19. Nineteen

The Detective seems surprised when Lucifer offers her the car keys after breakfast the next morning.

“You want me to drive?” she says, frowning at him over the rim of her second cup of coffee. 

“Well of course. I have things to do.” 

“What do you—”

She stops abruptly when he snags the mug from her hands, and then sighs when he lifts it to his mouth. The taste of coffee floods his tongue, and he crinkles his nose. There’s not nearly enough whiskey in this. And by nearly enough, he means there’s none. He pulls his flask from his inside jacket pocket and adds a generous splash. She watches him with her eyebrows raised. He tastes the coffee, hums in satisfaction, and then offers her the mug again.

“Yeah, I’m not drinking that,” she tells him. “Especially if you want me to drive. Which, also, since when? Last night you were annoyingly insistent about driving the whole way.”

“That was before I was assigned homework,” he replies, tucking his flask away. “I am excellent at multitasking but there’s no need to tempt fate. Especially when your safety is involved.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to practice lighting my flame, darling.” 

She stares at him for a second, and then her nose scrunches adorably. “Please tell me that’s not a euphemism for pleasuring yourself.”

“What? No. My flame, Detective. Let there be light, remember?”

“Ohhh,” she says, her expression smoothing out. “Right. Your light. Duh.”

Lucifer sets the mug down on the island and steps closer to her. “I see someone woke up with her mind in the gutter.”

She smirks at him. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I did do a considerable amount of rubbing last night. You were very vocal in your approval.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Walked right into that one.” 

“Indeed you did,” he says, grinning at her. 

She smiles and then presses her palm briefly against his chest. “Just let me use the bathroom and then we can go. Can you make me a coffee for the road?”

He beams at her. He likes when she asks him to do domestic things for her. She didn’t do that before they were together. “Of course, darling.”

“Don’t ruin it like you did the other one.”

He frowns. “I didn’t ruin it. I improved it. Substantially, I might add.” 

“No whiskey,” she warns, brandishing her index finger, and then she pats him on the chest affectionately and brushes past him toward the hall.

He waits until she’s rounded the corner and is out of sight to mutter, “Spoilsport.”

“Heard that,” she calls out. 

He sighs. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was the one in the relationship with preternaturally good hearing. He’s certain the urchin would agree if she were here.

The unexpected thought of the Detective’s offspring sends a bolt of pain through his chest. The child can’t agree with him because she’s not here. She’s back in L.A., probably crying about how much she misses her mother, and those tears are his burden to bear. The Detective’s ongoing nightmares—she had another last night after they went to bed, and she cried again—are his burden too. One of his enemies has forced everyone he cares about to dream terrible dreams and live a waking nightmare, and now he and the Detective are on the run, driving across the country like a modern version of Bonnie and Clyde. 

He can feel guilt starting to swell in his chest, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and reminds himself of what’s real. What’s true, even if it’s hard for him to wrap his mind around.

I choose you. I see you. I love you. 

He longs for the real version of the Detective instead of the figment whispering in his imagination, and immediately feels absurd. They’ve been apart for only a minute or so, and they’re not even really apart. They’re in the same house. She’ll be back before he knows it. There’s no need to be a bloody lunatic about it. 

But still, he aches for her. 

He busies himself with his assigned task in an effort to remind himself that he is the Devil, Lord of Hell and Prince of Darkness, and not a clingy, lovesick manchild. He makes her coffee the way she likes it—alcohol-free, dash of cream—and then refills his flask. He considers his liquor stash for a few moments after that, and then snags as many bottles as he can carry and hauls them out to the Escalade. He’s arranging them carefully in the trunk amidst their luggage when the Detective appears. 

“What are you...oh. Of course.”

There’s no judgment in her tone, but he feels defensive anyway. “I doubt I’ll be able to find what I prefer in the bowels of flyover country,” he says, turning to face her. 

She doesn’t seem to pick up on his defensiveness. “Will that be enough for a week, though?” she asks, frowning a little as her eyes dart over the bottles. “I can grab some more if you want.”

He stares at her.

Her frown deepens. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head at her. What could possibly be wrong? She’s standing there in a blazer and jeans and sensible boots, her hair pulled back in one of her sleek little buns, looking like some sort of gorgeous apparition from one of the millions of fantasies he had in Hell. She loves him. She’s not afraid of him, or of his newfound ability to spontaneously combust. She’s about to drive across the country with him to meet with Death, and she doesn’t mind if he drinks the whole way. 

She’s perfect.  

The Detective opens her mouth, but he’ll never know what she planned to say because he kisses her before she can get it out. Her body stiffens briefly in surprise, but relaxes almost immediately. He’s got her travel mug in his hand so he can’t touch her the way he wants to, but he slides his free hand around the back of her head to cup the base of her skull beneath her bun. He wants to tell her with his lips what he can’t seem to say with his words. 

She kisses him back for a minute or so, but then her hand presses against his chest. He reluctantly leans back just far enough to meet her gaze. 

“We said we’d leave by ten,” she murmurs, looking up at him from under her long eyelashes.

He smiles. His efficient Detective. Always so single-mindedly focused on the task at hand. He could complain, but he won’t. He likes her ability to focus because it extends to the bedroom. Her focus is divine in the bedroom. 

He dips his head forward and nuzzles into the curve of her neck. She smells good. “We did say that,” he breathes into her skin.

He darts his tongue out to taste her. She exhales into his ear, a soft breath that sends a shiver down his spine. She tilts her head to give him better access, and he wonders if he can convince her to follow him back inside, but then she takes the travel mug out of his hand.

“Come on, Casanova,” she murmurs with a hum of amusement in her voice. “Let’s hit the road.”

“I knew Casanova,” he says, grasping at her hip to keep her in place when she starts to step past him. “He wasn’t half the lover everyone said. I’m infinitely better.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” She turns her head to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “You can tell me all about it on the road.” 

She pulls out of his grasp and heads for the driver’s door, trailing her free hand over his ribs as she goes. He sighs at her. Loudly. She smirks at him over her shoulder. He glares at her retreating figure—her ass looks spectacular in those jeans—and then closes the trunk and stalks toward the passenger door, muttering under his breath about how, of all the women he could drive across the country with, he chose the only one who can resist him. 

When he climbs into the car and slams the door with a little more force than necessary, she shoots him another smirk from the driver’s seat. “Are you going to pout the whole drive?”

“I’m considering it,” he says, lifting his chin. “I’ve been told I’m very sexy when I pout.”

She laughs. He likes her laugh. He glances at her, and watches as she buckles her seat belt. His eyes get caught on her jaw momentarily—he’s fairly certain her jawline could cut glass—but then he notices how the seat belt is nestled between her breasts. 

He licks his lips and stares. It used to irk him when they’d run into a neanderthal who would recognize her from Hot Tub High School and then proceed to stare at her chest instead of her eyes. It still irks him, if he’s being honest. But it’s a little less irksome now that they’re together, because the neanderthals have to go home to a decades-old movie and their hands, and he gets to go home with her.   

“Stop looking at me like that,” the Detective says as she shoves the gear shift into drive. 

“Like what?” Lucifer asks, feigning innocence. 

“You know exactly like what.” 

He leans toward her. “Like I want to pull you into the backseat and christen the car?”

She purses her lips around a smile and doesn’t respond as she guides the Escalade down the long driveway. She does this sometimes when he’s being particularly lascivious—just refuses to respond. He used to think it was her trying to control her annoyance, but he knows now that she’s just trying to control her own libido. She wants him just as often as he wants her. She’s just better at resisting her urges.  

“That’s really the only proper way to start a road trip, you know,” he informs her, wondering if he can find a weak spot in her ironclad self control. 

She tilts her head. “Is it though?” 

“Yes.” 

She shoots him a look. “Have you ever even been on a road trip?”

“No. But I know things.”

She snorts. “You know things about road trips even though you’ve never been on one?”

“Well of course, darling. I’m nothing if not curious, and there are some very interesting results if you Google road trip sex.”

She turns to look at him with wide eyes. “Why did you...you know what, I don’t want to know.”

“Afraid it might turn you on?” 

She laughs. “No.”

“The backseat in this vehicle is very roomy,” he observes. “I checked.”

“Of course you did.”

“And we’re both very flexible. Although, truth be told, I do enjoy when you’re on top. So if you’d like to just climb over here, I have no objections.” 

He gestures at his lap in invitation. The Detective turns her head to look at him as the SUV slows to a stop before the tall wrought iron gates that separate the driveway from the street. Her eyes flicker over his body as they wait for the gates to swing open, and he thinks he’s got her. They’re finally going to have car sex. He’s been fantasizing about car sex with her for years.

