24. Twenty-Four

“Shit,” Chloe gasps. 

The sound of her panting fills the close confines of the Escalade, mingling with Lucifer’s equally harsh breathing. The glass of the window beneath her right palm is cool and the fabric of his suit is soft in her other hand as she clutches his shoulder. She’s distantly aware of the seat belt clip digging into her left knee, but she doesn’t focus on it. She can’t. All she can focus on is Lucifer. 

It’s dark outside. They’re parked on the side of an empty road that’s sandwiched between two corn fields, halfway between the bar and their hotel. Lucifer is still clothed and Chloe is mostly clothed and the car is still running. Taylor Swift is playing on the radio—In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do, baby—and Chloe is in Lucifer’s lap, riding him like it’s been years since they were last together instead of twenty-four hours. Anyone could drive by and see them but Chloe doesn’t care because her body is on fire and Lucifer just whispered something filthy in her ear and this is frantic sex, hard and quick and dirty, and it feels so damn good.

There’s sweat slicking her skin. Lucifer’s thumb is rubbing circles over her, and she’s close. She’s so close. 

“Tell me you’re close,” Lucifer gasps in her ear. 

His voice is strangled, and even through the haze of a building orgasm, Chloe grins. He’s only asking because he’s close. He’s been begging for car sex since they left Vegas, and now that he’s finally getting it, he’s struggling to last. He told her once that she should be proud of how fast she makes the Devil come. She is. 

“You gonna go first?” she whispers in his ear before nipping at his earlobe with her teeth.

“Never,” he growls. 

Chloe laughs. Now she wants him to. She adjusts the pace of her hips to a rhythm that usually makes his eyes roll back in his head, and triumph courses through her veins when he swears. It’s short lived, though, because the new rhythm is also making her eyes roll back in her head. She’s not going to last much longer. 

“Come on, babe,” she pants in his ear. “Let go for me.”

He growls at her, and then the pressure of his thumb between her legs changes. The speed changes too, and the rhythm of Chloe’s hips stutters because holy shit, how fast is his thumb moving? He feels more like her vibrator than her boyfriend and her body is…

“Fuck,” she gasps.

Lucifer’s tongue trails obscenely up the column of her throat and then he grins into her pulsepoint. “Feel good?” he whispers. 

Chloe chokes on a yes and digs her nails into his shoulder. This is going to wreck her. 

“Come for me, Chloe,” Lucifer breathes into her skin.

The sound of her first name on his lips is like pulling a trigger. The orgasm hits and she’s gone, her head thrown back and his name on her lips as the world goes white hot and she comes and comes and comes. 

When she finally floats back to coherency, she’s still panting. Her forehead is resting against Lucifer’s shoulder. Her brain feels fuzzy. She can’t...she can’t focus. Her body feels like jello. Warm, buzzing, thoroughly fucked jello. 

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Lucifer laughs, and it rumbles through his chest. He grabs a fistful of her ponytail and tugs gently. She follows his lead and lifts her head from his shoulder, and he kisses her. 

It’s sweet, the complete opposite of the kind of kiss she’d expect to receive from the Devil after he fucked her senseless in a car on the side of the road, but it feels right. He feels right. She holds his face in her hands and kisses him back until she realizes she has no idea if he got off. 

She leans back to look at him. “Did you…?” 

“Oh yes.” He gives her a wicked smile. “Impossible not to when you say my name like that.”

She chuckles, and then she thinks about it, and she frowns. “Wait, what did you do?”

“It’s called an orgasm, darling.”

She shoves him. “Ass.”

He laughs again, his smile wide and devastatingly sexy.

“I mean what did you do with your fingers?” she clarifies.

“Ah. Well, let’s just say I’ve certain capabilities that the average human male does not.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m able to move a little faster.”

Chloe gapes at him. “Does that...do you have super speed?”

“I don’t think I’d call it super,” he says. And then he furrows his eyebrows. “Detective, do you have a comic book fetish? Am I going to be asked to don tights and a cape at some point in the near future?”

She swats his shoulder. “You cheated.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You cheated. I totally would have made you finish first if you hadn’t whipped out your vibrator fingers.”

“My what? ”

“First laser beam hands, now vibrator fingers,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “What’s next? Do your legs do something cool too?”

He arches an eyebrow. “No, but my dick—”

She smacks her hand over his mouth before he can finish. He grins, and then his eyes darken and he flicks his tongue over her palm. She sighs and drops her hand.

“I’d ask if you liked it,” he says, reaching up to twine his fingers into her ponytail again, “but the answer was quite apparent.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

He smirks. “You’re also quite full of me at the moment.”

She rolls her eyes and leans away from him, preparing to make the not-at-all-graceful transition back to her side of the car so they can clean up and get moving, but he darts his hands out to stop her. She turns to look at him, expecting him to tell her that he’s ready for round two in the backseat, but she finds him gazing at her with an earnest expression on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For the way I behaved today. I was a prick.”

She blinks at him in surprise, and then leans toward him again. “Me too.” 

“Did I do something that upset you?”

He says it hesitatingly, like he’s afraid of what she’ll say, and her heart aches in her chest. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah, but nothing that was…” She sighs and presses her lips together and tries to find the words. “I’m just tired, Lucifer. The dreams are…” 

She trails off again and can’t help a shudder at the memory of her last dream. Guilt and concern and grief shine in Lucifer’s eyes. Chloe presses her hands against his chest, caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting him to comfort her. She doesn’t want to make him feel bad about the dreams, but maybe not telling him the truth about how much they’re affecting her is worse. 

“I hate them,” she murmurs. “They scare me, and they hurt, and they make it harder to be away from home. I’m afraid to fall asleep, and it’s hard to go back to sleep after, so I’m tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing. “So you’re not having second thoughts about us?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What?”

He won’t meet her gaze. “I know that being in a relationship with me is difficult. I’ve no experience, and Doctor Linda says I sometimes have trouble remembering that I’m not the center of the universe, and our current situation is—”

“Lucifer,” Chloe cuts him off, lifting her hands to his face. She waits until he meets her gaze to continue. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’m never going to have second thoughts.”

He frowns. “But we fought all day.”

“Yeah, sometimes that happens. Couples fight, babe. I’d be worried if we didn’t.”

He looks confused. She drapes her arms around his neck and strokes her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. 

“I’m in love with you,” she tells him. “But being in love doesn’t mean that every day is filled with candles and stargazing and romantic speeches. Sometimes you’re going to annoy me, or I’m going to frustrate you, and we’re going to fight. And that’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” she says, laughing a little as she scratches her nails over the back of his head. “Healthy relationships have conflict. As long as we apologize when we need to, and we try to do better next time, then we’re going to be fine. Okay?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “May I make a request?”

“Sure.”

He gives her a look that makes her think he’s about to say something really serious, and then he says, “I request that makeup sex be mandatory after every fight.”

Chloe couldn’t keep a smile from her face if she tried. 

“Deal.”

They go back to their hotel, but only long enough to grab their stuff from the room. Chloe thinks it’s a bad idea to stay put, just in case the guys from the bar do end up calling the cops, so she and Lucifer pack the car up and hit the road again. 

Lucifer drives. He reaches for her hand and tells her about what he did after he left her at the hotel. He’s excited, and it’s adorable. She’s not surprised he figured out how to bend his light to his will. When he tells her about the burning rope, though, she thinks of Trixie’s Wonder Woman doll and grins.

