Set after the conclusion of Season 5, Episode 16, "A Chance at a Happy Ending"

Chloe Decker wanted a shower. For the fifth time in five minutes, her hands drifted to the dried bloodstain on her shirt, scared of it being real and equally scared it wasn't. And just like she'd done each time she'd felt her fingers drifting toward the stain, she stopped herself. Lucifer—the former Devil, the new God, her boyfriend—had just won a celestial war, during which he'd openly declared he was fighting on her behalf. Because he loved her. Lucifer loved her, and all his angelic siblings and a host of demons knew it. And they wouldn't stop staring.

All the participants in the war were still at the stadium where Lucifer and his evil twin Michael had taken to the sky to fight for the right to succeed their father as the new ruler of the universe. (Was ruler the right word? Or was God more of a steward? Maybe an administrator? Chloe wasn't entirely sure, and Lucifer wasn't entirely forthcoming.)

Lucifer had won, but at a cost. Namely—her death at Michael's hands. And now she wasn't dead, though she still had an enormous purple stain on her shirt from the gaping hole in her gut that wasn't there anymore. And all the angels and demons wouldn't stop staring. Most of the angels had enough pride to try and hide it, but that just made it more obvious. Chloe didn't know what they saw and told herself she didn't actually care. She just wanted a shower.

She was standing near Maze and Eve, on the side of the demons who'd taken her side against the angels. The demon bounty hunter was telling an emphatic story which another demon kept interrupting, much to Maze's dismay. Chloe wasn't listening, but Eve was hanging on every word, laughing uproariously even though no one else was. Chloe was happy for them, or would be, once she'd recovered the strength to feel. She wondered if they swapped Lucifer stories.

Chloe let her gaze wander toward the gathering of angels, and to Lucifer. He was standing some distance away with a small group that included Amenadiel and Zadkiel, who'd fought on their side. The conversation seemed serious, which was unusual for Lucifer, but it seemed to suit him. Chloe didn't have names for most of the other angelic brothers and sisters, many of whom seemed vaguely wary of the former Devil, but quietly reverent, as well. It occurred to Chloe that most of Lucifer's siblings probably hadn't seen him in eons. Perhaps he was just as mythic to them as he was to humans. And perhaps equally misunderstood.

Lucifer seemed to sense her attention. As the conversation continued around him, he cast his eyes across the stadium, looking for hers. When he found her, he smiled, genuinely but tiredly, squinting in the late-afternoon sun. He probably wanted a shower, too.

Before long, the conference concluded. Lucifer stiffly accepted a firm slap on the back from Zadkiel and a gentler touch from Amenadiel. And then he was heading her way.

Chloe watched him come to her, strides long and even but deliberately so, as though he didn't want to look hurried—not in front of their audience. His hair was curled by sweat and wind and who knows what else, his face flecked with dirt, his suit rumpled, his collar torn. Chloe had rarely seen a more welcome sight.

When he reached her, he took her hands in his, softly squeezing. "Det—Chloe. Would you like to get out of here?"

Chloe blinked at him. "And go to… Heaven?"

Lucifer chuckled awkwardly. "No, of course not. The succession won't happen right away, there are preparations involved, and I need… Anyway. We can talk about that later. I meant—are you ready to go home?"

"Trixie's at home. With my mom." She didn't know why the words sounded so flat. She wanted to see Trixie. Her daughter. Her precious little monkey who she'd almost left behind.

Lucifer nodded. "I'll take you to her." But when he laid a gentle hand on her arm to guide her away from the scene, Chloe stiffened.

"Wait. I don't want to scare her."

"Trixie? Why would you scare her?" Lucifer followed her gaze as she glanced down at her bloody shirt. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well… we could get you a change of clothes first."

"It's not just that," Chloe realized. "My mind is kinda..." She made a vague gesture, not entirely sure what she was trying to indicate. But all-encompassing vagueness seemed appropriate.

Lucifer leaned close her to ask, softly, "Are you alright?"

Chloe contemplated various responses before settling on, "Can we go to your place?"

"If that's what you want."

"You don't have somewhere you need to be?"

Lucifer gave her hands another soft squeeze, thumb stroking the ring that had been black on his hand, but turned white on hers. "I'm exactly where I need to be."

Chloe managed a hint of a smile. She'd see Trixie first thing in the morning, when her mind was right and she wasn't soaked in blood. For now, she needed a moment alone with the only person who knew exactly what she'd gone through—the archangel turned Devil turned future-God who'd invaded Heaven and dissolved in fire to save her. Because he loved her. Lucifer loved her and he'd put a ring on her finger to prove it…

Amenadiel was heading their way, which Lucifer seemed anxious to avoid. "Come—I'll drive."