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

He frowns. “No? ”

She smirks. “No. Sorry, babe.”

The pet name makes him feel warm all over, which is pathetic and ridiculous and a little embarrassing, and he huffs at himself. Emotional pleasure is not what he’s after at the moment. 

“You’re right,” he says, holding his hands up as if he’s placating a very demanding mistress. “It was selfish of me to expect you to do all the work. Missionary in the backseat is perfectly acceptable. Oh, unless you’re interested in the hood of the car? I could—”

“Lucifer,” the Detective cuts him off, laughter threading through her voice. “I meant no sex. At least not right now.”

“It’ll be quick.”

She gives him a look. “You’re never quick.”

“That’s not my fault,” he protests. “You’re so pretty when you come that I can’t seem to limit myself to just one showing. And you’ve certainly never complained.”

A hint of a blush rises in her cheeks. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

“And by that you mean multiple orgasms, yes?” he says, unable to stop a grin. For a woman who once stepped out of a hot tub topless and on camera, she can be adorably shy about sex. His greatest ambition is to make her comfortable enough to say and do all the filthy things that he knows are floating around in her head. 

“Yes,” she replies, shifting in her seat. 

He’d bet every whiskey bottle in the trunk that she’s shifting in her seat because there’s a sudden ache between her legs. He leans over the center console and slides his palm slowly up her thigh. 

“Come now, Detective,” he purrs. “You mean to tell me you’re not thinking about how good it would feel if I—”

“No,” she cuts him off, laughing again. “I’m not.” 

She’s lying, and he’s about to tell her so, but then she grabs his hand and deposits it on his thigh instead of hers. 

“We’re driving right now, Lucifer. Well, I’m driving. You’re going to try to do that thing with your whatever.”

“Such poetry.”

“Would you rather I say laser beam hands?”

“No.”

“Then hush.”

She hits the gas and guides the Escalade through the now-open gates and out onto the street. Lucifer sighs and slumps in his seat. His first ever road trip, and it isn’t starting with car sex. What did he do to deserve such a punishment? There she sits, looking all gorgeous and Detective-y, and he’s not allowed to bring her to orgasm. This is torture.

“Oh come on,” the Detective says, glancing between him and the road. “It was your idea to practice your powers while I drive, remember?”

“That was before I decided I’d rather practice you.” 

“You don’t need to practice me. You’re already good at me.”

He perks up. “Am I?”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Never hurts to hear it again,” he says, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve. 

She smiles, and then gestures at the screen embedded in the dashboard. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Be my guest. I refuse to listen to 90s jams during sex, but since there will be no sex for the foreseeable future, feel free to select whatever music your heart desires. It is Monday, after all.”

“Hey come on. That’s not fair. The 90s and early 2000s had some really sexy songs.”

He arches an eyebrow at her. “Name one.”

She considers the question. “Janet Jackson had one. I think it was called Anytime.”

“It couldn’t have been that good since you’re currently failing to take her advice.”

She purses her lips at him. “Usher had a few.”

“Isn’t he the cretin who repeatedly sang the word yeah and called it music?”

“That’s a good song.”

“It’s a travesty.”

“Fine. Genie in a Bottle.”

“You’re joking.”

“She literally says you gotta rub me the right way.”

Lucifer leers at her. “I’d be happy to rub you the right way if you’d pull over.”

The Detective sighs. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in hearing about *NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys.”

“I would rather listen to Ms. Lopez discuss the finer points of analyzing tissue samples.” 

She snorts. 

“You still haven’t named one,” he points out. “And you know why? Because there isn’t one that wouldn’t ruin sex.”

“That’s not true,” she says. “One time I—”

She stops talking abruptly. Her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of crimson, and then she snaps her mouth shut and stares at the road and doesn’t say another word. 

Lucifer frowns at her, confused, and then he realizes what happened. 

“You were about to tell me about a song that was playing when you had sex with another man, weren’t you?” 

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“You’re lying.”

Her cheeks flush again. She stabs her finger on the screen embedded in the dashboard instead of answering him. The radio turns on and a country song erupts through the speakers. She winces and turns the volume down. He jabs his finger against the off button and the car falls silent. 

The Detective glances at him out of the corner of her eye but doesn’t say anything. She wraps both her hands around the steering wheel. He narrows his eyes at her. She ignores him.

“What song?” he demands when it becomes clear she’s not going to speak first. 

She shoots him an apologetic look. “Lucifer…”

“What song?”

She sighs. “It’s called No Diggity.”

“No what? ”

She tightens her hold on the steering wheel. “It’s just a dumb song, Lucifer. Forget it.”

“Absolutely not. I want to hear it. Play it.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

He tugs his phone out of his pocket, pulls up a new internet tab, and then frowns. “How does one spell no dickity?”

“Diggity,” the Detective says. “Like with a G.”

He frowns at her. “Why would a sex song be about digging?”

She reaches for his phone. “It’s not about digging, and you really don’t have to—”

“Oh no,” he says, holding his phone out of her reach. “You’re driving, remember? I’ll take care of this.”

She sighs at him, but he ignores her. He types in the song title, taking his best stab at spelling, and a YouTube video immediately pops up. He presses play. He watches the first twenty seconds, and then someone starts rapping.

He looks up at the Detective in shock. “This is rap.”

“Not all of it,” she says defensively.

“You like rap? ”

“It depends.”

He studies her, fascinated by this new information and her clear embarrassment, and then turns back to the video. 

He watches for another minute or so until he finally hears the titular lyrics. As he listens, it slowly dawns on him that the rhythm is...well, it’s not the worst thing he’s ever heard. He can see why she likes it, given her taste in music. And honestly? He could work with this. He wouldn’t mind having this playing in the background if the Detective was on top of him, rolling her hips in time with the rhythm. Or, better yet, if she were beneath him and he was setting the rhythm while she gasped the way she does when he’s doing a particularly good job. Which, obviously, is every time.

He looks up at her with a grin. “I could make this work.” 

She looks uncomfortable instead of aroused, and at first he’s confused, and then he remembers. 

“Wait a minute,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Who did you have sex with while this was playing?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not answering that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “It was Jed, wasn’t it?”

She sighs. “If I say yes will you turn it off?”

Lucifer can’t shut the video off fast enough. Suddenly, all he can think about is the Detective and Jed, naked and…

He feels nauseous. 

“Lucifer,” the Detective says gently, reaching out to set her hand on his knee. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” he says, glaring at her hand. That hand was once wrapped around Jed’s dick. Of course, it was wrapped around his dick a few hours ago. Quite skillfully, too. But that’s not the point. 

He knows the Detective isn’t the cheating type. Even if Jed were to proposition her, she would refuse. Of that he is completely, totally sure. The Devil’s dick is the only dick her hand will be wrapped around for as long as they’re together. But that’s not the point either. The point is…

He doesn’t know what the point is.

“We’ve been over this,” the Detective says as if she can sense him floundering. 

“Indeed we have. I’ve heard all about your amazing sex with Jed.” 

She frowns. “I never said it was amazing.”

“You didn’t have to. He was quite adamant on your behalf.”

“He was...really?”

He glares at her. 

“Right,” she says, looking sheepish. “Not important.”

He huffs at her. 

She squeezes his knee. “Babe—”

“Don’t use your verbal witchcraft on me,” he says, picking up her hand and then dropping it unceremoniously into her lap. “Not when we’re discussing your amazing sex with another man.”

“Verbal witchcraft?” she says incredulously. 

He turns his nose up at her. “There is no other explanation for how much I like it.”

“I’m pretty sure there are several explanations for why you like it, and none of them have anything to do with magic. If Zatanna were here, she’d smack you. After she finished laughing at you.”

She’s right, and he can hear the smirk in her voice. He’s suddenly very annoyed with himself. He never should have told her that he likes that ridiculous pet name.

Except it’s the truth. He does like it. Very, very much. 

Damn her.

“Lucifer,” she calls.

He turns his body a little in his seat so he’s facing away from her. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what? ”

“Working on my laser beam hands.” 

“You are such a child,” she sighs. “ You were the one who asked me to tell you about that song. If you didn’t want to know, why did you ask?” 

“Well I didn’t know you were going to say it was your soundtrack for amazing sex with Jed!” he exclaims, throwing up his hands. 

“I never said it was amazing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you yesterday that you were the best sex I’ve ever had. Remember?” 