He notices immediately. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she says, squeezing his hand in both of hers. “I’m just really proud of you.”

He beams.

“You know, you’re basically a superhero now.”

The smile freezes on his face. “For Dad’s sake, Detective,” he sighs. “Are you certain you don’t have a comic book fetish?”

She laughs. 

They sit in comfortable silence after that, the radio playing softly in the background. Hardly anyone else is on the road. Chloe tilts her head back against the headrest and watches him drive, admiring the way the shadows play over his face in the darkness. He smiles beneath her gaze but doesn’t tease her for looking. She thinks he likes the way she looks at him, which is probably for the best because she doesn’t plan to stop. 

She knows she needs to tell him about what happened back at the bar when she hit her head and got punched and felt nothing. But she doesn’t want to interrupt the comfortable atmosphere between them, and she doesn’t want to have a potentially complicated conversation in the car, and they’re only planning to drive for an hour or so. It can wait. 

The hotel where they end up only has two rooms available: one with a queen bed and the honeymoon suite. Lucifer winks at Chloe and accepts the honeymoon suite. 

When the woman behind the front desk holds out two plastic card keys and tells them to enjoy their stay, Lucifer snatches them eagerly and takes off for the suite. Chloe thanks the surprised looking hotel worker and follows him. She can barely keep up because his legs are so damn long. She doesn’t bother asking him why he’s excited. She’s pretty sure it’s sex related. It almost always is.

When they get to the suite, he can’t get the door open fast enough. He doesn’t bother to hold it open for her, and Chloe barely catches it before it slams in her face. She sighs at him, but he doesn’t notice. She shoves the door open, and holds it ajar with her foot as she tugs her suitcase in after her. 

She’s barely a few feet inside the suite when she runs straight into Lucifer’s back. She stumbles backward because he’s so solid, and reaches out to steady herself on the wall. The door slams shut behind her. 

She frowns at the back of his head. “Lucifer?”

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demands.

Chloe peers around him with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

She scans the suite, but nothing seems out of place. The decor is hideous, but the suite itself is clean and spacious. There’s a king bed, and a separate seating area with a loveseat and a TV, and a small refrigerator. It’s way nicer than the room they were planning to stay in before the incident at the bar. 

“It’s awful,” Lucifer says in disbelief.

Chloe glances up at him. “What are you talking about? It’s the nicest room we’ve been in yet.”

“No, no, there must be some kind of mistake,” he says, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.” He glances around like he’s looking for something. “Maybe…”

He turns toward the bathroom and strides inside and flips the light on. Chloe peeks around the doorframe after him. It’s a perfectly normal bathroom, though slightly bigger than she expected. There’s a shower and a separate soaker tub, which surprises her. The tub must be the “honeymoon” part of the suite, because it’s plenty big enough for two people.

Lucifer seems unimpressed. “White bloody towels,” he mutters, picking up a white hand towel and then dropping it back onto the counter in disgust. 

“What do you have against white towels?” Chloe wonders. 

He doesn’t answer her. He strides out of the bathroom, and Chloe has to step back so he doesn’t plow her over. He beelines for the closet and flings open the doors, but there’s nothing inside except an ironing board and an iron and some hangers. He stares at the ironing board as if it’s deeply offensive, and then turns on his heel and crosses the suite. He stops in front of the windows and shoves the curtains back and forth like he’s searching for something. 

Chloe watches him with her eyebrows raised. When he yanks open the drawer of the bedside table and declares, “A bloody Bible but no flavored lube?!” as if that’s a totally normal thing to say, she starts to worry about his sanity. 

“Lucifer,” she calls in the voice she usually reserves for armed suspects or Trixie on the verge of tears, “what are you doing?” 

He turns to face her with an appalled expression. “What am I doing? What is this bloody establishment doing? This is a disgrace.” 

“What are you talking about? This is a perfectly normal hotel room.”

“It’s supposed to be the honeymoon suite.”

“So?”

“So then what the hell is this? ” he demands, gesturing at the bed.

Chloe frowns. “Uh, a bed?”

“Yes, but why is it a boring square instead of heart-shaped? Where are the rose petals? Why isn’t there chilled champagne on the table, and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries?”

Chloe tilts her head. “You do realize we’re not actually newlyweds, right? We got this room because you didn’t want to sleep in a queen bed and this is all that was left.”

“But if we were newlyweds, we would be staying in this suite,” he insists. “And it’s all wrong. It’s not sexy. It’s boring. I don’t even think this bed vibrates.”

Chloe snorts. 

Lucifer frowns at her. “This is no laughing matter, Detective. It’s false advertising.”

She presses her lips together and tries to take him seriously, but she can’t. “Lucifer, what makes you think that honeymoon suites have vibrating, heart-shaped beds?”

“I saw it in a movie once. There was a heart-shaped vibrating bed, and a jacuzzi tub with red towels, and mirrors on the ceiling.” He gestures at the ceiling. “How are you supposed to watch me go down on you when there are no mirrors on the ceiling?”

“I’m pretty sure I can do that without mirrors on the ceiling.”

He huffs at her. “Well it’s not as sexy. None of this is sexy. It’s completely unsuitable for a honeymoon.”

“Look, babe, I hate to break it to you, but whatever movie you saw wasn’t accurate. That’s not really how most honeymoon suites look.”

He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “You mean you and Daniel didn’t have your first go as husband and wife in a vibrating heart-shaped bed?”

“No,” she says, trying not to laugh again. “Just a boring square mattress.”

Lucifer gives her a look. “Is it because he took you somewhere cheap? I know he’s cheap.”

“He’s not cheap,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s because heart-shaped vibrating beds aren’t a thing. I mean, maybe you can find that stuff in Vegas or Reno or something. But not in rural Illinois.”

He glances around the suite, and then slides his hands into his pockets with a sigh of disappointment. “But I had so many puns ready,” he whines. “Now I can’t use any of them.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she says dryly. 

He glares at her. She grins at him. Mischief flickers suddenly in his eyes, and he crosses the room and stops in front of the bathroom and peers inside. He hums like he’s noticed something interesting, and when he turns to face her again, there’s a predatory smile on his lips.

“That bathtub is big enough for two.” 

“Is it?” she says, pretending to look for herself. “I didn’t notice.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

He steps toward her. She takes a step back, because they need to talk and the look on his face says that the only words he’s got on his mind are the filthy kind that make her body hum, but she bumps into the wall behind her. She starts to slide sideways, but Lucifer’s smile deepens and he lifts his arms to plant his hands on the wall on either side of her body and trap her in place. 

He leans closer, looming above her, and eyes her mouth.

“Lucifer,” she warns, brandishing her finger in the infinitesimal space that’s left between their bodies. “We need to ta—”

He kisses her. She hums in the back of her throat without meaning to. He smiles because he likes when she’s vocal. She presses her hands to his chest as if to push him away, but then he slips his tongue in her mouth and she hesitates. Why does he have to be so damn good at this? He kisses her like his life depends on it, and yet somehow it always seems so effortless. She hates it. 

That’s not true. She doesn't hate it. Not even a little. 

He lifts one of his hands away from the wall and wraps it around her throat. His fingertips press gently into her skin, and heat flares in her body. 

Damn it, now she’s turned on.

