Chapter Text
She’s gone.
One moment Chloe is curled up in his arms, snuggled up to his chest. The next she has faded away. It's almost as though she was never here, never real. But he knows she was. Lucifer can smell a hint of her shampoo and feel a ghost of her warmth, but those sensations too are soon nothing but memories.
It’s the one constant of his existence. Whenever he finds something he wants, he loses it.
Her soul has found its way back topside where it belongs. Lucifer now is all the more certain she should never set foot in Hell. He is both overjoyed and appalled by her visits. He shouldn't want her to be here even in the most ephemeral of ways, but meeting her, coming to know her, has given him hope. Hope of something more, of something better.
Lucifer has no idea how she’s traveling here while yet alive, but it seems to be powered by some sort of Christmas bauble, sold to her by a mysterious—but oddly familiar—woman. He’s not sure what to think about the situation. He has long since learned his lesson. Anything good will have conditions, drawbacks. Especially if it’s something good connected to his Father, as this bauble might be.
Not her though. Not his dream girl. She is good in ways he didn't believe were possible. And she sees good in him.
He doesn't understand it, but he wants to be good for her. He doesn't know if he can be, but he wants.
Lucifer settles back into his throne, hands gripping the armrests. His mind travels along numerous paths—considering the woman whose voice sounds like bells, the mechanism by which Chloe visits him, the seal on Hell keeping him in. But no matter where his thoughts start, they inevitably take a turn towards fantasies, desires, and dreams of her.
He immerses himself in all the many variations of what they could have done on his throne if she had been willing. He spins out all sorts of what ifs of what might have been if he had been home when she arrived.
He imagines touching her, kissing her, tasting her. He desperately desires to know what she might sound like in the throes.
While sex fantasies are familiar ground, he also wants to talk to her, hold her hand, and hear about her day. These thoughts are entirely foreign to his nature. He would have considered them preposterous not long ago. He wants to prepare her breakfast, bring her to places he thinks she would enjoy, and make her laugh.
He has spent only a few hours in her presence, all of them with their clothes on, but he already wants nothing more than her happiness. This should disturb him, but it doesn’t. And that disturbs him. Not enough to change anything, but enough for him to feel off balance.
Over a great distance, a noise reaches him. Lucifer’s fantasies about his dream girl pop like a bubble.
Lucifer sends his attention out across Hell—what was it?—and senses there are demons congregating, disgruntled their king is missing. He dismisses it as nothing he need be concerned about. Happy demons would be more worth investigating. Unhappy demons are business as usual.
He turns his neck, as stiff as though he’s been sitting in the chair for weeks or months. Maybe he has. It wouldn’t be the first time. Though never before has it been for a human.
He stretches and stands, futilely brushing ash and dust off his arms while trying not to acknowledge how many of his fantasies about his dream girl involved simply talking, or what it might mean.
He supposes he should leave his throne, maybe find a distraction. Perhaps fulfill some of his duties as ruler of Hell. Dad knows how few of those he has done since he was confined here and sealed in.
With a roll of his shoulders, he extends his wings, shaking them out. Flapping them in a long motion, he steps off his throne, angling his descent to put him the courtyard of his dwelling when he reaches the ground. The moment his boots touch the ground, he furls his wings as he strides forward. He could use a change and a wash.
When he enters his rooms, he closes and seals the door, not wanting to be disturbed while he removes the ash and detritus of his recent interlude. Once done, feeling cleaner, if not better, Lucifer puts the finishing touches on his hair and deftly buttons his shirt.
“Lucifer? You in here?” Maze’s voice rings out from his receiving room.
The sound of boots clacking on the floor comes closer, followed by a sharp rap on the door.
“Lucifer! Let me in. There are rumors you're dead.”
Before the rap becomes a pounding, Lucifer makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand, breaking the seal.
The door is immediately flung open, revealing his right hand demon looking about as pleasant and good tempered as he could possibly expect.
“Mazikeen.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”
“Whatever.” Her eyes dart around the room before she sweeps her gaze over him. “The demons are getting restless. They think you're getting soft. They think you’re starting to care about someone.”
“They do?” His tone is quiet, even, and deceptively calm.
Maze takes a step back. “Not me. Some of the others.”
“Of course.” A lazy smile spreads across his face as a knife suddenly appears in his hand. “I have often ignored Hell for far longer than this.” He tilts his head. “Why are there rumors this time, and why haven't you stopped them?”
“This visitor, the woman you talked about, you weren't exactly discreet. Everyone knows about her. Even I can’t stop gossip when it’s that big.”
Lucifer flips the knife in his hand as he considers the matter. He had made a few muttered asides and a couple of obscure references after her first visit. He should have known his subjects would create a demonic game of telephone from the smallest crumbs. Entertainment rags have nothing on them.
“Look. Make a few appearances, oversee some torture, and they will all forget about your obsession. She's not back is she?”
Maze cranes her head around as if expecting to see Chloe hiding in a corner.
“Whether she is here or not is none of your concern, Mazikeen.” He moves forward until he is toe to toe with her and lowers his voice into a growl. “I suggest you start knocking heads and keep doing it until everyone learns to mind their own business. It is no secret that I am unwilling king, but it doesn't make me soft. Nor does it make me anything other than your King. I expect to be obeyed. A few visits by a lost soul change nothing.”
“A few visits? How many times has she come back, and why aren’t we finding a way to block her? You are my King. You don’t care about humans. I followed you from the moment you arrived, and that has never changed. We should be stopping her—keeping her out.”