In Lucifer's car with the top down, the drive to the Penthouse might have been fast or slow. It didn't occur to Chloe to gauge it. She only knew that when they pulled into the parking garage at LUX, she felt both relieved and mournful, missing the sun and eager to escape its penetrating glare. She also realized they hadn't talked since the stadium. If Lucifer noticed, he didn't mention it, wordlessly shutting off the engine and circling the car to open her door.

They maintained a thoughtless silence as they rode the elevator to the Penthouse and finally stepped into Lucifer's living room. Everything was pristine and echoingly quiet, the evening light a golden tide receding toward the picture windows overlooking the city. The last time they'd been there, Lucifer had pleaded with her not to feel guilty about Dan, desperate to avoid the possibility of her sharing her ex-husband's fate. In response, she'd stabbed Lucifer in the heart with an icepick. At the time, Chloe had told herself it didn't count, because she'd known it wouldn't hurt him. And indeed, the ice pick had bounced harmlessly off Lucifer's invulnerable skin, probably hurting her hand more than his chest. Now, Chloe realized it did count, and that she'd hurt Lucifer anyway. Why had she wanted to hurt him?

Lucifer asked, "What would you like first—a drink or a shower?"

Chloe looked at him and replied, "Neither." She silenced his follow-up question with a kiss—not deep, but enough.

As they parted, Lucifer sighed. Then he seemed more like himself, dark eyes shining in the low light as he reached up to stroke her hair. "I could join you. If you want."

"No," she said, a little too quickly. "I mean—I want to, I just… need a minute to collect myself. Okay?"

Lucifer nodded. He didn't always understand; one of the consequences of being an immortal being who'd spent most of his life in Hell. But sometimes, he understood perfectly. "Help yourself to any clothes you'd like. You know where everything is."

As she stepped toward the bathroom, he stepped toward the bar. Chloe eyed him as she went, acknowledging that she did want a drink. But she wanted a shower more.

She was slowly but surely becoming accustomed to the ridiculous opulence of Lucifer's bathroom, with its black shale tiles, golden accents, and plethora of mirrors. Everywhere she looked, she seemed to see herself. Chloe didn't know why anyone would want to watch themselves peeing and didn't want to know. Not that Lucifer made much use of that part of the bathroom. His bodily functions were minimal, a fact Chloe still found strange, though she supposed there was no time like the present to fully accept the fact her boyfriend who seemed human in so many ways definitely wasn't. After all, she'd had many recent reminders—like seeing Lucifer engage in winged aerial combat.

Doing her best to avoid the intrusive mirrors, Chloe dropped her suede jacket on the tiles. Then she kicked off her boots and stripped off her pants and underwear, and finally peeled off her bra and bloody shirt. For a moment, she stared at the pile of clothes that had followed her to Heaven and back. Then she gave the pile a decisive kick into a darkened corner behind a glossy black cabinet. Maybe Lucifer could take her to the beach to burn them; he'd enjoy the symbolism of that, and for once, she might, too. For now, she just wanted the clothes gone, off her body and out of her sight.

She stepped into the spacious shower with its dizzying assortment of jets still wearing her bullet necklace and Lucifer's ring. At first, she avoided touching her abdomen, focusing on scrubbing every trace of sweat and makeup off her grimy face and working Lucifer's fancy almond shampoo through her tangled hair. But eventually, she had to touch it, running a cautious hand over the smooth skin that had so recently been a gaping, bloody hole. She inhaled a shuddering breath and wrenched off the water. She was clean enough.

Sometime later, she emerged from the bathroom with her damp hair trailing down her back, wearing one of Lucifer's black silk robes. The sash was wrapped twice around her waist to keep it closed, and the hem nearly dragged on the floor. Chloe had her own robes and an assortment of clean clothes at her disposal. But Lucifer's robe smelled like him. And Lucifer smelled nice. And familiar. And alive. Definitely alive.

The man of the hour was seated on the apricot leather sofa with a half-full tumbler of whisky close at hand. Chloe smiled softly at the mundane nature of the scene, which was strange in the face of all the strangeness surrounding the day. But some strangeness was welcome. Lucifer hadn't changed his own clothes since the battle, though he had cleaned his face and made an effort to tame his disheveled curls. He was bent over the coffee table, and as she got closer, she realized he was rolling a joint. No—multiple joints. Large ones.

His head popped up to greet her. "I hope you don't mind. It's been rather a long day."