“So what should we do first?” he whispers into her mouth. He sucks lightly on her bottom lip, and then his index finger strokes over the jut of her jaw. “Should we take a bath? Or would you like to watch me go down on you without any mirrors?” 

She shivers at the tone of his voice. Isn’t she supposed to be saying something? She’s definitely supposed to be saying something. She can’t remember what though. Her body—oh, her body. Shit. That’s it. She needs to tell him she might be invulnerable again.

He smiles against her lips. “Would you like me to go down on you in the bath?”

A fantasy of sitting on the edge of the tub and fisting her hand in his wet hair as his head descends between her thighs materializes, and oh, she is so tempted. Maybe they should scratch the itch, so to speak, and then…

Nope. No. They need to talk, damn it. 

She sighs at herself. This is what she gets for falling in love with the Devil. She has to turn down what she knows will be absurdly good head so they can talk about how she might be bulletproof. 

“Lucifer,” she says, pressing her hands against his chest so he’ll lean back from her mouth. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

He frowns. “There is?”

He looks adorable when he frowns. He also smells good, and his hand is still wrapped around her throat, and yeah, okay, she needs some space so she can think straight.

She pushes him gently away from her and then slips past him and walks to the other side of the room to put some distance between them. When she turns back to face him, he looks wounded. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she says before he can ask. 

“Then why are you all the way over there?”

“I just need some space, okay? Stop it with the kicked puppy look.”

He pouts at her for a second, but then he smirks. “You need space because I’m devastatingly sexy and you find me hard to resist.”

She rolls her eyes. “I need space because you’re devastatingly arrogant and I find it hard not to smack you.”

His smirk deepens. “I’ve no objections to being spanked.”

She can’t help but laugh. “We need to talk about something important, Lucifer.”

“What could possibly be more important than—”

“I think I’m invulnerable.”

He stares at her, his mouth open. There’s a beat of shocked silence, and then he croaks, “You what? ”

She tugs absently on her blazer. “You remember Steve from the bar?”

His handsome face screws up into a look of disgust. “The twat.” 

She remembers the Sharpie graffiti he scrawled across Steve’s forehead and grins. “Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“Well, he kind of punched me in the face.”

It’s a good thing they’re alone and the curtains are closed, because Lucifer straightens to his full height and his face flickers briefly toward his Devil form. 

“He did what? ” 

“It didn’t hurt,” Chloe says, holding her hands out reassuringly.  

“Detective—”

“It didn’t hurt, Lucifer,” she insists. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I didn’t feel anything.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then his rage seems to bleed into confusion. “Nothing?”

“No. And that wasn’t the only time. Justin tripped me, and I hit my head on the cement floor when I fell, but that didn’t hurt either. Neither did the duct tape when I peeled it off my skin. I didn’t feel any of it.”

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, Justin knocked me unconscious so clearly I was vulnerable at some point. But then I just...I don’t know. I wasn’t anymore.”

“Well are you now? ”

“I don’t know. I haven’t checked.”

“Well give us that knife you’ve got, let’s test it.”

She crosses the room and brushes past him to grab her purse from where she left it sitting on top of her suitcase, and then passes him again and heads for the desk. He follows her. She sets her purse down next to a pad of hotel stationary, and then unzips the front pocket and pulls out the knife. She hands it to Lucifer to hold, and then takes her blazer off and tosses it onto the bed. Lucifer hands her the knife again when she turns to face him, and she takes a deep breath and then presses the blade into the skin on her forearm. 

She feels a dull pain, and a blossom of red appears. Her heart sinks. 

“I swear I was invulnerable,” she says, looking up at him. “I swear, Lucifer.”

He flashes her a brief smile. “I believe you.” 

He takes the knife from her and sets it on the desk, and then plucks the pocket square out of his jacket and bends forward to carefully wipe the blood from her arm. 

Chloe’s throat feels suddenly tight. Maybe it’s how gentle he’s being with her arm. Maybe it’s the realization that he wouldn’t sacrifice his pocket square for anyone but her. Maybe it’s just that she’s tired and it’s been a really long day and she misses Trixie and home. Whatever it is, she feels like she’s going to burst into tears.

“I don’t get it,” she whispers. Lucifer must be able to hear how upset she is, because he glances up at her with concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?” 

He tosses the pocket square onto the desk and lifts his hands to her face. “Nothing is wrong with you, love. You needn’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

She closes her eyes. He leans forward and kisses her forehead and then pulls her gently into his arms. She wraps her arms around him and lets herself just be for a minute. Nothing makes sense, but at least she’s got him. 

“Maybe it was your dad again,” she murmurs into his chest eventually.

Lucifer snorts and leans away from her. “I doubt it. He’s in an entirely separate universe, so it’s highly unlikely that—”

He stops abruptly and gets a funny look on his face. 

Chloe frowns. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “My father didn’t claim credit for that,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her. 

“For what?”

“For saving your life during the cartel shootout. I asked him if he was responsible, and he wouldn’t say.”

Chloe has no idea why that matters. “Okay?”

“And when you asked him, he told you that it was complicated,” Lucifer continues. He’s staring off into the distance like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “He said you weren’t ready for the answer. And then today, when he was well out of your reach, you were invulnerable again.”

“So?”

He finally lifts his gaze to hers. “Did that imbecile knock you unconscious before or after you prayed to me?”

“Before.”

“And everything else that happened? The things that should have hurt you but didn’t. Were they before or after you prayed?”

“After.”

He looks stunned. They stare at each other for a minute, her with a confused frown and him with his mouth open in apparent shock. In the corner of the room, the heater kicks on with a rattle and a whir. Neither of them glance at it.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lucifer finally breathes. And then he smiles. “You really are a miracle.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, trying not to sound irritated. She hates feeling out of the loop.

He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Do you remember when I gave you my mojo?”

“Yeah. But what does that have to do with...” She trails off when she realizes what he’s getting at. “Wait, you think you gave me your invulnerability? ” 

“Well why not?” he says with a shrug. “Doctor Linda said that when you care about someone, you give up power. I care about you. I gave you my mojo. Why not my invulnerability too?”

Chloe gapes at him. “I don’t…” 

She can’t seem to finish her thought. Probably because she has no idea what her thought even is. Her brain feels like a TV that’s set to a channel of nothing but static.

Lucifer doesn’t seem to be experiencing the same struggle. His eyes are alight with discovery. 

“What if, when you prayed to me that you were in danger, I transferred my invulnerability to you so that you’d be safe? That must be what happened during the cartel shootout as well. That’s why my father didn’t claim credit. Because he’s not the one who made you bulletproof. I am. And I did it again tonight.”

Chloe stares at him. It takes her a moment to find her voice, but when she does, there’s really only one thing to say. 

“But how? ”

“Hell if I know,” he says with a laugh, throwing up his hands. “It’s the same as my being vulnerable with you. It's a physical manifestation of a subconscious desire. In this case, I wanted you to be safe and so you were.” 

“Huh,” Chloe says. She can’t seem to formulate any other response. If they were working a case, this would be the moment when she would roll her eyes and tell him that she doesn’t have time for his outlandish theories. But this isn’t a case, and she’s seen far too much in the past week for her to think that his theory is outlandish. He’s got laser beam hands for god’s sake. Anything is possible.

“Wow,” she murmurs.

“Wow indeed.” Lucifer grins at her suggestively. “You know, you really are quite good at getting my body to respond to you.”