He purses his lips together. That’s true. She did say that. 

“Jed means nothing to me, Lucifer. You know that. I’ve told you that. Repeatedly. You can’t do this every time, okay?”

“Every time?” he says incredulously, turning to look at her. “How many sex songs do you and Jed have? ”

She gives him a disapproving look. “I meant you can’t do this every time his name comes up. You don’t do this with Dan.”

“That’s because Daniel is a douche.”

She sighs at him. 

“Well he is,” Lucifer insists. “He’s the definition of inconsequential.”

“I married him,” the Detective points out. “He’s the father of my child.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t your first love. First loves are different. They’re...well, they’re important.”

She doesn’t say anything. He waits, ready to hear another admonishment, but it never comes. He frowns and looks over at her, wondering if he’s made her angry. She’s staring out the windshield with her lips pressed together. She looks as though she might cry. 

Guilt rises in his chest. Did he hurt her?

“Detective?”

She exhales a short, sharp breath and shakes her head. Then she reaches across the car and grabs his hand and lifts it to her mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. He blinks at her in surprise.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, her voice catching as she lowers their hands to rest on her thigh. “They are important. But not as important as last loves.”

He frowns. “Last loves?”

“The last person you love. The one you love so much that you never fall in love with anyone else ever again.”

His heart does that funny flipping thing in his chest. Is she saying…?

“You’re mine,” she says, glancing away from the road just long enough to smile at him. “In case that wasn’t clear.” 

“I am?”

She sighs fondly. “Yes, Lucifer.”

Warmth unfurls in his chest. His throat feels oddly tight all of a sudden. “Well when you put it that way,” he manages to murmur.

She smiles wider. “So are you done being jealous then?”

“So long as I never have to hear that terrible song ever again.”

She laughs. “Deal.” She squeezes his hand. “Now are you going to practice your laser beam hands or what?”

He frowns. “They are not—”

“Ohhhh yes they are,” she cuts him off. “You called them that, so now I get to. That’s how it works. No take-backsies.”

He sighs. 

She laughs. 

Lucifer spends the next two and a half hours trying to summon light and flame. 

Nothing happens.

Chloe keeps a close watch on him from the corner of her eye. She tries to make sure he doesn’t know she’s watching because she doesn’t want him to feel self-conscious the way he clearly felt last night. She turns the radio up louder than she normally would, and she stares steadfastly at the road or into her rearview mirrors every time he glances her way. But when he’s not focused on her, she’s watching him.  

He’s frustrated. She can tell. It’s evident in the way he clenches his jaw, and how often he closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. She wants to help, but she doesn’t know how. She’s not sure the offer would be welcome anyway, given that she has no idea what it takes to summon light. She feels helpless, and also a little frustrated on his behalf. She wonders if his ability to bring light is like his wings—if there are complicated feelings tangled up with it, and that’s why he can’t summon it whenever he wants. 

About an hour after they cross the Utah state border, Lucifer stops staring at his hands and starts rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’s slumped in his seat. His hair, which is always perfectly styled, has a few strands out of place. 

Chloe wants to hug him. She settles for setting her hand on his arm.

“Hey. You doing okay?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. 

She presses her lips together and considers her options. She thinks he needs a break, something else to focus on for an hour or so, but she knows if she suggests that, he’ll refuse. Despite all the progress they’ve made, it’s still hard for him to be vulnerable and admit he’s struggling. 

He won’t refuse her, though.

“I’m kind of hungry,” she says. “Do you mind if we stop?”

“Of course not. Whatever you desire.” 

His voice sounds hollow. Concern flares in her chest but she doesn’t voice it. 

She gets off at the next exit. She passes a few chain restaurants that are close to the highway until she finds a worn but cheerful-looking diner that’s far less likely to be full or outfitted with video cameras. She parks the Escalade in the parking lot, and then turns the car off so that the engine hums to a stop. 

Lucifer finally looks up. He blinks at the diner, and then reaches for the door handle robotically. 

Chloe grabs his arm before he can get out. He looks over at her in surprise. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she murmurs.

“Yes, of course.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“Well I’m perfectly fine, Detective. You needn’t worry.”

He starts to get out of the car again, but she tightens her hold on his arm. He glances down at her hand, and then up at her face. He doesn’t look annoyed, exactly, but he doesn’t look pleased either. She knows he could easily wrench free of her grip. But he doesn’t. 

“We’re in this together, remember?” she reminds him quietly. “I’m not saying you have to tell me everything you’re feeling all the time, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. You can say that, and I’ll stop asking. I just want…” She exhales a heavy breath. “I just want you to tell me the truth about whether or not you’re okay. That’s all.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then his expression softens. He shifts in his seat, turning toward her, and covers her hand with his. His skin is pleasantly warm. She wonders if it’s warmer than usual. Have his new powers raised his core temperature, or is he the same as he’s always been, and she’s just more aware of it?

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. “I am okay,” he says. “But I suppose, if I’m being completely honest, I’m also not okay. Is it possible to be both?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Well, then. Here we are.”

A million questions are right on the tip of her tongue, but she presses her lips together and swallows them all. She doesn’t want to interrogate him. He told her the truth, and that’s all she asked for. It’s not fair to push for more. 

“Okay.” She smiles at him. “Thank you.”

She loosens her hold on his arm and starts to pull away so she can get out of the car, but he catches her hand. She turns back toward him in surprise. 

“Have you ever seen someone, and you know you recognize them from somewhere, but you can’t remember where?” he asks her softly. “Or there’s a word you’d like to use, and you know its meaning, but you can’t seem to conjure up the word itself?”

She nods. “Yeah. It’s frustrating.”

He smiles humorlessly. “That’s how I feel. I know the ability is there. I just can’t reach it.” He furrows his eyebrows. “I know it’s related to you, so I thought that—”

“Wait, what?” 

“It’s related to you,” he repeats. “Much like my vulnerability, my ability to summon light appears to be tied to you. Or, rather, my feelings about you. Feelings are the key.”

She frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“When I told you that what happened outside the club had never happened before, that was true. In all my time on earth—well, really in all the time since I fell—I’ve never summoned light through myself. I have, however, summoned it into something else. Do you remember what I told you about my mum? About the flaming sword, and how I used it to send her into the void so she could create a world of her own?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah.”

“Well in order for the sword to flame, it needs to be lit. But you can’t just dip it in whiskey and strike a match. It requires celestial power. And I’m the Lightbringer.”

“So you’re the one who changes it from a normal sword into a flaming one.”

“Indeed. I was under the impression that when I lit myself, the same rules applied. But that doesn’t appear to be true.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I still don’t get it.”

“In order to light the flaming sword, I had to harness my emotion,” he says patiently. “But not just any emotion. One in particular. It actually took me a considerable amount of effort to figure out which one. I tried everything. Well, actually, Mum tried everything. First there was anger. Then there was the triple Decker. Then she tried—”

“I’m sorry, the what? ”

He frowns. “What?”

“What the hell is a triple Decker?”

“Well it’s exactly what it sounds like, darling. A triple you.”

She frowns. “Yeah, I’m going to need more of an explanation than that.”

He sighs. “Mum thought my attraction to you might be strong enough to light the sword. In order to inspire said reaction, she hired three working girls who resembled you and sent them to Lux outfitted in sluttier versions of your typical attire to seduce me.” 

Chloe gapes at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He shifts awkwardly in his seat. “I am not.” He holds out a hand. “But trust me, Detective, I realize now how incredibly inappropriate that was.”

“Really, just now?” Chloe says dryly. “It didn’t strike you as weird in the moment that your mom hired a bunch of hookers for you? Or that, I don’t know, sleeping with women dressed up as me was kind of gross?”

“Well it’s not as though you were interested in sleeping with me at the time.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely the takeaway in all this, Lucifer. It’s my fault your mom had to hire hookers for you.”

He stares at her with that deer-in-headlights look he sometimes gets when he’s trying to decide how angry she is. Chloe stares back at him, completely incredulous. What the hell is happening right now? What are they even talking about? A flaming sword, a goddess who hires hookers for her son, and the Devil who can summon light and fire? How is this her life? 

A laugh bubbles up in her chest unbidden. It comes out as a snort at first, and then she lifts her hand to cover her mouth as the rest spills out.  

Lucifer’s eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. “Is something funny?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I just...I mean, you have to admit this is all a little…”

His lips break into a smile. “Absurd?”

“Yeah.” 

He nods. “I’m sure you long for the days when your only source of incredulity was whatever shenanigans your offspring and Sir Douche got you into.” 