Chloe couldn't argue with that. And at least it was pot instead of cocaine; she wasn't in the mood for the manic energy of Lucifer on coke. She accepted his drug use. Mostly. Everything burned through his system so quickly, it seemed silly to worry. But she did sometimes worry about his motives. Not where a few joints were concerned, but when he went on multi-day benders and came back married or begging a sniper to shoot him? That was concerning. But it had been a long time since she'd seen Lucifer in such a state. Not since Eve, when she'd told her sleeping partner she hated the way he was happy. Not one of her finer moments, but at least she'd been honest. And Lucifer hadn't been happy after all.

Lucifer ran his clever tongue along the rolling paper to seal it, then asked, "Would you care to join me?"

Chloe hesitated. She'd been a cop for a long time.

"You're not a detective anymore, Detective."

Another solid argument. And it really had been a long day. A very, very long day.

Chloe dropped into the Italian leather next to him. "Sure. Why not."

Lucifer beamed. "I called in a favor to get this. The seller refuses to let dispensaries dilute the purity of his creation."

"Meaning it's illegal."

"Oh most definitely."

Chloe almost chastised him, then shook her head at herself. It was hardly a capital offense, especially when the buyer was God. "I haven't gotten high in 15 years," she reflected. "It'll probably put me on my ass."

"I should hope so. Or Francisco's name isn't worth the recycled teak business cards it's carved on."

She expelled an amused sound as she accepted the sturdy joint and placed it between her lips, leaning in to let Lucifer light it. He watched with interest as she nursed the flame and took her first experimental puff, which ended with a predictable cough. It was entirely possible it had been longer than 15 years.

Lucifer grinned, but to his credit, refrained from teasing her. Chloe managed another puff before passing the joint to Lucifer. He closed his eyes while indulging in several generous hits. Then he passed it back, chasing his high with whisky.

They continued that way for a while, each of them sinking deeper into the sofa. By the time Lucifer struck up a second joint, he was fully reclined, head dangling off the armrest as he gazed skyward through a steady haze of smoke. Chloe was reclined in the opposite direction, neck propped up by a pillow, bare legs tangled with the silk robe where her lower half draped across Lucifer's torso, the big toe of her right foot almost tickling his chin.

"So you can fly."

Lucifer's chest vibrated under her foot. "You noticed!"

Chloe playfully kicked his chin. In response, Lucifer grinned while wriggling deeper into her weight. He made the most of his expansive wingspan to pass off the joint before sliding a slow hand up her leg.

Chloe inhaled, then asked, "Since you can fly… why don't you just, you know… fly everywhere?"

"Why don't you run everywhere?"

"Because I have a car?"

"Exactly."

Chloe raised herself off the couch long enough to pass the joint back to Lucifer. With his celestial metabolism, he needed it far more than she did. "I guess that makes sense…"

"Everything makes sense when you stop overthinking it."

He seemed very pleased with that explanation, and she had to admit it was pretty funny, coming from a guy on the precipice of omniscience. But she had more questions, important questions her sober self could never quite manage to ask.

"Where do your wings go when they're not, you know…"

"A pocket dimension," Lucifer replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But how—"

"There you go, overthinking things again. Contrary to what those sneaky therapists would have you believe, sometimes it's best not to dwell."

For some reason, Lucifer's deflections seemed to make more sense than usual. Chloe nodded thoughtfully as she blinked at the ceiling, absently counting dappled points of light from Lucifer's beautiful chandelier composed of organic, vine-like branches. The chandelier's light had become brighter, which meant the world outside must be darker. Which meant it must be later. How much later, Chloe couldn't precisely say.

"I flew with Michael, once."

Lucifer raised his head. "What? When?"

"When you were in Hell. When I thought he was you."

"Well he won't be doing that again," Lucifer observed, dropping back into the sofa while taking another hit.

"They could grow back," Chloe offered, but they both knew she didn't mean it. In principle, Chloe believed in redemption. For Michael, she hoped against it.

She let her hand tangle aimlessly in the folds of silk that smelled like Lucifer, and thought about his wings, his brilliant white wings that were so soft, and powerful, and part of him. "Maybe we could fly together sometime." When Lucifer's head shot up again, she made herself heavy to stop him. "Not now. No flying under the influence."

Lucifer smirked. "Narc."

"Delinquent."

His smile changed as he purred, "I really ought to be punished."

Chloe listened to her heart, counting five beats. "I'll let it slide. This time."

Lucifer's free hand was warm on her thigh. Not moving, just there. As he killed the joint, he eyed her across his body and hers, brown eyes black and shining. Chloe blinked. And on the back of her eyelids, she saw a different face. It was still Lucifer's face, still handsome and so obviously in love with her, she hated herself for doubting it. But he was crying. Crying and burning, literally burning while his trembling hands slipped his ring onto her finger.

Chloe opened her eyes and said, "I'll take that drink now."

Lucifer returned from the bar with two full-bodied glasses and a bottle of dark merlot. He'd turned on some music while he was at the bar, and as he poured the wine, the song changed, becoming an instantly recognizable samba beat.