She ignores the innuendo. “So you’ve never done it intentionally?” 

“No. As far as I know, I’ve only done it twice. Once when you had those cartel bullets coming at you, and then tonight when you prayed.” He frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s an involuntary reaction when I believe you’re in mortal peril.” 

Chloe nods. “Yeah, maybe. I mean—”

An epiphany strikes like lightning and she freezes.

Lucifer notices. “Detective?” 

She reaches out to grab his arm. “Light up your hands.” 

He looks confused but does as he’s told. He holds his hands out between them, and a moment later they burst into flame. 

Chloe reaches out and weaves her fingers through his. The flames engulf her hands, licking along her skin the same way they do his, but she only feels a pleasant warmth. She stares for a second, struck by how beautiful the flames are, and then she looks up at Lucifer. 

“Why doesn’t this hurt me?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “I’m controlling the heat—”

“No, Lucifer,” she cuts him off gently. “It’s never hurt me. Not outside the club. Not in Vegas by the pool, or Utah in the car, or Nebraska under the stars. Even before you knew how to control it, it never hurt me.”

He stares at her, and she watches as the realization dawns in his eyes. “Because I didn’t want it to,” he breathes. 

She nods. “Yeah. Subconsciously, but still. You didn’t just make me invulnerable tonight and during the cartel shootout. It was all those other times too. Maybe even more.” 

He drops his gaze down to their still joined hands with a look of awe, and Chloe follows his gaze. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sight of her hands on fire, but she’s not afraid. He’ll protect her. 

“Detective,” Lucifer murmurs.

She looks up at him.

“What if it’s just like my light?” 

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the first time I summoned my light, it was a subconscious reaction. But now it’s not. I can summon it at will. Perhaps I can do the same thing with my invulnerability. Maybe...maybe I can control it.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second in surprise, and then she squeezes his hands. “Try it.”

He pulls his hands back from hers and the flames extinguish. “Not with the light,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to burn you.” He casts a sideways glance at the knife sitting on the desk. “I don’t think I can make myself hurt you.”

The tone of his voice makes her ache. She wants to tell him she loves him but she swallows the words and reaches for the knife. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She presses the knife to her skin and looks up at him expectantly, but he shakes his head. “I don’t know how.”

“Well what do you do when you want to summon your light?”

“Think about you.”

That catches her off guard. She knew his light was tied to her. He told her so. But there’s something about hearing the words fall so easily from his lips that makes her want to bury herself in his arms and never let him go. 

He steps closer to her. “Can you…?”

He swallows instead of finishing. He looks nervous, like he knows what he wants to say but is afraid to say it. 

“Can I what?” she murmurs, reaching out to press her free hand against his chest. 

He leans into her touch and covers her hand with his own. “Tell me you love me.” 

Chloe stares at him. She’s worried so many times that she says it too often, or that he wishes she’d never said it at all, and now...

“Please,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“I love you,” she says immediately, tilting toward him. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Heart and soul, Lucifer.” 

He closes his eyes and his hand tightens on hers. “Do it,” he whispers.

She doesn’t hesitate. She lifts the knife to her arm that’s stretched out between them and presses the blade into her skin hard enough to draw blood.

She doesn’t bleed. 

Shock flares in her chest. She ignores it and presses the knife down harder, hard enough that she should be slicing through skin and muscle and down into bone, but nothing happens. She feels nothing except the racing of her heart, which is pounding so hard that she’s afraid it might beat right out of her chest.

“Lucifer,” she whispers in awe. 

He opens his eyes. He glances down at her arm, sees there’s no blood, and exhales a sharp breath. She can’t tell if it’s surprise or relief. 

“You did it,” she tells him.

“Do it again,” he murmurs, squeezing her hand that he’s still clutching to his chest. “I want to see if I can take it away.”

“Okay. Ready?”

He nods.

She presses the knife into her arm again, watching as her skin dips inward beneath the sharp edge of the blade, and this time blood surfaces. She winces a little at the pain, and Lucifer must notice because his hand flies up and pushes the blade away from her skin. He lets go of her hand on his chest and snatches the pocket square off the desk, and then presses it against her wound. 

“You pressed too hard,” he says. “You need to be more careful. Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine.”

He frowns and moves the pocket square so he can study her cut. “We need to clean this.”

“Do it to yourself,” she says, covering his hands with one of hers so he’ll stop fussing over her.

He looks up at her. “What?”

“You can make me invulnerable, which means you can do it to yourself. So do it to yourself.”

“Detective—”

“Please. For me.”

She knows that’ll get him, and it does. He presses his lips together, and then he holds out his hand and exposes his palm to her. 

“Go on then.”

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to cut him. 

He sighs at her.

“You couldn’t do it to me either,” she points out.  

He hums but doesn’t argue, and then wraps his hand around hers and guides the knife toward his palm. They press the blade into his skin together, and nothing happens. She pushes harder, but there’s still nothing. It’s like trying to cut steel.

She looks up at him with a grin. “You did it. You’re invulnerable again.”

He doesn’t return her smile. “Try yourself again.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Just do it. Please.”

There’s a waver in his voice that makes her want to insist on an explanation, but she doesn’t. She holds her arm out and presses the blade into her skin tentatively, and blood appears. He flinches as if he’s the one who can feel the sharp edge. 

“Again,” he whispers. 

She frowns. She knows he wouldn’t let her experience pain—even on a small scale like this—unless he had a reason. He’s testing a theory, and she wants to know what it is.

“Lucifer—”

“Again, Detective,” he says firmly. 

She sighs but obeys, and moves the knife up a few inches and presses into her arm again. This time, the surface of her skin bends but doesn’t break. She doesn’t bleed. 

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. It draws Chloe’s eyes up to his face. She can’t read his expression, and he doesn’t meet her gaze. He turns away from her and strides across the suite without a word, disappearing into the bathroom.

Chloe stares after him, confused. She hears the faucet turn on and then off, and a few seconds later Lucifer reappears with a wet washcloth in his hands. He stops in front of her, taking the knife from her hand and setting it down on the desk, and then he proceeds to wipe the washcloth over her skin. It’s warm, and he’s being gentle. 

“We’ll have to call the front desk,” he murmurs, still avoiding her gaze. “Request some bandaids. Perhaps some antiseptic and ointment if they have it.” 

“Lucifer,” she says, reaching out to cover his hands. 

He goes still beneath her touch.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”

“Detective—”

“Tell me the truth. Please.”

Her request hangs in the air. He releases her arm and drops the washcloth onto the desk next to the knife. He rolls his shoulders and clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. She’s opening her mouth to prompt him to answer her when he finally speaks.

“Only one of us can have it at a time. When I’m invulnerable, you’re not.”

She stares at him because she doesn’t understand why that would upset him. 

“Hasn’t that always been the case? You’re an angel, I’m human. You’re invulnerable, I’m not. That’s how it works.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

He finally looks her in the eye. “Now that I can give it to you, I’m not taking it back.”

Chloe stares at him. He holds her gaze without a trace of regret in his eyes. It takes her a minute to wrap her mind around what he’s saying. When she finally does, though, a cold wave of horror washes over her. 

She shakes her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes I can.”

“No—”

“It’s already done, Detective. You’re invulnerable and you’ll stay that way for the rest of your life until old age claims you and you ascend to the Silver City.”

She gapes at him. “Lucifer, you can’t just...you can’t just do that.”

