "Did you really cut them off?"

"Several times," he confirmed.

"How…?"

"With Maze's blades." Although that was true, he knew it wasn't really what she was asking. She was asking how he'd endured it—physically, emotionally. And the real truth was—he very nearly hadn't. Each time, he'd been stoned and blackout drunk, waking up cold in a pool of blood, aching and trembling as his bloody hands fumbled for another drink.

He was waiting for Chloe to chastise or plead with him, making him promise never to harm himself again. If she asked, he would promise. But he didn't want to promise. Not because he had any intention of performing any more violent amputations. But if he had to sacrifice his wings to keep Chloe, he'd choose Chloe every time.

But Chloe didn't make him promise. Instead, she pressed a gentle kiss into his forehead and said, simply, "Thank you for showing me."

Lucifer knew he should be suggesting round two. And they both needed to clean up, especially Chloe. But he was distracted by her fingers. She was stirring his hair at the nape of his neck. Just because she thought it might feel nice. And it did; it did feel very nice.

Their reverie was interrupted by the hiss and ding of the elevator.

With an effort, Lucifer peeled himself off Chloe's body and stepped out of bed. "I really need to put a lock on that door."

"Ya think?" Chloe teased, reaching for a sheet to cover herself.

He slipped into a robe as he said, "It's probably Maze, here to kill me as usual."

"Honestly not sure if you're joking…"

"I'm sure I can persuade her otherwise. Won't be a moment."

He skipped down the dais into the sitting room to confront none other than Detective Daniel Espinoza. There was a sheen of sweat on his frenemy's forehead, and he didn't seem entirely steady on his feet.

"Daniel!" he greeted, loud enough to warn Chloe. "I'd say you look awful, but it's sometimes hard to tell."

When Dan drew his Glock and aimed it, Lucifer scoffed, assuming he must be joking. He kept thinking it right up until the moment the bullet hit his chest.

~The End (for now...)~

Notes: Not a cliffhanger! Lucifer's invulnerable now, remember? ;) I just thought it would be fun to end this chapter the same place the episode did. I also thought it would be fun to imagine Dan walking in on Lucifer and Chloe in various states of undress ;) ;) ;) Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, consider dropping a comment or fav to let me know!