"'Sympathy for the Devil?' Really?"

Lucifer shrugged, smiling crookedly as he settled back into the sofa. "It's on shuffle."

"I bet you think this song is about you," she teased.

He cocked an eyebrow above his glass. "Because I'm so vain?"

Chloe snorted, then drowned her laugh in wine. She'd never hear the end of it if she actually laughed at one of his jokes. But he could be funny. Sometimes.

She needn't have held back. Lucifer was already preening, inordinately proud of amusing her. "It is about me, though."

Chloe took a slow sip of wine, letting the bittersweet flavor linger on her lips. "Not anymore."

"We'll see about that…"

"Just as every cop is a criminal

And all the sinners saints

As heads is tails

Just call me Lucifer

'Cause I'm in need of some restraint…"

He tasted like drink and drugs and him, his slow, deliberate tongue caressing hers with all the skill of his station and millennia of practice, plus a month of practicing with her, learning what she liked, what she desired, which spots to suck and nip and how to touch her when he did it…

Chloe pushed him back into the cushions, climbing his body to pin him under her weight. Up close, his eyes were even blacker, obsidian orbs that seemed to swallow her own gaze and demand to be swallowed in turn. She placed both hands on his chest as he shifted lazily under her hips. He was ready. He was always ready. And part of her wanted to take him. Part of her always wanted to take him. She could admit that now, to herself if not to him. Not that it mattered; her body clearly betrayed her.

"You know what would be fun?" she asked.

"I'm dying to know."

"What if we… in the hot tub…"

Lucifer's eyes seemed to double in size. His throat bobbed as he made a quick, futile effort to collect himself. "Yes, well… if that's what you truly desire, I suppose I could fill it…"

Chloe merely smiled.

While they waited for the hot tub to fill, Lucifer took a belated shower and Chloe retreated to the patio, nursing her wine and the delightful calm of her limbs, which felt at once heavy and weightless. The stars were dimmer and sparser than the light from the chandelier, but they were there. Lucifer's stars, which he'd hung when the world was young. Chloe wondered who he'd been then, or what. Had he been him, or something else? She had no context to picture it, so instead she imagined him as he was, wearing Louboutin Chelsea boots and a jet-black Tom Ford suit with a bright white shirt and red pocket square, hanging stars like they were Christmas lights while arguing with Amenadiel and Michael about whether they were evenly spaced.

"What's so funny?"

Lucifer's question made her realize she'd laughed out loud, rather than confining her mirth to her herself, as she'd intended. She turned toward the sound of his voice and found him standing at the threshold of the balcony, barefoot in a white bathroom, dark hair slicked back.

"Nothing," she assured him, touching her tingly face to confirm its rebelliousness. "Just remembering something. Sort of."

"Might I recommend returning to the present? I've a hot tub in dire need of christening."

She followed him back into the Penthouse, pausing at the edge of the steamy tub to dip an experimental toe into the gurgling water.

"Should I wear a bathing suit, or…?"

Lucifer answered her question by casually shucking off his bathrobe and tossing it toward a chair. He was naked. Gorgeously naked. Of course, he was always gorgeous. Except sometimes, when he was different. Be he was always him.

Chloe felt Lucifer watching her, so she tried to make her own disrobing at least a little special, sliding her hands down her body and taking her time unwinding the sash before letting the silk pour off her shoulders into a cool pile at her feet. Without returning Lucifer's gaze, she proceeded into the tub, moving deliberately down the steps and indulging an audible sigh as the water engulfed her hips, and again when it lapped against her breasts.

As she sought a comfortable corner, she glanced back at Lucifer, who still hadn't moved, but was very interested. She chuckled to herself and figured—what the hell, you only die and get resurrected once, right?

Chloe dunked her head underwater, lingered for a moment, then burst forth again, snapping her neck back with an exultant "woooo!" Her naked breasts bobbed above the waves she'd made, not quite as perky as they'd been 20 years ago, but they could still hold their own. She was sure Lucifer would remember the scene—him and half of anyone who happened to be a certain age at a certain time.

When she settled back into her preferred seat in the corner, she finally met Lucifer's black-eyed gaze across the breadth of the tub. His third joint of the evening was smoldering forgotten between his lips, fingers twitching at his sides as his chest filled and emptied, breathing deeply but a bit too quickly. Chloe's heart thudded in her own chest and elsewhere, thighs grinding in the water near the jet buffeting the small of her back. He was hers. The archangel. The Devil. Lucifer. God… He was so helplessly hers.

Lucifer very nearly coughed on his next inhale, then corralled the joint and found his voice to say, huskily, "I'll be there in a moment, darling. Suddenly, I'm feeling a bit parched."