His voice is light and teasing, but she knows him well enough to sense an undercurrent of darkness. She reaches out and covers his hand with hers. 

“My life’s better now that you’re in it, Lucifer.”  

He swallows, and his gaze flickers over her face like he’s searching for something. It reminds her of the look he gave her when they flew together, and the way he looked at her yesterday when she told him she forgave him for what happened with Candy. Like he can’t quite believe she’s not a figment of his imagination. 

“You’re a marvel, Detective,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush his thumb over her cheek.

She lifts her hand to squeeze his wrist affectionately. “I’m not the one with laser beam hands.”

He rolls his eyes, and she smiles. 

“So how’d you end up figuring out which emotion lit the sword?”

“Doctor Linda, actually,” he replies, dropping his hand from her face.

“What was it?”

“Pain.”

Chloe’s heart aches in her chest. “Oh Lucifer,” she whispers, covering his hand with hers.

“My mother’s presence caused me pain,” he explains, his eyes fixed on the gear shift. “She was a constant reminder of my fall. She stood silently by when my father cast me out of the Silver City, and that was…”

“Traumatic,” she finishes when he doesn’t.

He nods. “The doctor suggested that I face the pain head on, and when I did, I succeeded in lighting the sword. Last night, however, focusing on pain didn’t work.”

Chloe frowns. “Well that’s because you got closure, right? You and your mom kind of worked things out before she left.”

“That’s true,” Lucifer says. “But there’s plenty of new pain to focus on. As you’re well aware.”

Chloe bites her lip and tries not to think about Trixie. “But focusing on it didn’t work?”

He shakes his head. “No. Which is where you come in. I believe I was able to summon light outside the club because I was angry you were in danger, and I wanted to protect you.”

“But I wasn’t in danger last night.”

He grins. “No, I was feeling a different emotion entirely last night.”

Chloe thinks about what they were doing when his hand suddenly burst into flame, and she gives him a look. “Are you telling me that your hand catching on fire was some kind of celestial erection?”

He laughs. “No, Detective. I’m saying that the common denominator between the two situations in which I caught fire was you. In both instances, I was focused on you.” 

Chloe hums in agreement.

He frowns. “You know, come to think of it, I was focused on you when I lit the sword as well. The doctor implied as much. She said that I was in pain not just because of my mother, but because I thought your feelings for me weren’t real. And when I sent Mum away, I was focused on protecting you from her.”

“Okay,” Chloe says. “So you can only summon light when you have strong feelings about something, and in all the instances when you successfully summoned it, your feelings were related to me in some way.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “But I’ve spent all morning thinking about you, and nothing’s happened. I know my feelings are strong enough. But I just...I can’t make it work.” He sighs and slumps in his seat. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m impotent.” 

“You’re not impotent,” Chloe says, brushing her hand over his bicep.

He casts a sideways look at her. “If I can’t perform when I’m being asked to perform, that is the definition of impotent.”

“But no one is asking you to perform,” she points out. “Maybe it only works when you need it to. Or when you have some type of catalyst to make your feelings more intense than normal.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” he muses. But then he shakes his head. “No, that can’t be. Amenadiel says we self-actualize, and according to my father, he’s right. We become what we believe we can be and we’re able to do what we believe we can do. I believe I can do this, and yet, I can’t.” He sighs again. “I suppose I can add it to the list.” 

“What list?”

“Of powers I can’t activate,” he mutters grumpily. “I could be invulnerable if I wanted to be, and yet I’m not. Apparently my light is no different.”

She nods, and then the memory of something Linda said about his invulnerability surfaces. 

All along, he’s been trying to give you what you want.

The realization hits Chloe like a lightning bolt. What if this isn’t about him? What if it’s about her? Linda said that Lucifer’s invulnerability was tied to her desire. That he was choosing to be vulnerable or invulnerable based on what she wanted. What if his light is the same? He didn’t just summon light outside the club because he wanted to protect her. He did it because she wanted him to save her. She’d called his name even though he had half a dozen cops hanging off of him. She believed that he could break free and rescue her, and she wanted him to, so he did. 

Last night was no different. She’d been upset that he was so frustrated. She wanted him to know that she loved him regardless of what he could or couldn’t do, but what she wanted most was to soothe him. She wanted him to be free of frustration for once, to be able to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted without any guilt or shame. And that’s exactly what he’d done. 

She shoots her hand out and grabs his arm. “Lucifer,” she breathes. “What if it’s not just about me? What if it is me?”

He frowns at her. “What?”

“Come here,” she says, reaching across the center console for his hands. Her hands are tiny compared to his, but she wraps her fingers around his as best she can and squeezes. 

“Detective?” he says, confusion bleeding into his voice.

She leans toward him. “I want you to summon light for me, Lucifer.”

He frowns. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. I know you can.”

“Detective—”

“It’s what I desire. It’s what I want. I want you to summon light for me.”

He shakes his head. “This didn’t work with my vulnerability. It won’t—” 

“Yes it will. I know it. I believe it. I believe in you.”

He searches her eyes, and then shame shivers across his face. He shakes his head and drops his gaze. “I can’t, Detective.”

“Lucifer,” she whispers. She ducks forward to press her mouth against his fingers. “Look at me, babe.”

He lifts his eyes back to hers. 

“I love you. You know that, right?”

He nods.

“Do you trust me?”

He nods again. “Yes.” 

“Then try it again.” She squeezes his hands. “Let there be light.”

He searches her eyes. She stares back unflinchingly. A moment passes, and then he clenches his jaw in determination. He looks down at his hands, and exhales a slow breath. Nothing happens at first.

And then his hands burst into flames.

Chloe can’t feel it. Her hands are wrapped around his and engulfed in the flame, but she’s not burning. It’s just pleasantly warm, the same way his body always feels, and she’s so proud of him she thinks her heart might explode.

“I did it,” he breathes, his eyes wide. He looks up at her. “Detective, I did it.”

She grins at him. “Hell yeah you did.” 

He pulls his hands free from hers and studies them, turning them over to look at the backs of his knuckles and then his palms. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs. “I wonder if I can…”

He furrows his eyebrows, and the flames on his hands extinguish. A beat passes, and then his hands flare with light all over again. He looks up at her with a dazzling grin. 

“I can control it.”

“Can you—”

“Laser beam hands!” he exclaims before she can finish. 

He flings open the car door and scrambles out into the parking lot. He glances around and so does Chloe, but no one is around. Lucifer aims his hand toward the pavement between his feet, and a moment later a beam of light shoots out of his palm. It hits the pavement with a brief but blinding flash, and then a crater the size of a softball appears in the blacktop.

“Oh my god,” Chloe mutters. He put a hole in the pavement. It’s smoking.

“Oh my Devil,” Lucifer corrects. He dives back into the car and reaches out to grab her hands. “What did you do?” he demands. “How did you make it work? Bloody hell, Detective, you really are a miracle.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she says with a laugh. “I just thought that since Linda thinks your invulnerability was a response to my desire, then maybe your light could be too.”   

He looks so happy she can barely stand it. She wants to ask him why her desire was enough to jumpstart his light but it’s not enough to make him invulnerable, but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment. She reaches up and brushes her hand over his face instead. 

“I’m so proud of you, Lucifer.”

“I can control it,” he tells her excitedly. “I can summon it at will.”

“Of course you can,” she says, rubbing her thumb along his jaw. “You’re the Lightbringer. How’s it feel?”

He leans toward her with a wicked smile. “Almost as enjoyable as bringing you to orgasm.”

Chloe feels her face flush. “Almost, huh?”

“Believe me, love, nothing tops that.”

The atmosphere in the SUV shifts, and Chloe feels heat flare deep in her body. He’s looking at her like he wants to rip her clothes off, and she’s not sure she’d mind if he did. Maybe they could…

Yeah, no. She’s not having sex with him in the parking lot of a Utah diner where anyone could walk by and see. 

“Okay,” she says, dropping her hand to push against his shoulder. “I get it. Turn the smolder off.”

“You know, I am a little hungry,” he says. His voice is a low rumble, and his eyes are fixed on her mouth. “I think I’d like to eat—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off, brandishing her finger. “We’re going inside to eat.”

He opens his mouth.

“Food, Lucifer,” she interrupts before he can say what she knows he’s thinking. “Actual, edible food.”

“Fine,” he says. He casts a longing glance down at her chest, sighs, and then flings open his door. He pauses halfway out, though, and shoots her a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “But I refuse to behave just because we’re in public.”