He gives her a sympathetic look. “Detective—” 

“No,” she interrupts, suddenly angry. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“It’s my choice—”

“It’s not, actually. It’s my power. I’m free to do with it what I please.”

She clenches her jaw and clenches her fists and tries to control her temper. “If you give it to me, then you’re vulnerable all the time. Not just when you’re near me. All the time. If you have to go back to Hell, or if Michael shows up again, or if Dream comes after you, you’ll be vulnerable.”

“That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Well I’m not! Lucifer, you could die.”

“So could you.”

“I’m human—”

“You’re mine! ” he cuts her off, his eyes blazing. 

She blinks at him, taken aback by his vehemence.

“I’m the Devil,” he tells her, his voice as hard as his gaze. “I can’t take comfort in the fact that if something terrible happens to you, I’ll see you again someday. I’m not like everyone else, Detective. This is all I get with you. This is all we get. And if you think I’m going to let it end one second earlier than it has to, then you’re a damn bloody fool.”

She should be angry, maybe, about that last phrase. But she’s not. Her heart twists in her chest, and she does the only thing she can do—she reaches for him.

“Lucifer,” she breathes, lifting her hands to his face. 

“I won’t change my mind,” he says resolutely, shaking his head. “You can be mad all you want. You can yell or give me the silent treatment or leave me, even, but I’ll never change my mind. If it’s a choice between myself and you, I choose you. Always you.”

The anguish in his eyes is too much for her. Her own eyes start to well up with tears. “What about me?” she whispers. “What am I supposed to do if you…”

She can’t bring herself to say the word. She sucks in a breath and struggles to find solid ground again. Lucifer’s expression softens. He pulls her hands down from his face and presses his lips to her knuckles but doesn’t say anything. 

“You came back before,” she says, searching desperately for something to hang onto. “When I got poisoned. You died and went to Hell and you came back.”

He nods.

“So if something happens to you, could you do that again?”

His thumbs stroke over the insides of her wrists. “If a medical professional was able to resuscitate me the way Doctor Linda did, yes.”

Chloe thinks of bombs and bullets and stab wounds and terror squeezes her throat so hard she feels like she’s choking. “And if they can’t?” 

He doesn’t answer her right away. He seems to be choosing his words carefully. 

“The only way to travel between Hell and earth without assistance from my father is with wings,” he says quietly. “And I have wings.”

She thinks she’s supposed to find comfort in that, but she’s watched him offer a sliver of truth and let people believe what they want far too many times to just take his words at face value. She wants a yes or no.

“So if you die with your wings, could you come back?” 

He presses his lips against her knuckles and says nothing, and she knows he’s not saying yes because he can’t lie. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. “Tell me you could come back.”

“I can return only if I’m not stuck in a loop.”

She frowns. “You’re the king. How would you get stuck? You have absolute control over the loops. You said that.”

“I did say that. And it was true the last time I was in Hell. But I’m not certain it would be true if I returned now. My father arranged it so that Hell no longer requires a warden. That’s why I’m able to stay with you instead of returning to rule.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means that if I die, I could arrive as a soul and not a king. And if I’m nothing more than a soul...”

He trails off, and the truth of what he’s saying hits her like a bullet to the heart.

“You end up in a loop,” she whispers.

He nods. 

What he said to her in Vegas when she asked about souls leaving their loops comes crashing back. Only if they let go of their guilt. It’s never been done. She thinks of that masquerade party, of talking him down from the precipice of self-hatred that he always hovers on the edge of. That was difficult and she was there for that. She could look him in the eye and reason with him and soothe him and challenge him, just like she did in Vegas when he tried to be noble and let her go.

But if he ends up in a Hell loop, she won’t be there. She won’t be able to help him. Hell loops are manifestations of guilt, and no one has more guilt than Lucifer. She can see it in his eyes even now, as he struggles to stand his ground, and suddenly she’s terrified for him.

“Take it back,” she pleads. She fists her hands in his jacket and clings to him, trying not to drown in her desperation. “Please. I don’t want it. Take it back.” 

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Lucifer,” she begs. There are tears streaming down her face all of a sudden. “Please.”

He lifts his hands to her face and wipes away her tears. “I can’t, love,” he whispers. “I have to protect my home.” 

A sob finally escapes her throat, and her entire body shudders with it. 

“Chloe,” he murmurs softly, wiping away more of her tears. “You needn’t be this upset, love. I’ve been mortal in your presence nearly our entire partnership. This isn’t new.”

“But you were king then. And I wasn’t...I didn’t know the truth. We weren’t together. It was different.”

“Maybe so,” he acknowledges. “But this is no different than if you fell in love with a mortal man.”

“It is different. You just said that. This is all we get, and even if you never get hurt and I live to be a hundred it’s not going to be enough. I want forever.”

Lucifer goes still. 

Chloe stares at him, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t intend to say that—not like this—but she should’ve known it would slip out eventually. She’s been thinking about it since that night at his piano when he told her that he’d storm the gates of the Silver City rather than be separated from her for eternity. She knew she loved him that night. She knew she didn’t want to be separated either. But after this last week, and everything they’ve been through…

She can’t spend forever without him. She can’t.

“I’m barred from the Silver City,” Lucifer says quietly. “And you’ve asked me not to start a war. Unless one of those things changes, I can’t give you forever.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

He furrows his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

She fidgets with the lapels of his jacket and tries to find the right words. “When I die,” she starts, swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat, “what if you...what if you took me down to Hell to be with you?”

He stares at her.

“I know you don’t know if you’re still king,” she says in a hurry. “So you’d have to, like, you know, go down and check. But you said you could do that with your wings, right? So you could check, or maybe you could just ask your dad, and if you’re still king then...then I could go with you when it’s time.”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s like he’s too stunned to speak. She doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not, so she keeps talking.

“You said you have complete control over the loops,” she forges on. “So you could...you could make us a loop, right? Or maybe a few? And we could just—”

“No,” he cuts her off. 

She licks her lips and tries not to panic. “Like, no you’re not interested in eternity with me, or no—”

“No I won’t take you to Hell.” He steps away from her, out of her reach, and it stings. “I will never take you to Hell. I’d sooner throw myself on Azrael’s blade than take you to that place.”

“Lucifer—”

“Do you know who resides in Hell, Detective? The worst of the worst. The kind of scum you’ve devoted your life to bringing to justice. Men and women who are so evil that you can’t even begin to fathom...”

He shakes his head instead of finishing. He takes another step back from her, and it hurts even worse than the last one. 

“And the demons,” he murmurs. He stares at the floor for a moment, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and then he looks up at her. “You think you know what to expect because you know Mazikeen, but she’s unique, Detective. The others aren’t like her. They’re vindictive and violent and cruel. They enjoy causing pain. They’d sooner skin you alive and dip you in acid than smile at you, and if I looked away for a single second they would.”

Chloe winces. 

“That,” he says, lifting his hand to point at her. “That’s why I’ll never take you there.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re trying to scare me—”

“You should be scared!” he thunders at her. “You should be bloody terrified. Hell is ash and darkness and despair and torment. It’s Hell. And you expect me to willingly subject you to that? You expect me to force the only person that I’ve ever lo—”

He stops abruptly. The rest of his sentence hangs in the air between them and they stare at each other, both their eyes wide. 

He’s the one who looks away. 