Without bothering to retrieve his robe, he turned, and ambled toward the bar. Though she had a clear line of sight to follow his journey, out of habit, Chloe turned her gaze away. She seldom let herself truly admire Lucifer. Doing so sometimes embarrassed her, and almost scared her a little. She'd spent so long denying the evidence of her own eyes, insisting the appeal of her civilian consultant was incidental and not terribly impressive. Well-dressed playboys were a dime-a-dozen in LA, Lucifer was just more of the same. And she didn't want to be one of them—the women and men who gawked and melted into mindless puddles in Lucifer's presence. She was better than that. She had more pride. More dignity. More self-control.

Now, after so many years, she could finally let herself look at him. And touch him. And kiss him. And more… She'd made him lose himself inside her and swallowed him while he groaned her name. She's moaned his name in turn as he'd kissed and sucked the most sensitive parts of her. She'd seen his Devil form and fondled his feathery wings while he moaned into her skin and begged for more. Yet she still imposed limits, hesitating to let her gaze linger on his assets or her mind linger on what she saw. Which suddenly struck her as ludicrous. She'd sacrificed everything for Lucifer, and he'd returned the honor. They'd both loved and died and now they weren't dead. She deserved to look and see—really see—the man who'd carved the first crater in Heaven to bring her home to her daughter. The man who wasn't a man but sometimes looked like one. The archangel who'd become the Devil who would become God.

As he made his way across the room, Lucifer was a symphony of graceful muscles wrapped in pale, smooth skin dotted with chocolate freckles. Patches of skin were still damp from the shower, and when he ran a slow hand through his wet hair, he sent several small rivulets of water coursing over and through the corded muscles of his back.

Chloe had known her share of handsome men. There'd been plenty of them during her acting days; Dan had certainly had his charms, and Jed had an army of adoring female fans at his beck and call. But Lucifer was different. Lucifer wasn't just handsome. He was beautiful and something else she couldn't name, full of fire and light that was flesh and wasn't. She wondered if it was his mojo. Maybe it had finally started to affect her. Maybe she was finally seeing what everyone else saw—the effortless, irresistible magnetism of his God-given gift.

But in her heart, she didn't believe that. It wasn't Lucifer's mojo, or his divinity, or the fact he had the best ass she'd ever seen on a body that wasn't hewn from marble. It was love. Lucifer was beautiful because she loved him.

Yet that's what made it scary. She missed Dan terribly, but she worried more about losing this immortal being than she'd ever worried about losing a mortal man. And when she worried about losing Lucifer, she asked questions like—was his body really real, or just a place he sometimes lived, when he chose to slum among mortals? What would happen when she got old, and he didn't? When her joints ached and her face was creased with wrinkles and he was still the same angelically beautiful man, with the same raven black hair, the same smooth skin, the same irrepressible lust for life? In the face of everything they'd been through, Chloe knew it was a silly thing to worry about. And yet—she did worry. Chloe liked to picture the future and plan for it. But with Lucifer, she couldn't. She simply had to have faith.

And she did have faith. Lucifer was good. And kind. And brave. And… dancing.

She heard him mumble what sounded like "hell yes" before he seized the remote on the bar to crank the electric opening riff of David Bowie's "Rebel Rebel." First, he started snapping his shoulders in time to the strong, steady drums. Then his hips got involved, glutes rhythmically flexing as he effortlessly lifted a heavy decanter of whisky. He performed an improbably smooth pour before removing the joint from his lips long enough to complete a generous swallow.

As Bowie launched into the chorus, Lucifer pivoted on his heel to face her, at which point he promptly abandoned his drink, because he saw her and knew—she was watching, and enjoying what she saw. He smirked around the joint and started charting a winding path back toward the hot tub, prowling on the balls of his feet in time to the song.

When the iconic riff guitar sliced in again, he threw his head back with the smoldering spliff pinned between his lips, arms extending above his head into a full body stretch while his hips continued to undulate to the drums, his famous cock limp and swaying in the breeze. Chloe giggled, helplessly and because what else could she do? Lucifer, the former Devil, the new God, was wet, drunk, and stoned out of his mind, carelessly dancing to a glam rock classic alone in his Penthouse after winning a Celestial war. It was all so riotously funny.

Except he wasn't alone. She was with him, with his ring on her finger and an invisible scar on her stomach. Chloe wiped her eyes and found him looking at her again, smirk listing around the blunt ahead of a massive inhale that he exhaled through his nose. And then he was singing, or more accurately lip synching, full lips theatrically caressing the words while his long fingers caressed the air.