He climbs out of the car and slams the door.

“You’ve never behaved in public before, why start now?” Chloe mutters to herself as she opens her own door.

“I heard that,” he says in a sing-song voice, leering at her over the hood of the Escalade. “And you’re absolutely correct, darling. No use fixing something that isn’t broken. I’m perfect just the way I am.”

She sighs.

He laughs. 

“Can I get you two some dessert?” the waitress asks an hour later as she picks up Lucifer’s empty plate. 

“Oh, yes please,” Lucifer says, folding his hands on the table. He looks at Chloe. “Unless you have objections?”

“No,” Chloe says, pushing her plate away. “Whatever you want.” 

Lucifer beams. “Splendid.” He looks up at the waitress. “What are the options, Sharon? I don’t suppose you have Baked Alaska?”

Sharon, who is probably twice Chloe’s age, throws her head back and laughs as if Lucifer has just said something hysterically funny. “Oh you,” she says, pushing his shoulder gently. Her nails are painted a painfully bright shade of pink. “We don’t serve Baked Alaska in Utah.”

“Of course not,” Lucifer says. He winks across the table at Chloe. “Silly of me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes as she lifts her iced tea to her mouth. He’s been like this the whole meal. His sudden breakthrough with his light put him in a fabulous mood, and he’s been peak Lucifer ever since. She’s pretty sure Sharon’s in love with him. She’s pretty sure all of Utah will be in love with him if he doesn’t chill out.

“We happen to be famous for our pies, you know,” Sharon says.

“Are you now?” Lucifer purrs. “Well then I guess we’re having pie.”

Sharon claps her hands together. “Oh excellent!” She digs around in her apron, and produces a half-sheet of paper. “Here’s our dessert menu. We have twelve kinds.” 

Chloe watches, eyebrows raised in amusement, as Lucifer willingly takes the menu without making any snide remarks about how stained and crumpled and gross it is. 

“Ohhh, rhubarb,” he says as he scans the menu. He looks up at Sharon. “I’ve never had rhubarb.”

“Well maybe today’s the day,” Sharon says, touching his shoulder again with a smile. 

“Have you eaten rhubarb pie, darling?” Lucifer asks Chloe. 

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t think so, no.”

“You should try it, dear,” Sharon encourages. She smiles fondly at Chloe, and Chloe smiles back because she thinks it’s funny that Sharon has a crush on Lucifer but still seems to think he and Chloe are the cutest couple she’s ever seen. She’s said so. Three times.

“You two lovebirds talk it over and I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sharon says. She winks at Lucifer, and then wanders away. 

Chloe watches her go and then notices the booth of four twenty-something women eating lunch on the other side of the diner. Much like Sharon, they haven’t been able to keep their eyes off Lucifer since he walked in. Chloe doesn’t think he’s noticed them, other than offering a jaunty wave when he first entered, but they’ve definitely noticed him. They’re staring at him as if they’d like nothing more than to rip all his clothes off. Or at least they were. They all snapped their heads down toward their plates when they realized she was watching them.

“Detective, look at this,” Lucifer says. He sets the menu on the table and slides it toward her. “Twelve kinds of pie.”

Chloe smirks at him. 

He frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t realize diner food made you so giddy.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You knew I like pie.”

“Sure,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “But burnt coffee, a BLT with too much mayo, and soggy french fries?”

“I thought the fries were excellent.”

Chloe snorts. “Sure you did.”

He narrows his eyes at her while she sips her iced tea, and then he sighs. “Alright, fine.” He glances over his shoulder as if to make sure Sharon is out of earshot, and then turns back to her. “My excitement over mastering my light might be coloring my opinion of my current surroundings.”

“Understatement of the century. You’re on cloud nine, it’s Christmas morning, and you just won a lifetime supply of gummy bears. That’s how happy you are.”

He scoffs. “You know I don’t care for Christmas.”

“Not the point.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of the point. You caught me. I’m thrilled. Is that so wrong?”

“No. Actually, it’s kind of adorable.”

He gives her a stern look. “We’ve been over this, Detective. I am the Lord of—”

“Hell,” she finishes for him. “Yeah, I get it. You’re also adorable as hell, and nothing is going to change my mind about that, so you might as well stop pouting about it.”

He huffs at her, tugging on his jacket, and then snatches the dessert menu off the table. “Let’s focus on dessert.”

Chloe smirks but doesn’t provoke him further. She watches as he studies the dessert menu, his forehead wrinkled adorably. She kind of wants to lean across the table and kiss him. Maybe she will. 

“This is impossible,” he mutters before she makes up her mind. “How am I supposed to choose?”

“It’s not the last supper, Lucifer. Pick one or two, and then we’ll try the others another time.”

He gives her an incredulous look. “When on earth are we ever going to return here?”

“Never. But this isn’t the only place on the planet that sells pie.”

“Yes, but they have twelve options, Detective. And Sharon said they’re famous for it.”

“So what are you going to do, get a slice of each one?” 

He lifts his chin defiantly. “I’m considering it.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not. Variety is the spice of life, Detective.”

He winks at her and turns back to the menu, but Chloe’s smile fades. His words ignite an old, familiar fear in her chest. She struggles to dismiss it, to stay in the moment and not get lost in insecurity, but she fails. 

One of the first things she learned about Lucifer is that he bores easily. He spent a significant amount of time in the early days of their partnership complaining about murders that were boring and interrogations that were boring and paperwork that was boring. And it wasn’t just work that bored him. It was everything. Restaurants. Songs. Phone games. 

People. 

She asked him once about his revolving door of sexual partners. They were on a stakeout that stretched into the early hours of the morning, and they were talking about life the way you really only can when it’s the middle of the night and you’re with someone you trust. Don’t you get tired of a different person in your bed every night? she asked. He’d laughed at her. I’d get tired of the same person in my bed every night, Detective. 

His response has always stuck with her. Even when she knew she was in love with him, and even when she would’ve traded almost anything to get him back from Hell, there was a voice whispering in the back of her mind that she was a fool. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And Lucifer? He’s older than, well, everything. 

He’ll get bored with you too, that familiar voice hisses. 

Chloe rubs her thumb along the edge of her glass and tries to think about something else, but the women over Lucifer’s shoulder are staring at him again. He’s not looking back, but she still feels a little nauseous. She knows the look in their eyes. She’s seen it a million times from a million different people. It wasn’t that long ago that every single one of them would have received an invitation to his bed. Maybe all of them at once. 

He’s different now though. He spent thousands of years in Hell, resisting temptation and waiting for her, because he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted her. 

But what if that changes? What if, now that he’s had her, he gets bored? She’s told him she loves him, but he hasn’t said it back. She’s told him he’s the best sex she’s ever had, but he hasn’t said that back either. She knows he’s not a word person. She knows he speaks through actions, and his actions as of late have been solely focused on her. But there are a whole lot of actions before that too, and they all point in the exact opposite direction of permanently settling down, and she’s trying really hard to have faith in him but…

What if he gets bored?

She clears her throat. “You know, it’s not the worst thing in the world to choose just one kind of pie.”

“Hm?” Lucifer says without looking up from the menu. 

“Picking one flavor of pie,” she repeats. “It’s not as boring as you think.”

He glances up at her with a frown. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sometimes it’s better to focus all your energy on one thing and just, like, really enjoy it. You know?”

His frown deepens. “Why would I settle for one type of pie when I could have all the pies?”

“Well because you can’t really enjoy all that a pie has to offer if you’re experimenting with a bunch of other flavors at the same time.”

“Experimenting is half the fun of life, Detective.”

“But there’s comfort in familiarity. Intimacy makes things, you know, taste better.”

He blinks at her. “Intimacy?”

“Yeah,” she says, shifting awkwardly in the worn booth. “You know, like, the...intimate taste of pie.”

“The intimate taste of pie?” he repeats incredulously. “Are you ill?”

“I’m just saying that more isn’t always better. Variety is spicy but it’s not, like, fulfilling. Sometimes having just one pers—pie—is better. You know?”

He stares at her for a moment, clearly mystified, and then his expression smooths out. “This isn’t about pie, is it?”

She scoffs. “What else would it be about?”

“Well you tell me, darling,” he says, gesturing at her. “You’re the one composing a philosophical treatise on pie for no apparent reason.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t say anything, and Chloe avoids his eyes. She feels like an idiot. She should’ve just kept her mouth shut. She stares out the window at the Escalade in the parking lot and wishes they could just go. She doesn’t want to be here anymore.

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. 