“I refuse,” he says quietly. “I refuse to let you see the cruelty that ruling that place requires of me. I refuse to surround you with hatred rather than love. I refuse to damn you to an eternity of illusions. I can’t—”

His voice breaks, and he hangs his head and takes a deep breath. When he looks up at her again, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. 

“I’d never forgive myself if I took you there,” he whispers. “And you’d never forgive me either.”

She can’t stand the devastation in his voice. She closes the distance between them and reaches for him, her hands curling into his jacket again. “What about here?”

“Here?” 

“Earth,” she clarifies. “You’re immortal. Why can’t I be immortal too? I mean, between Constantine and Zatanna there has to be a spell that can make me immortal, right?”

He brushes his thumb over the swell of her cheek and doesn’t say anything. She feels anxiety flicker in her chest.

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” she forges on. “I know we haven’t been together very long, and maybe you’re not...I mean, maybe you’re not ready for that kind of commitment. And if you’re not, that’s fine. I just—”

He cuts her off with a kiss.

She freezes in surprise. It’s a gentle kiss, chaste and sweet, and when he pulls away he presses his forehead against hers. 

“I want forever too,” he whispers.

She exhales a breath. “You do?”

“Yes.”

Joy threatens to eat her alive but she pushes it aside so she can focus. She leans back to look him in the eye. “So is it possible? For me to be immortal, I mean.”

He drops his hands from her face. “It’s possible.”

She feels anxiety flare in her chest again. “But?”

“But I won’t ask you to make that sacrifice.”

“You didn’t ask me. I offered.”

“You don’t understand what you’re offering. You—”

“Don’t do that,” she says, brandishing her finger at him. “Don’t treat me like I’m some dumb human. I know what I want.”

“You’re not dumb, Detective,” he says gently. “But you are human. You don’t understand what it’s like to be frozen while everything else moves. You won’t change, but the world around you will. The places you like to eat. Your favorite spot on the beach. That coffee place you love. All of it will cease to exist except in your memory, and someday even that will fade.”

“That’s just stuff, Lucifer. It’s not—”

“People?” he cuts her off. “Because they’ll go too. Everyone you’ve ever loved will grow old and die, and you’ll never see them again. Beatrice. Your mother. Ms. Lopez and Doctor Linda and Daniel. You’ll watch them all die, and they’ll be reunited, and you won’t be there.”

Chloe feels suddenly sick. She thinks of Trixie, of game nights and bike rides and the comfortable weight of her body when she falls asleep next to Chloe on the couch, and her heart hurts. 

“It’s not just them, either,” Lucifer says softly. “If you choose to stay here, you won’t see your father again. And I have it on good authority that he’s eager to be reunited with you.”

Chloe’s vision suddenly blurs. She sniffs and sucks in a breath and tries not to cry but it’s too late. She already is.

Lucifer smiles sadly and reaches up to hold her face again, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “This nightmare we’re living right now would become your reality, Detective. You would lose everything. And I won’t let you pay that price. Not for me.”

She feels like her heart has shattered in her chest, and the broken shards are pressing into her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She wraps her hands around his forearms. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye again,” she whispers. 

His eyes are brimming. “Neither do I.”

Another sob wracks her body. He breathes her name, and then he leans forward and brushes his lips over hers. His palms are warm against her cheeks, and there are tears sliding down her skin, and it feels too much like that night on his balcony. It feels too much like goodbye. 

He starts to lean away from her and she panics. She tightens her hold on his arms and leans closer to him, kissing him deeper, murmuring his name against his lips like a request. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. She knows what she wants but she can’t have it, and neither can he, and it makes her ache. It hurts. They want the same thing and desire is his superpower but desire isn’t enough. 

His hands slide from her cheeks down to her neck, and then down the length of her body until they wrap around her hips. She pushes his jacket off his shoulders. He curls his fingers around the hem of her shirt and lifts, and their lips part just long enough for him to pull it up and over her head. She unbuttons his shirt and drops it to the floor near his jacket. He unhooks her bra. There’s his belt next, and hers, and then shoes and pants and everything else until they’re both bare.  

His hands are firm on her waist, holding her against him, and he walks her back to the bed. The way she crawls backward on the mattress isn’t graceful because she refuses to stop kissing him, but he murmurs the word beautiful against her lips and she believes him. 

His body radiates heat. She can feel it in his chest pressing against hers as he lays her beneath him, and in his hands on her skin and his thigh nestled between hers. She wonders if someday they’ll both just burst into flames—if they’ll burn hotter and hotter until they go supernova and cease to exist like his favorite star. At least then she wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

His fingers stroke between her legs, and she finally breaks the kiss to suck in a breath. His touch is gentle but sure and she forces herself to focus on this moment, this night, this man and the way he worships her. She’s drowning in emotion and her eyes are still full but he knows her too well and he’s too damn good with his hands for her body not to respond. She tips her head back and arches and he whispers it again. Beautiful.

He works her right up to the edge and then stops. She whimpers at him when he pulls his hand back. Usually he’d say something arrogant or filthy or both, but not tonight. Tonight he just nudges her legs open wider and settles his body between her thighs. He kisses her, his tongue stroking leisurely into her mouth, and then the rest of him strokes inside her too, and it’s almost too much. She loves him too much.

He goes still above her as if he senses she needs a second. She wraps her arms around him and closes her eyes and pretends they’ll have forever. 

He nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. “Without knowing how, or when, or from where,” he whispers into her skin. “Without problems or pride.”

She knows he must be quoting someone to her again. She has no idea who. She doesn’t ask. It doesn’t matter. They’re his words even if they’re someone else’s, and she’s his too. 

He lifts his mouth to hers. “I don’t know any other way to love,” he whispers against her lips. 

Her eyes fly open. He pulls back far enough to meet her gaze, and they stare at each other. 

He moves before she can say anything. He slides out and then pushes back in and she inhales. He keeps his eyes locked on hers and does it again, and then again, slowly at first and then faster until he’s settled into a rhythm that he knows she likes. She can’t tell where he ends and she begins. 

It’s nothing like earlier. She fucked him in the car but he’s making love to her in this bed and she can barely breathe. She arches beneath him and rakes her nails over his back and doesn’t try to swallow the moan in her throat. 

It doesn’t take him long to get her there. Pleasure starts to crest within her, and she digs her nails into his skin. 

“I love you, Lucifer,” she tells him. 

He breathes her name into her neck. She can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s close too. 

She lifts her mouth toward his ear. “I love you,” she whispers.

And then she shatters.

The bartender wakes with a start. 

When he realizes that the person next to his bed is holding a knife to his throat, he sucks in a breath and whimpers. Whimpers. He’s tall and built like a tank and he’s whimpering. Like a little bitch.

Maze sneers at him. She hates humans. 

Well. Okay. Most humans. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling at him with her teeth bared.

The bartender whimpers again. “Who the hell are you?”

“Your worst nightmare if you don’t answer my questions.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing beneath her blade, and nods. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Maze holds up her phone. “Do you know this woman?”

The bartender glances at her phone screen, and when his eyes widen, Maze knows the answer. But she lets him say it anyway. “Uh,” he says. “Sort of?”

“It’s a yes or no question, moron.”

“Yes,” he sputters. “Yes, I know her.”

“How?”

“She came into my bar tonight. She said her name was Kate and she was from Chicago and she was traveling for her grandfather’s funeral, but I...”