"Hey babe let's stay out tonight

You like me, and I like it all

We like dancing and we look divine

You love bands when they're playing hard

You want more and you want it fast…"

He was "singing" directly to her, accompanied by pleading expressions and increasingly needful gestures, urging her to join him.

"They put you down, they say I'm wrong

You tacky thing, you put them on…"

Chloe's giggles became a delirious laugh. She shook her head definitively, to clear it and because she certainly wasn't going to dance with him. He looked ridiculous and oh God, so fucking sexy, all hard and liquid and silly and shameless and graceful and oh God, Lucifer was going to become God. Lucifer. God. Lucifer. God…

"Rebel rebel, how could they know?

Hot tramp, I love you so!"

She kept laughing, more and harder, and then she was coughing, and she wanted to keep laughing but she couldn't find the muscles to make it work, and it was so hard to breathe, why couldn't she breathe…

A familiar voice clawed through a fog to reach her. Chloe couldn't find her own voice, so instead she clawed the air, until her fingernails scraped against something soft, wet, and solid. She was desperate for purchase as she fell and couldn't stop herself from falling—to the concrete outside the stadium, into Lucifer's arms, then into Heaven and out of it, back to life and pain, everything she'd nearly lost surging into focus along with the memory of her death, the excruciating agony of her wound and the worse realization of what it meant.

She tried to swear or scream or shout a blasphemy at the heavens, but it emerged as a sick, strangled sound, drowned out by soothing nothings in that same familiar voice that matched the familiar hands stroking her back and shoulders, reassuring her she wasn't a ghostly apparition. She was flesh and blood and alive, despite the fact she shouldn't be. Because she was a miracle. She'd always been a miracle. Or maybe she wasn't the miracle. Maybe the miracle was something else. Maybe it took two to make one.

Dimly, she realized she was shivering, which seemed strange because the water was warm and the body wrapped around her was warmer. Her trembling hands fumbled over the contours of the warm, wet man holding her upright, his gentle hands gliding up and down her shoulder blades.

"Lucifer…?"

"I'm here, Chloe. We're both here."

He nuzzled her hair, smelling like pot and whisky and him. Chloe inhaled a deep draft of his messy, human scent and said, "I was falling. I was falling and… I couldn't stop."

Lucifer squeezed tighter, pressing a firm, damp kiss into her temple. "I caught you. I'll always catch you."

"I died."

"Yes."

"And now I'm not dead."

"Yes."

"And you're going to become God."

Lucifer pressed another kiss into her cheek above her ear, cradling her head and continuing to stroke her back, fingers weaving through the notches of her spine.

"I can't remember Heaven," she realized. "I know I was there, but I can't—"

"It's not meant for mortal minds. But you'll go there again. Many, many years from now."

"But I remember you saving me. And I remember…" She remembered him burning, painfully and totally, until he disappeared in an awful flash of blinding light. "Did you die, too?"

"Wouldn't be the first time…"

"What…?"

"Best not to dwell," he repeated. "But I'll tell you all about it. Later."

"Now I know why you drink."

Lucifer made an amused sound against her neck. She'd been sitting, but now they were standing at the center of the hot tub, embracing and gently swaying to the rhythm of each other. The music was turned down, becoming a distant echo, dwarfed by the strong, steady rhythm of Lucifer's chest against her own.

Chloe dragged her lips along his collarbone. "We died, and now we're alive."

"Yes."

"Together."

"Most definitely."

"Let's be together, Lucifer."

Lucifer agreed by closing his hands in the small of her back and closing his mouth over hers, kisses slow, deep, and reverent, drawing out needful sighs and whispers and reciprocal touches. Chloe's hands roved over his slick back, feeling the corded muscles she'd watched, caressing the hard hips and taut, fleshy glutes that had looked so divine dancing to an exultation from the past in the present.

"Oh Lucifer, you're so good… so, so good…"

Suddenly, he became the wrong kind of stiff, lips abandoning her neck, hands falling limp in her back. Before Chloe could ask what was wrong, he was kissing her again, but not like before. His reverence and lazy joy were replaced by a wild urgency, kisses rough and frantic, hands restless and groping, trying to capture all of her at once. It was unlike him, but Chloe didn't mind. She wanted him just as badly, fingernails fruitlessly rending his invulnerable shoulders before clenching in his wet hair, pulling him deeper into her hips grinding covetously against his, struggling for stability against the weight and motion of the water.

She swore under her breath when Lucifer firmly seized her hips. He lifted her like she was weightless, making her soar before grounding her, decisively, on the ledge of the hot tub. Her backside hit the tiles with a wet smack, water splashing over the side of the tub from her motion and the corresponding motion of Lucifer, diving forward into her thighs. He ran his stubbly cheek along the inside of each leg, raining kisses as he went, breath damp and ragged. He skipped the heart of her to worship her hips, sucking skin and bone while his eager, indelicate hands scrambled up her body to her breasts, gripping and roughly squeezing.