“What?” she says without taking her eyes off the car.

“Look at me, love.”

She sighs. She’s suddenly sympathetic to his earlier declaration that calling him babe was verbal witchcraft. She feels the same way about the low rumble of his voice when he calls her love.  

She looks at him. He gives her that half smile that always makes her weak in the knees. 

“You don’t have to tell me everything you’re feeling all the time,” he says softly. “But I would like to know the truth.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “It’s cheating to throw my words back at me.”

“Is it?” he says, his smile widening. He leans toward her over the table, and she catches a whiff of his cologne. “I learned that from you.”

She brandishes her finger at him. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” he asks innocently. 

“Can you not be you for, like, five minutes?”

“If I say yes, will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just…”

She can’t seem to find a way to say I’m afraid I’m too boring for you that doesn’t make her sound needy and whiny and ridiculous. She sets her elbows on the table and buries her head in her hands. Why didn’t she just let him order his twelve slices of pie? Why’d she have to open her stupid mouth?

Lucifer’s fingers curl around her wrists. He tugs gently. She lets him pull her hands down from her face. He turns one of them over so that her knuckles are resting against the table and traces his fingertips slowly over the lines in her palm, up and over the inside of her wrist, and then back down. She watches his fingers move and feels her body start to relax. He doesn’t prompt her again to share, but she knows he’s waiting for her. 

She swallows around the lump in her throat. “You’re a variety is the spice of life kind of guy,” she finally says softly. “The kind of guy who orders twelve slices of pie just because you want to try them all. You’d get bored with just one flavor.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “And...?”

“And I’m not like that.”

He smiles. “Well you don’t have to try all the pie, darling. I’m not going to force feed it to you.”

“No, it’s not about that. It’s…” 

She sighs and chews her lip and searches for the right words. 

“I’m apple pie, Lucifer. Consistent and simple. And you can do different things with apple pie. You can add a scoop of ice cream, or mix up some of the spices or...you know. Do something with the crust, I guess. But it’s just...it’s always going to be apple pie, you know? I’m always going to be apple pie.”

He looks completely bewildered. She chews her bottom lip again and tries to figure out how to explain this in a way he’ll understand that won’t make her sound insane.

“I’m apple pie,” she tries again. “And you like apple pie.”

He smiles. “I like apple pie very much.”

“But what happens when you want something else?”

His smile fades. 

“What happens when you want rhubarb pie, or french silk pie, or maybe two pies at once?” she forges on. “I mean, I’m not opposed to stepping outside my comfort zone. I want you to be, you know...fulfilled. But I’m always going to be me. And I’m never going to want to share the plate with another pie.”

She watches as understanding dawns slowly on Lucifer’s face. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asks, just to make sure.

He nods. “Yes.” And then he frowns. “We’re talking about sex, correct?”

“Oh my god,” Chloe says, burying her face in her hands. 

“I’m merely attempting to ensure that my mind isn’t in the gutter when it shouldn't be,” he says defensively.

She lowers her hands. “Yes, Lucifer. We’re talking about sex. But not just sex. It’s…” She waves her hands around in a vague gesture. “Everything. You and me. Us. Our relationship.”

He frowns. “Are you worried I’m going to cheat on you?”

“No.” 

He lifts his eyebrows.

“Maybe?” she amends. 

He looks wounded, and she immediately feels guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” she says hurriedly. “I know you waited for me while you were in Hell. And I know you would never intentionally hurt me. I know that. I’m not saying that I, like, sit at home and wonder if you’re off trying different kinds of pie when we’re not together. I just...” 

She feels like she’s in a hell loop, repeating the same thing over and over again but not getting any closer to the finish line. She needs to stop rambling. She needs to just...say it.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out and forces herself to look him in the eye. 

“I just want to be enough for you. And sometimes I’m afraid I’m not.”

He looks stunned. She shifts beneath his gaze, feeling uncomfortable and exposed. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe they’re not at this level in their relationship yet. 

“Detective,” Lucifer breathes. He leans forward again, his chest pressing into the edge of the table, and lifts her hands to his mouth. He presses his lips against her skin. “You’re more than enough. You have nothing to worry about.”

She chews her bottom lip and doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t believe me,” he murmurs. It’s not a question. 

“No, I do,” she says. “Well, I mean, I want to. But you get bored so easily, Lucifer. You told me once that you’d be bored sleeping with the same person every night. And I just...what if you get bored with me?”

“That’s not possible.”

“Lucifer—”

“Chloe.”

His use of her first name stops her dead. 

“I’m immortal,” he says, his voice like silk-covered steel. “I’ve seen everything. I’ve done everything. Everyone. And none of it, not one second, not one person, made me even a fraction as happy as I have been these last few weeks with you.”

Chloe’s heart flutters in her chest. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips. “Really.”

Sharon appears before Chloe can respond. “So,” she says brightly to Lucifer, “did you decide what you want?”

“I certainly did,” Lucifer replies, smiling up at her. “I want apple pie. Not just a slice, mind you, but the entire pie. And could you box it up for me? We’ll be enjoying it elsewhere.”

The purr in his voice and the glint in his eye make his intentions very clear, and Chloe suddenly has a vision of Lucifer’s tongue trailing over a smear of apple pie filling on her thigh. Her face burns with a fierce blush, but it’s not nearly as hot as the ache that suddenly throbs between her legs. 

“Okay?” Sharon says, sounding confused. She glances between Chloe and Lucifer, and then her eyes widen. “Oh. Okay.” She grins. “I’ll get it right now.” She winks at Lucifer, and then hurries away. 

Lucifer turns his attention back to Chloe. “In case it wasn’t clear,” he murmurs in a low voice, “I intend to eat that pie off you.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, fidgeting against the still throbbing ache between her legs. “I think you made that pretty clear. To me and Sharon.” 

“And did I make myself clear enough prior to that? Or shall I continue?”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I get it.”

He studies her for a moment, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t think you do.” 

“Lucifer, it’s fine. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

He lifts her hands to his mouth again. “I belong to you,” he murmurs into her knuckles, holding her gaze over her hands. “There is really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong enough.”

Chloe swallows. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of her chest. Since when is he so damn romantic? 

“Those aren’t my words, to be clear,” he replies, giving her a crooked smile as if he can read her mind. “Kafka wrote them to his beloved. But I’d write them to you too.”

He kisses her knuckles again, and then drops their hands back to the table. Chloe purses her lips around a smile. 

“You know, you’re kind of a nerd.”

He looks appalled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh come on,” she says, laughing as she pulls her hands away from his. “Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, and now Kafka? Who even knows all that stuff right off the top of their head?”

“I do.”

“Yeah cause you’re a nerd.”

“How dare you,” he says, straightening his shoulders in offense. “I am not a nerd, Detective. I’m cultured and well-read and I have an excellent memory. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” she says, trying and failing not to grin. “Of course. My mistake.”

He huffs at her. She keeps grinning.

“If you must know,” he says, lifting his nose in the air, “the only reason I’m quoting the words of others to you is because you value words, and mine are inadequate at the moment.”

That brings Chloe up short. She frowns. “What are you talking about? You’re great with words.”

“Yes, the filthy kind you like whispered in your ear during sex because you’re secretly a little minx,” he says impatiently. “But not the words that matter. Not the words you truly desire.” 

“Lucifer, I don’t—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he says, waving her off. “You’re being patient. I’m aware. That makes it worse.”

She reaches for his hands. “Lucifer—”

“Please don’t,” he sighs. “I despise how often you’re forced to reassure me.”

Chloe presses her lips together. She considers telling him that she likes reassuring him, but decides against it. 

“You know,” she says instead, “I think it’s kind of sexy you’re a nerd.”

He rolls his eyes. “For the last time, Detective, I’m not a—” He stops abruptly, and then visibly perks up. “Sexy, you say?”

She nods. “Mhmm.”

A sinful smile spreads over his lips. “Well in that case, allow me to recite a sonnet for you.”

“Oh, a sonnet,” Chloe hums, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “I’m all ears.”

He leans over the table toward her. “One day I wrote her name upon the strand,” he murmurs, his eyes dipping toward her mouth. “But came the waves and washed it away—”

“Here we are,” Sharon interrupts, setting a white pie box on the table. “Can I get you two anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Lucifer says without taking his eyes off Chloe. “Just the check.”

Sharon waves a slip of paper. “Way ahead of you, handsome. You can pay at the register up front.”

Lucifer finally tears his eyes away from Chloe and smiles at Sharon. “Thank you, darling. It’s been a pleasure.”