“You what?”

“I recognized her from Hot Tub High School. Chloe Decker. That’s her name. She’s a cop now, I guess. The LAPD is looking for her. Are you the LAPD? ”

Maze smiles but doesn’t answer his question. “Was she with a guy?”

“He didn’t come in with her but he showed up later.” 

Maze holds up her phone. “This guy?”

“Yeah. Dude’s a fucking freak. Like, demon-possessed or something.”

Maze doesn’t bother correcting him. “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know.”

Maze presses her blade harder against his throat. “Wrong answer.”

“I swear I don’t know,” the bartender says, his voice tilting into a higher pitch. “All I know is she had a hotel room key in her wallet. The Super 8. It’s like ten minutes from here. That’s all I know!”

Maze sizes him up and decides he’s telling the truth. She straightens and pulls the knife away from his throat and glances over her shoulder at Heinrik, who is skulking in the corner. He’s always fucking skulking. She’s missed home, but she didn’t miss Heinrik’s skulky ass.

“Get the others,” she snaps at him. 

He snaps to attention and obeys. She’s halfway to the door when she hears the bartender mutter under his breath, “All this shit for some slutty bitch.”

Maze freezes. 

Heinrik notices and lingers at the bedroom door. 

Maze meets his gaze. “Search every room in that hotel. I’ll meet you there.”

Heinrik nods and disappears. 

Maze turns back around. She twirls her knife. The bartender glances at it, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. She lifts it to her mouth and licks along the blade obscenely. The bartender swallows so hard his throat bobs.

She points the end of the blade at him. “Why’d they kick your ass?”

“What?”

“Chloe doesn’t hurt people unless she needs to,” Maze says, stalking back toward the bed. “And I know that shit you texted your friend about how she followed you down into the basement for a quickie isn’t true. So what really happened?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

He’s lying. 

Maze lunges forward. The bartender tries to scramble out of bed and away from her, but Maze catches him by his shoulder and yanks him backward. He grunts in pain. She pins him to the mattress and presses her knee against his throat. He chokes. She lifts her blade to his face, and presses the tip of it just hard enough against his cheek to bring blood to the surface. 

She bends forward. “You know what I think?” she hisses in his face. “I think you were going to hurt her.”

His eyes are bulging out of his head and his face is turning crimson. He claws at her leg, struggling to breathe beneath her knee, but she doesn’t let up. 

She twirls her blade and grins. “And now I’m going to hurt you.”

Lucifer has never taken a bath with a woman before. 

Not like this, anyway. There’s nothing sexual about this. The Detective is gorgeous, so he looks as she climbs into the tub. Of course he looks. But he knows she’s tired. The only reason they’re not sleeping is because she’s afraid of the nightmares they both know will come, and he wants to give her something else to think about for a while. He wants to make this about her and not him. 

So, he keeps his admiration for her body to himself and focuses on finding some background music. He settles on a pre-made playlist he finds in his music app called Timeless Love Songs. He sets it to shuffle and then puts his phone on the sink and climbs into the opposite side of the tub from where she’s settled. She seems amused by his self-imposed distance, but doesn’t comment. 

“Did you pour the whole bottle of bubble bath in?” she asks, her index finger prodding a massive pile of bubbles that’s floating near her chest. 

“Bubble baths require enough bubbles to live up to their name, Detective. Otherwise it’s just a bath.”

She smiles. “Yeah, but the bottle said a few capfuls was enough.”

“That was a suggestion, not a rule. I know you love your rules, darling, but I’m afraid bubble baths are out of your jurisdiction.”

She snorts. 

He stares at the bubbles floating in front of her chest. He won’t admit it now, but he wishes he’d used less bubble bath. He can’t see any of her that’s not above the water, which means most of her is hidden because she’s sunk down to her collarbone. At least he can see the chain of the necklace he gave her. She hasn’t taken it off since that night in Denver. He hopes she never takes it off.

He leans his back against the edge of the tub, and then reaches down into the water and pulls one of her feet into his lap. She arches an eyebrow at him. He ignores her. He saw a man do this for his wife on a TV show once, and it seemed to go over quite well, so he wants to try it. When she doesn’t object, he sets to work rubbing the tendons in the arch of her foot. 

He’s not surprised to find that she’s tense. The muscles in her shoulders are always tense too. She needs a vacation. Someday he’s going to take her to Tuscany. Not just for a weekend, either. He’s going to make her use all those vacation days she’s accumulated thanks to her workaholic tendencies and he’s going to steal her away for an entire month. He’s going to teach her how to make pasta and introduce her to expensive wine. He’s going to let her drink coffee in silence and go shopping in the village and fall asleep reading a book in his garden. He’s going to have sex with her on every surface in his villa, at all hours of the day and whenever the desire strikes, and on clear nights he’s going to take her outside and make love to her beneath the stars. 

Someday.

But someday isn’t tonight. Tonight they’re in a bathtub at a chain motel in Illinois, and she’s tired and emotionally worn down, so he’s going to rub her feet and give her something mindless to focus on that isn’t the nightmare hanging over their heads or the separation they both know they’ll eventually have to face. 

“Would you rather,” he asks her, “have no belly button or two belly buttons?”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Personally, I prefer you with two belly buttons,” he says, digging his thumb into her arch. “I’ve a fantasy of taking a tequila body shot off you, and if you had two belly buttons I could have two shots.”

She studies him for a second the way she’d study a suspect during an interrogation, and then she smiles. “I think I’d rather have none. Belly buttons are weird.”

“Pity,” he muses. “Fortunately for me, though, you do have one. And body shots will commence the moment we’re finished in this tub.”

She laughs, and it brings a smile to his lips. 

“Would you rather be constantly itchy or constantly sticky?” he asks next.

She tilts her head. “Like, all over? Or just in one spot?”

“One spot.”

“Sticky.”

He makes a face at her. “Why on earth would you choose sticky?”

“Because I’m a mom,” she says with another laugh. “I spent the first six years of Trixie’s life sticky in one place or another. Wouldn’t be much of an adjustment to go back.”

He hums. “I suppose that’s reasonable. Would you rather—”

“Wait a second,” she says, nudging him gently with her foot. “You can’t just move on and not answer for yourself.”

“Can’t I?”

“No. You can’t.”

He smirks at her stubbornness and gives her what she wants. “Itchy,” he replies. “I loathe sticky things.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Guess we’ll be steering clear of apple pie in the future then.”

“Sticky sex doesn’t count.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

He digs his knuckles into a particularly tense spot on her arch. “Would you rather be ten feet tall or ten inches tall?”

“Ten inches,” she says immediately. “So no one would stare when I’m out in public.”

He snorts. “I’d much rather be ten feet.”

“Why?”

He gestures at himself. “Look at me. I’m sex personified. People should stare when I’m out in public. It should be a crime not to.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Also, if I was ten feet tall then my cock would be—”

She splashes him with a laugh. “Shut up, Lucifer.”

He splutters. “Did you just splash me? How dare you.”

She grins and leans her head back on the edge of the tub. “Can I ask one?”

“By all means.”

“Would you rather wear every shirt inside out or every pair of pants backward?”

He gasps at her. “That is a horrifying question and I refuse to answer it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. You mustn’t joke about crimes of fashion, Detective. My wardrobe is off limits.”

She rolls her eyes. “Really? That’s the only thing that’s off limits for you?”