"Lucifer…"

It was a plea, not a protest. Chloe locked her heels around his back, slamming his face into her stomach as his hands dutifully retreated to her hips, pulling her firm against his mouth. Chloe moaned and shivered in the grip of the tongue that preceded the fall. Usually, Lucifer liked to take his time, relishing her slowly building pleasure as he coaxed her through sounds and sensations she'd never known herself capable of making or feeling. This time, he raced to the finish, which was a different kind of wonderful, her moans so plentiful they overlapped and became a constant keening, broken only by the churning water and Lucifer expelling a helpless groan into her folds as her thighs clenched around his neck, firm hands fisting in his raven-black locks.

Her orgasm hit like a wave against a tide wall, crashing and rebounding into a still-greater need, to be fucked and lost and found. Operating on instinct, she drew back her right leg and kicked, sending Lucifer stumbling backwards as she crashed back into the water to join him. He growled as he surged forward to reclaim her body, pinning her against the wall of the tub with his hips, hands, and another wild kiss, teeth clashing and biting a little. He no longer tasted like whisky or drugs. But he did taste like him. And her. And angry, desperate, deliciously human need. Chloe hissed under the weight and strength of his hard, heady desire, his cock seeking her center. He held her there for a moment, with his body and his blackest gaze, heart thudding through the length of him pressed wet and tight against the length of her. Chloe's hands quested through the water to find his ass, squeezing as he flexed, and impaled her on his need.

He thrust once, vigorously, kissing her throat where she groaned. Then he let her settle around his shape, her legs wrapping around his waist as her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, folding into him as he found his home in her. He pulled most of the way out, then dove deeper, sending water crashing against her ribs, flesh smacking under the waves as he built to a vigorous pace.

Chloe gasped, struggling to capture the rhythm. Usually, Lucifer let her set the pace, responding to her needs in that magical way he had, which with her, wasn't magic at all—just skill and love and knowing her. She struggled to catch up and did, because seeing him like this, feeling him like this, stoked her own recklessness. Lucifer always held back. How could he not? Even when she'd made him vulnerable, he still had super-strength and angelic stamina while she was merely her—human, soft, and breakable. But she wasn't breakable anymore. Not since she'd absorbed an immortal's lifeforce and clutched an angel's necklace to punch Lucifer's evil twin brother into next week.

She clenched around Lucifer and he faltered, briefly, surprised but eager. Definitely eager. He released her hips to slap his hands on the ledge on either side of her body, holding her upright with the force of his hips and cock, forcing her to hold on. And she did. With her arms and thighs and the needful muscles inside her—she did.

Lucifer's eyes flashed red, so quickly she might have missed it. Then she clenched again and felt something crack. The sound was drowned out by a raw masculine growl and her own wild sounds as her Devil fucked her into oblivion and finally came undone in her heat, throwing his head back as his heavenly human flesh was seized by glorious ecstasy. Chloe lost herself to that spectacle, a wholly unholy portrait of God at his most divine.

They came down shakily, trembling together in the still-rollicking water, remembering their boundaries by testing the shape of each other.

Eventually, Chloe said, "Would you like to get out of here?"

"Heaven can wait… I'm quite sure I was just there."

Chloe sputtered a laugh into his collarbone, realizing, as her high should have come down but didn't, that she was still decidedly stoned. She couldn't tell if Lucifer was. Besides his angelic metabolism, he was always goofy after sex, pleasure collapsing his walls and making him improbably boyish.

His stubble ticked her ear as he whispered, "Are you ready to fly?"

Chloe started to protest, worried he was about to unfurl his wings right there in the hot tub and fill half the Penthouse with water. Instead, he merely lifted her, dropping her back on the ledge but gently this time, like her bones were precious crystal wrapped in silk. He took a moment to gaze up at her from the space between her legs. His dreamy smile was crooked and his features were misted with sweat, his hair flopping over his forehead and curling as it dried. Chloe told herself she was staring down at an immortal being who'd witnessed the dawn of time and lit the stars, who was destined to become omnipotent. But she only saw a pleasure-drenched man who loved her, who was ready to spend a lifetime between her thighs and call it a blessing.

She smiled fondly back at him before watching his expression change, his eyes falling to a spot behind her knees. Chloe followed his gaze and saw a substantial crack in the lining of the hot tub, where her backside had been.

All the color seemed to drain from Lucifer's cheeks. "Was that me?"

Chloe considered it and realized, "I think it was me."

Lucifer looked up at her, brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm… fine?" She was as surprised as she sounded. She recalled feeling invincible, but she wasn't—was she?