Sharon winks at him. “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

She pinches his cheek and leers at him, and then saunters away. Chloe can’t help but snort. 

“Delightful woman,” Lucifer muses.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees. “You ready?”

“Of course, darling.”

Chloe climbs out of the booth and grabs the pie box. Lucifer slides out after her, and then immediately drapes his arm around her shoulders. Chloe smiles and leans into him. He’s been much more physically affectionate with her since all this started. She won’t say it’s made everything worth it—she misses her daughter way too much to say that—but she likes it. She hopes it doesn’t change when things get back to normal. Then again, she should probably be careful what she wishes for, or he’ll end up trying to cop a feel at a crime scene. 

They stop at the register and Lucifer removes his arm from around her shoulders to reach for his wallet. Chloe sets the pie down on the counter and studies the assorted candy bars and faded packs of gum that are for sale beneath the glass. She hears a sudden fit of giggling, and lifts her eyes to glance toward the table of four women. 

They’re staring at Lucifer again. It’s clear what they’re thinking, too. There’s no mistaking the desire on their faces. One of them glances briefly at Chloe, double takes when she notices Chloe watching her, and then sneers. 

Something primal flares in Chloe’s chest. She’s never been the kind to play the stupid games some women are fond of, and she’s certainly never been the possessive type, but something about this group of women rubs her the wrong way. They have no idea who they’re ogling. They don’t understand him. They don’t care about him. They just want to use him, and she hates that. 

She leans closer to Lucifer. He’s talking to the guy behind the register, saying something about leaving a tip for Sharon, but his body turns toward hers automatically as soon as she tilts into his space. Chloe presses her shoulder into his chest and narrows her eyes at the woman, who’s now openly glaring at her. 

“Detective?” Lucifer calls.

Chloe snaps her gaze away from the woman and looks up at Lucifer. “Yeah?”

He frowns at her. “What are you…” He glances over at the table of women, back down at Chloe, and then at the women again. A smirk spreads slowly over his lips. “Oh. I see.”

“See what?” Chloe scoffs, reaching for the pie. “Let’s go.”

He clicks his tongue at her when she starts toward the door. “Not so fast, darling. We’ve a long drive ahead. Should probably use the restroom, hm?”

He wraps his arm around her waist and guides her toward the back of the diner in the direction of the bathrooms and the table of four women. 

“I don’t have to go to the bathroom,” Chloe insists, trying to slip free of his grasp, but he’s got that freaky angel strength and he’s putting it to good use. He guides her to a stop next to the table of women.

“Hello ladies,” he purrs, his voice dripping with charm.

The women return his greeting with enthusiasm, their eyes gleaming and their lips parted in wide smiles. They look like a pack of vultures sizing up a recently-slaughtered carcass. Chloe wants to shoot them all. 

“I wonder if I might ask a favor?” Lucifer says. 

He pauses just long enough to let the women fall all over themselves trying to offer their assistance, and then he plucks the pie box out of Chloe’s hand. 

“Would you mind watching this for us? Thank you so much.”

He plops the pie down on their table before they can respond, and then grabs Chloe’s hand and tugs her toward the bathrooms. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. “What are you doing?”

He shoves the door to the men’s bathroom open, steps across the threshold, and then yanks her in after him. 

“Lucifer—”

That’s all she has time to get out, though, because all of a sudden his mouth is crashing against hers and he’s pushing her backward and using the momentum of her body to slam the door shut behind them. It closes with a bang. Chloe’s back hits it with a thud and she grunts into Lucifer’s mouth. He’s cradling the back of her head, though it’s unclear if he’s trying to keep her from slamming her skull against the door or trying to keep her mouth fused to his. He presses his body against hers, his chest warm and solid, and then she hears the lock on the door click. She’s got about a million questions—what is he doing and why is he doing it and why are they doing it here?—but then he’s stroking his tongue along the seam of her lips, and, well, she likes that.

She likes that a lot.

She wraps her arms around his neck and opens her mouth for him. He shifts against her. His thigh slips between her legs and juts forward, forcing her to rise onto her toes to straddle it. He curls his hands around her waist and tugs, yanking her hips forward and sending a frisson of pleasure shuddering through her body from the friction. He smiles as he kisses her, and then pushes her hips back and pulls them forward again. She hums in the back of her throat and digs her nails into his shoulders and is starting to roll her hips without his help when she remembers where they are.

“Shit,” she says, breaking their kiss. “Lucifer, wait.”

He buries his face in the curve of her neck. “Oh come on, Detective,” he purrs. “You wanted them to know I’m yours, didn’t you?”

“That’s not—”

He latches onto her skin and sucks hard, and she lets her head fall back against the door and groans in frustration. 

“You taste good,” he whispers. “Why do you always taste so damn good?” 

“Lucifer,” she says, pushing weakly against his chest. “Come on, we can’t.”

“We can.”

“I am not having sex with you in here.”

He laughs, low and decidedly sexy, and then licks her throat like she’s a damn ice cream cone. “Weren’t you just saying you were willing to step outside your comfort zone?”

“I didn’t mean—”

He tugs on her hips again, and the friction of his thigh between her legs makes her forget what she was about to say. 

He lifts his mouth to her ear. “I never did finish that sonnet,” he muses, his breath hot on her skin. His hand slips beneath her shirt, and immediately slides up to her chest. “I think this calls for something a bit more sensuous. Perhaps some Cummings? Pun intended, of course.”

“Lucifer,” she whines. 

He laughs and palms one of her breasts through her bra. “I know just the poem,” he breathes into the pulsepoint of her throat. “It goes: I like my body when it’s with your body.” He flexes his fingers and squeezes her and she arches into his palm. “It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.” 

Chloe exhales a frustrated breath through her nose. He’s quoting poetry at her while he feels her up in a diner bathroom somewhere in Utah. Why is this such a turn on?

“Oh you do like that I’m a nerd, don’t you?” he hums into her skin. She can hear the smirk in his voice. “Detective, you should’ve told me sooner. There are so many things I can do with this.”

“Shut up,” she hisses at him, grabbing his face so she can kiss the smirk from his lips. 

He kisses her back hard enough to pull the breath from her lungs. His hand flips beneath her shirt and he curls his fingers around her collar, yanks it down, and buries his face in the valley of her chest. 

“I like your body,” he whispers into her skin. His tongue darts out and traces the curve of the cup of her bra. “I like what it does. I like its hows.”

She looks down at him, her chest rising a step faster than normal beneath his lips. He tilts his head, and she watches as his mouth latches onto her skin and sucks. She hisses at the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain and her hips roll over his thigh of their own accord.

“There you go, love,” he whispers into her skin. “Let go.”

Chloe tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling as his tongue maps her chest and her hips roll again. There’s a water stain on the ceiling. It looks kind of like a snowman. Which is ridiculous, because they’re in Utah. Does it snow in Utah? She doesn’t even know. 

Lucifer is whispering into her skin again, something about her spine and how she’s trembling and fuck, they can’t do this. They’re in public.

“Lucifer,” she says, pressing against his chest again. “Stop.”

He pulls his mouth away from her skin immediately. He lifts his head to meet her gaze, and the look in his eyes makes her ache. God, she wants him so bad.

“Is that really what you desire?” he asks, his voice low.

It’s the same voice he uses when he asks people what they want, and they both know it doesn’t work on her, but god damn it if she isn’t ready to blurt out No, I want you.

“I’m not getting naked in a diner bathroom,” she says instead.

He grins. “Oh, no one’s getting naked, darling.” 

He leans closer to her, close enough that they’re breathing the same air, and then she feels his fingers curl around the buckle of her belt.

“I’m more than capable of satisfying you without taking any of your clothes off.”

A whimper wells up in her throat without her permission. She sounds desperate. She’d be embarrassed if she wasn’t so consumed with trying to resist the urge to say fuck it and let him do whatever he wants to her, public bathroom or not. 

He tugs on the buckle of her belt. “I won’t continue without your consent, Detective.” 

She swallows. It really shouldn’t be that sexy for him to use her official title. He uses it all the time. Every day. A million times a day. Why’s it so fucking sexy right now?

He leans closer to her, his nose brushing hers. “Don’t make me beg,” he whispers. 

She scoffs. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. For you I would.”

She groans at him. He chuckles. He turns his head a little and brushes a kiss over the swell of her cheek, down to the corner of her mouth, and then he nips at her bottom lip. 

“Please?” he whispers.

He really wasn’t kidding about the begging. 