“Well which would you prefer?”

She reaches out and scoops up a handful of bubbles. “Pants backwards, I think.” She studies the bubbles and then lets them go. “I’d just wear yoga pants everywhere so no one would know they were on backward.”

He crinkles his nose. “I refuse to wear yoga pants.”

“So inside out shirts then?”

He shudders. “Yes. But not because of what everyone would think. I’m a trendsetter, so if I wore my pants backward then everyone else would too. It’d be all the rage because everyone wants to be me.”

She gives him an unimpressed look. “Why not wear your pants backward then?”

“Well because the next time you decide you want to shag me senseless in a car, you wouldn’t have such easy access to my—”

“Oh my god,” she groans, tilting her head backward to stare at the ceiling. “Literally every question is somehow going to come back to sex or your—” She waves her hand at him instead of saying the word. “Isn’t it?”

“Well as you’re well aware, I’m very good at sex and also very well endowed. Seems only natural that one or both would repeatedly come up.” He gives her a wicked grin. “You do have a way of making things come up, Detective.”

She sighs at him. He remembers all of a sudden that he was supposed to be making this about her and not about sex, and he searches for a more appropriate question. 

“Would you rather live without music or TV for the rest of your life?”

She tilts her head. “You know, that’s actually a good question.”

He preens. “Yes, I know.”

She ignores his arrogance. “I’d rather live without TV.”

“Because?”

“Because I could still read. And I’d still have movies. So I don’t think I’d miss it as much as I’d miss music.”

“Well look at you finding loopholes.”

She smiles. “I learned from the best. And I already know what your answer is. You can’t live without music.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “You think so?”

“I know so. It’s too important to you.”

He smiles. “You’re right.”

She smiles back at him, clearly pleased that she guessed correctly. 

“I’m actually surprised it’s books and poetry you keep quoting at me instead of songs,” she says, playing idly with a mass of bubbles again. “I would’ve thought the opposite.” 

He shrugs. “You didn’t seem to enjoy our celestial karaoke jam. And the whole point of quoting to you is to make my feelings clear in a way you appreciate. So I’ve steered clear.”

She chews her lip but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t really need to, because he can see the affection shining in her eyes. He wonders if she wants to ask him about what he quoted to her in bed not long ago. As he wonders, the music from his phone floats through the comfortable silence between them. Take my hand, Elvis croons. Take my whole life too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.

Desire and fear tangle in Lucifer’s chest, and he chooses desire.

“There are plenty of songs I’d like to quote though,” he says softly. 

He holds her gaze, wondering if she’s listening to the song and understands what he’s trying to say. 

She smiles. “Don’t hold back on my account.” 

It’s a subtle challenge, but it’s a challenge nonetheless. Say it, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. Tell her what she wants to hear.  

He opens his mouth but can’t seem to verbalize his feelings. He wants to—by Dad, he’s never wanted anything more—but he can’t. It’s like trying to strike a match, except no flame will appear. It frustrates him. It angers him.

“I’ve got another question,” she says, her fingers brushing over his ankle beneath the water. She smiles at him. “It’s a good one too.”

He knows she’s giving him an out. He hates that she has to, but he loves that she does. He wants to tug on her foot and draw her across the tub and into his lap so he can wrap her in his arms, but he resists.

“I’m all ears.”

“Would you rather spend the weekend at Comic-Con with Ella, or at an improv retreat with Dan?” 

He blinks at her for a second, and then he frowns. “You know, maybe I should put you in charge of Hell loops. That’s an even more horrifying question than the last.”

She snorts. “Come on, it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“It most certainly would.”

“Well you have to pick. So which would you choose?”

He thinks it over as he puts down her foot and picks up the other one. He presses the heel of his thumb along the curved arch of her foot. “Before I answer, give me your word that you won’t tell whomever I choose that I chose them.”

She shakes her head. “No way.”

“Then I won’t answer.”

She grins. “You don’t have to. You just told me exactly who you’d choose.”

He frowns. “I did?”

“Yeah. If you were going to choose Dan, you wouldn’t care if I told him because you know he’d never take you with him. But Ella? She’ll be shopping for a costume for you within thirty seconds of me telling her.” 

He narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t tell her.”

She lifts a shoulder. “I might.”

He brandishes his finger at her. “If I’m going down, Detective, I’m taking you with me. Prepare to spend your weekend wearing a leather and spandex getup that highlights all of your assets.”

She laughs. “Sounds like a silver lining for you.”

He perks up at that. “You know, you’re right. I’d endure Comic-Con if it meant seeing you in something slutty.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Who says you need Comic-Con for that?”

His body responds immediately, which is extremely unfortunate given that he’s trying his damndest to keep this bath innocent. “Detective,” he whines. “I’m trying to behave.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re trying very hard.”

Her foot shifts in his hands and bumps gently but purposefully against his dick. He sucks in a breath and his whole body goes rigid. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” he hisses, tipping his head back. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and tries to think about unsexy things. Like...children. Crocs. Daniel in a speedo. 

“You okay over there?” the Detective asks, amusement threading through her voice.

He opens his eyes. “I’m resisting temptation,” he announces to the ceiling. “I’m behaving like a good Devil because I have self control.”

“Well look at you,” she hums in a low tone. “So much growth.”

He lifts his head to glare at her. “If you don’t stop making sex puns I am going to get out of this bathtub.”

She grins. “You mean incessant sexual innuendos aren’t always appreciated? Gosh, I never would have guessed.”

“Your sarcasm has been noted.”

She laughs.

He shifts in the tub, rearranging himself a little with a grimace, and then sets to work once again on the arch of her foot. “I’ve another good one if you’re game.”

“Hit me.”

“Would you rather have a pause button or a rewind button?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “You mean, like, for my life?”

“Yes.” 

She hums. “That is a good one.” She coasts her hand over the surface of the water, scraping gently through a pile of bubbles. “A pause button, I think.”

“Why?”

She presses her lips together and doesn’t answer right away. He waits for her. 

“For Trixie,” she says eventually, her voice soft. “She’s growing up really fast. Sometimes I wish I could just, like, pause everything. Breathe it all in and take a few minutes to memorize the moment so I won’t forget it.”

He frowns. “Wouldn’t it be better to rewind and relive it all again?”

She shakes her head. “No. I think I’d end up taking it for granted. Like, if I could go back in time whenever I wanted, then I wouldn’t feel the urgency to live in the moment. Knowing that you only get to experience something once makes it more special, you know?”

A memory long forgotten surfaces in Lucifer’s mind. 

It’s knowing there’s an end. That’s what makes the rest of it count. 

“What would you choose?” the Detective asks.

“Neither,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I’d want a fast-forward button.”

She frowns. “What would you fast-forward?”

“Every moment before I met you.”

She stares at him, stunned. He stares back, unblinking and unflinching, because he said once it would take a miracle to make him fall in love and that’s exactly what’s happened. Everything before his miracle—before her—doesn’t matter.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true, Adele sings from his phone. Nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the earth for you. To make you feel my love. 

The Detective’s eyes are glassy with tears. She bites her lip, and then she slides gracefully toward him through the water and puts her hands on either side of his face and kisses him. It’s soft and sweet and perfect. Nobody’s ever kissed him this way. Nobody ever will. Nobody but her.

“I’d pause this,” she whispers against his lips.

He wishes she could.