Lucifer's lips pursed in thought as his hand surveyed the damage. "Amenadiel's rod. Perhaps it's still affecting you."

"Maybe."

"Are you sure you're alight? You know I would never—"

Chloe reached down to cup his rough, angular cheek. "I know, Lucifer. I know."

His black eyes flickered as he said, "I just wanted… I needed to feel…"

"Grounded," she supplied.

"Yes."

"Me too."

That settled, they finally left the hot tub, Chloe following Lucifer toward the fireplace, where he spread clean towels across a soft rug and let her use his chest as a pillow. Chloe knew she should get dressed, or at least throw a blanket over their nakedness; Lucifer still hadn't put a lock on the elevator, though Patrick had orders to limit the guest list. But the fire and Lucifer's skin felt too good on her own skin. So she took a page from Lucifer's shamelessness and exposed herself to the flames, water burning off her flesh and dancing across Lucifer's, a glimmering caress of light and heat.

He was so quiet, she thought he might be asleep, and after the day they'd had, she couldn't blame him. But his voice eventually rumbled under her ear.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe."

That wasn't what she expected. "About the hot tub? I'm fine. Really."

"No… I mean, yes, I do find that a bit concerning, but our explanation makes sense, and I think… you enjoyed it…?"

She almost laughed at him needing to ask. How far he'd fallen. But she was there to catch him. "Yes, Lucifer. I enjoyed it. A lot."

Her reassurance seemed to please him. He squirmed under her weight, squeezing her thigh higher around his own. "Anyway, I was actually thinking about… everything else."

Chloe became acutely aware of the crackling of the fire, and even more acutely aware of Lucifer's long fingers, tracing careful patterns across her stomach.

"You never asked for any of this," he continued. "And… I can't imagine what you're going through."

"Can't you?" She tilted her chin to find his eyes. "You died today, too."

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it—"

"No. Because I didn't want to live without you."

"Don't you think I feel the same way?"

His lips were as flat as his voice as he said, "You shouldn't."

"But I do."

Lucifer surrendered, a sigh working its way through his body, restoring a measure of his liquid bliss. When he looked at her, his dark gaze was full of devotion and a lick of flame. Just a regular flame this time, from the fireplace reflecting in his eyes. But it cast Chloe back to a recent memory, of the moment Lucifer's reverent kisses became rough.

She slid a hand up his chest as she said, "Y'know… being good isn't so bad."

Lucifer was still for a moment. Then he said, quietly, "I've spent a long time being a rebel."

"Pretty sure you'll always be that. The archangel who became the Devil who's about to become God? No one saw that coming."

"I wonder…"

"You don't think… your father…?"

"He's gone. I'm sure of it."

"So what's really bothering you?"

His gaze wandered to the ceiling, but Chloe surmised he wasn't seeing it, instead surveying landscapes beyond her ken. "I don't want to be him."

"You won't be. You couldn't be." Her own certainty surprised her a little, but she meant it.

"Promise?"

He sounded so young, like the boy he'd never been. "Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then it's settled."

Lucifer shifted his weight onto his elbows, giving himself a better angle to meet her gaze. Mirth danced in his dark eyes dancing with flames. "I do love a deal."

"And you'd better keep it," she teased, but not really. She'd gotten better at recognizing Lucifer's jokes sometimes weren't.

"And if I don't…?"

"Then we get to see exactly how strong I've become."

Lucifer's lips twitched. "Are you threatening me with a good time, Detective?"

Past-Chloe would have blushed, or rolled her eyes, pretending that Lucifer looking at her like that didn't make her spine tingle. But past-Chloe was dead. Literally. "Maybe we should move this to the bedroom."

Lucifer's smile could only be described as hungry. "Deal."

Later, Chloe lay in Lucifer's bed, which was still supremely comfortable despite listing on a newly broken frame. Her spent Devil was being the big spoon, one hand nestled between her breasts, the other draped across her smooth stomach, his nose buried in her hair at the nape of her neck. Lucifer was asleep, and Chloe wanted to be. But she couldn't resist a private moment to do something she'd been wanting to do since the battle, which also happened to be something she'd never done before. Chloe Decker wanted to pray.

Her prayer wasn't a request. Just a message, two simple words that surely wouldn't be heard, but needed to be said anyway.

"Thank you."

~End (for now…)~

Whew, that was a long one! ("That's what she said," etc.) But this moment deserved it, because EMOTIONS. Is this how Chloe having Amenadiel's rod works…? Probably not, but it was inconsistent within the show, so let's pretend for the sake of the story, shall we? 😉 If you enjoyed this latest missing moment, feel free to leave a review or fav to let me know! Thanks for reading!