Damn him. 

She threads her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck and smashes her lips against his. He kisses her back. She arches into him, wrapping her other hand around his throat so she can feel the pulse beating on either side of his neck beneath her thumb and her index finger. The last shred of her self control is about to snap. She doesn’t care anymore. She just wants him. 

“Yes,” she whispers.

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. His thigh slides out from between her legs and the heels of her boots hit the floor with a thud. He uses his foot to nudge her legs apart and then makes quick work of her belt. The button and zipper of her jeans are undone just as deftly, and then his hand slides inside her underwear and his fingers stroke purposefully over her. 

She closes her eyes and tilts forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He strokes her again, and her body shudders a little as she sighs, and then his fingers start to rub a slow circle over her. Her hips jerk reflexively in response. She wraps her fingers around his arm. She can feel the muscles of his forearm flexing as his rhythm picks up. He’s looming over her, making her feel small in the very best way, and heat is already starting to coil deep in her body.

She exhales a sharp breath of disbelief. It’s not supposed to happen this fast. She’s not supposed to feel a climax building already. He’s good at this, she knows he’s good at this, but fuck. It shouldn’t be this easy for him to push her up and over the edge. 

Her hips jerk toward his hand again and she gasps his name into his chest. He presses harder, rubs faster, and she chokes on a sob. Time seems to freeze and then stretch and she loses track of everything except the smell of his cologne and the ragged sound of her breathing and the pressure of his hand between her legs. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter and tighter—

The release hits her so hard she sees stars. Lucifer works her through it, his fingers gentling but still insistent. She digs her nails into his forearm as she rides it out, her forehead pressed into his chest as she gasps into his suit jacket and barely manages to stifle a guttural moan as it goes on and on and on. 

It isn’t until she slumps against him with a soft hum, spent and sated, that he finally pulls his hand away. She lifts her head to look at him, feeling dazed, and catches only a brief glimpse of the awed look on his face before he ducks forward and kisses her. She curls her fingers into his lapels clumsily and leans back against the door because her legs feel a little weak. 

His lips move gently over hers. He zips her jeans and re-fastens the button, and then buckles her belt without even looking at it. When he’s finished, he lifts his hands to her face and kisses her deeper. 

She feels like she’s in a dream. If she is, it’s not one she wants to wake up from. He’s touching her like she’s fragile, kissing her like she’s priceless, and her heart stirs in her chest. He’s never kissed anyone else like this. She knows that, even if he’s never said it. She wants to tell him she loves him, but she swallows the words. She tries not to say it every time it pops into her head. She doesn’t want to overwhelm him. 

Eventually, he leans back from her mouth. He presses his forehead against hers, and she exhales a shaky breath. She still feels a little dazed. Her body is humming. 

“Who says I can’t be quick, hm?” he says.

She smiles. “I’m impressed you limited yourself to one.”

“Not sure how,” he murmurs. He leans into her, his hands sliding along her waist, and lowers his mouth to her ear. “You’re beautiful when you climax,” he whispers, his breath hot on her skin. 

Chloe closes her eyes as desire drills down her spine. He nuzzles against her, his chest lifting with an inhale, and she knows he’s smelling her hair. She is never, ever going to change brands of shampoo. 

She slides her hand down between their bodies to stroke over him. His entire body goes rigid, and she smiles into his chest. She likes knowing she can do this to him. She likes knowing that he wants her. 

“What about you?” she asks, stroking her hand over him again. 

He wraps his fingers around her wrist to still the movement of her hand. “I’m holding out for the pie.”

She rises up onto her toes and flicks her tongue over the pulsepoint in his neck beneath his jaw. “I’m not doing that in the car,” she murmurs. “And it’ll be a few hours until we get to the hotel.” 

“Oh I’m aware. Anticipation heightens the ultimate payoff, Detective.”

She’s suddenly tempted to test his self control. Turnabout’s fair play, right? He seduced her in a men’s bathroom in the middle of a damn diner. Why can’t she seduce him right back? 

“It’s a long drive, Lucifer,” she whispers against his throat. He’s still got his fingers wrapped around her wrist, but she pulls against his grip and strokes him again. He sucks in a breath. “You sure you can wait that long?”

“You little minx,” he murmurs. 

His voice sounds strained. She laughs. She rises higher on her toes and pulls his earlobe into her mouth, her teeth and tongue sliding over his skin. “I don’t think it’d take me long.”

“How dare you.”

She strokes her hand over him again and smiles. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenges. She flicks her tongue over the shell of his ear. “Oh that’s right,” she whispers. “You don’t lie.”

His fingers tighten on her wrist, and his other hand grabs at hers, and then he presses her backward and pins both her arms at her sides against the door. 

She tilts her head back against the door to look up at him. He looms over her. It should scare her, maybe, that the Devil has her pinned with his inhuman strength. But she’s not scared. She’s just really turned on.

He leans forward, his mouth a breath away from hers. “When I’ve finally got you and that pie behind closed doors, I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.” 

Her mouth goes dry while other parts of her become very not dry, but before she can say anything there’s a knock on the door. 

“Anyone in there?” a gruff male voice asks.

Chloe freezes in horror. She got caught up in the moment and forgot they were in public, and now they’re about to get caught. Damn it.

Lucifer grins at her like he can read her mind. “Just a moment,” he calls out. 

“Okay,” the gruff voice replies. 

Chloe tugs her arms free of Lucifer’s grip and pushes against his chest. He steps away from her, still grinning. She ignores him and brushes past him to check her appearance in the mirror. Her hair looks okay and her clothes aren’t too wrinkled, but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright. There’s no way it won’t be obvious to anyone with eyes that she just got played like a damn piano.

Lucifer appears in the mirror behind her and ducks his head to press a kiss against the side of her neck beneath her ear. “You look lovely, darling.”

“Everyone’s going to know what we were doing,” she whines, tugging at the stretched-out collar of her shirt.

He chuckles. “That’s the point. I’m yours, remember?” He holds her gaze in the mirror. “They should all know it.”

There’s desire glittering in his eyes again, and holy shit she needs to get out of this bathroom before she climbs him like a tree.

“Let’s go,” she says, turning around and striding toward the door. He chuckles at her. She flings the door open and steps out into the hallway, and nearly runs straight into the chest of a man in a Carhart jacket and a baseball cap. His eyes widen when he sees her, and then they widen even more when he notices Lucifer behind her.

She’s going to die of embarrassment.

“Excuse me, sorry,” she mutters, trying to step past him, but the hallway is narrow and his feet seem to have taken root in the floor. He gapes at her, unmoving.

“All yours,” Lucifer says cheerfully, as if it’s totally normal and not at all inappropriate that they were in the bathroom together. He puts his hand on the small of Chloe’s back, and then gently pushes the still-staring man out of the way so they can pass. 

Chloe breathes a sigh of relief once they’re out of the hallway. At least she’ll never have to see him again. Then she sees the table of four women up ahead, staring at her with wide eyes as the apple pie sits on the end of their table, and she suddenly wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

“Ladies,” Lucifer greets, stopping next to their table. 

Chloe tries to keep walking, but he grabs a fistful of her blazer and yanks her back to his side. 

“Thank you so much for your kindness,” he says, reaching out to grab the pie box with the hand that isn’t fisted in her blazer. He leans toward the table conspiratorially, a wicked grin on his face, and tips his head toward Chloe. “She’s so beautiful that I just can’t help myself. Lucky for me, she’s a benevolent mistress and lets me service her whenever I please. Which is often.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses, horrified. 

“Oh, looks like my services are required again already,” Lucifer says, his lips stretched into the most arrogant grin Chloe’s ever seen. He winks at the women. “Enjoy your lunch, ladies. I certainly enjoyed mine.”

He drapes his arm around Chloe’s shoulders and leads her toward the exit without another word. He’s still grinning. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Chloe waits until they’re out of earshot of the women, and then elbows him in the ribs. “You ass,” she hisses.

He leans forward with an oomph and then he chuckles. 

“It’s not funny,” she insists. “Benevolent mistress? ” 

“Well you are, darling. You’re very bossy, but it’s very sexy.”

She shoves the front door of the diner open with a huff. “You’re lucky I left my gun in the car or I’d shoot you.”

They step out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. Lucifer tightens his hold on her shoulders and pulls her closer so he can press his lips to her temple. 

“Admit it,” he murmurs against her skin. “You liked me getting you off with them sitting just a few feet away.”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and then wraps her arm around his waist. “You can’t prove it.”

He throws his head back and laughs.