In the blink of an eye, his hand shoots out, pinning Maze to the wall so her legs dangle. He flips the knife, pressing it to her neck while his lips twist into a sneer. She looks turned on instead of scared, but also a touch nervous. He holds her, squeezing her neck, until her expression fades into what passes for submission, then drops her to the floor.
He stares at her, unblinking, until she turns her head away. Secreting the knife back into his coat, he goes over to pour himself a drink. It’s not worthy of being in the same room as even a ten year Macallan, but it’s all he has down here.
“You really think knocking a few heads is going to be enough?” Maze’s voice is sulky but subdued.
“It will if you do it enough enthusiasm.” He drains the glass. “Chop, chop. You know what to do. I suggest you get started.”
Maze turns and leaves, the sound of boots growing fainter, until the door slams, and she’s gone.
Perhaps he should oversee some torture. He does need something to do until she comes back. But he doesn't want to. He has never wanted to.
For the first time in forever, it’s as though maybe he doesn't have to. The spark of hope he felt earlier pulses quietly in his chest, faint but unmistakable. Maybe he can hope for something better. Something more.
But he knows all too well, hope is a dangerous thing. Chloe deserves better than a monster.
Lucifer floats above the surface of Hell, his wings maintaining his position with an occasional slow flap. Directly above him is the boundary between the Infernal Plane and the Mortal Plane. While the boundary extends endlessly in all directions, the entrance—known as the gates of Hell—is smaller. This is where souls enter his domain, where the seal keeping him in has been placed, where he Fell.
While he studied the seal with his mind after Chloe’s first visit, he didn’t do a close inspection. Perhaps there is a crack, a flaw, or a minute loosening.
He doesn’t smash into the seal or try to break it outright. There’s no point if he can’t find a weakness to exploit. He already tried force, so long ago, battering the seal over and over again with every ounce of his strength. All he got for it was an extensive catalogue of bruises.
Instead, he studies it thoroughly, carefully tracing each detail. It takes weeks. He doesn't want to miss the tiniest detail.
As he expected, the seal remains perfect, unblemished, and entirely unbreakable. Chloe must be entering Hell the same way damned souls do. After all, the seal doesn’t prevent any of them from crossing the barrier. A living soul must not be much different.
With a sigh, Lucifer settles back to the ground.
There are a number of new Hell loops to visit since the last time he bothered to do any rounds. They will likely be as tedious as any of the other millions of loops, but a demon uprising would be more tedious.
Lucifer makes his way to the first loop, opening the battered white door. The loop belongs to Eric Noah, a cheater. He cheated on his wife, his mistress, at cards, in school. Every time was justified, and he thought he felt no guilt, but it collected on his soul nonetheless. Now he dies again and again at the hands of those he harmed, while his children jeer at him. Lucifer stays through a few repeats of the loop, making sure he is seen and noted.
By the time he visits the third Hell loop, word has spread. Their King is among them. It’s pathetic how thrilled most demons are for Lucifer to grace them with his presence, but cooperative demons do make his life easier. He doesn't forget how lonely Hell would be without them.
So he continues on.
Loop seven is a therapist.
A small man, one who belittled his family to make himself feel big while telling himself it was for their own good. He has no idea why his son left as soon as he could and never tried to bridge the gap. By all accounts though, he was an effective therapist, if a terrible human.
Lucifer leans against a nearby wall as the loop plays. It’s not about the man’s family, but a patient—one who killed herself. When the loop reaches her death again, Lucifer crouches next to him, hands dangling off his knees, head tilted, and studies the man. He is cradling the dying woman and crying. He has blood on his hands. The demon playing the patient will open her eyes soon to berate him.
Lucifer lifts a hand to pause the loop. How can this be his Hell loop instead of the many moments with his family? Does he have no guilt about how he treated his son? His wife?
“Hello, Victor.” Lucifer’s jaw clenches as Victor raises desperate eyes to him. “Or maybe I should call you Vix, since you aren’t winning anything here.”
“Can you help me? Can you save her?” Victor scrabbles at her wound, futilely trying to stop the bleeding. “It keeps happening over and over. It’s like I’m in Hell.”
“There’s no like about it.” He gives Victor a wide grin, which gets wider at Victor’s sudden look of fear. “But why her? You were a terrible husband. A terrible father. Where’s the guilt for that, hmmm?”
“This was what I was good at. This was what I could control. Except for her. I couldn’t help her.” Tears run down his face. “They…they wouldn’t listen. My son, he did what he wanted.”
“Free will. Such a bummer, Doctor Brennan,” he purrs. “You spent all your time trying to get them to do what you wanted. You never considered letting them doing what they wanted.”
What does Chloe want? He always knows—he can always dig into desires and pull them out, but not with her. Lucifer stares into the distance, Victor forgotten for the moment. He wants to know. Wants to be who she needs. Wants her to come back.
“Who is she?”
Lucifer whips his head back to Victor, who has stopped crying.
“What do you mean by that?” he growls.
“…Or he?” Victor hastily stammers, blinking. “It’s just…it’s just the look on your face. You were thinking about someone. I’ve seen it so many times in session.”
“She is no one you need be concerned about. Simply a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
“A beautiful, frustrating woman. Smart, compassionate…and she sees me as—” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You don’t believe that. It’s important to you. You want to understand why.”
Lucifer narrows his eyes as his mouth thins to a hard line. He tries to push the revelation away, but it’s no use. This terrible, contemptible excuse for a human has struck true. He saw past the mask and the power to find Lucifer’s beating heart.
Lucifer stands quickly, looking down at him where he is still cradling his dead patient.
Maybe—maybe, he should try therapy himself. He is different since Chloe first visited. He needs to figure out what it means.
He curls his lip. But not this one. Lucifer is certain among the many souls in Hell there is another therapist with insight. One who reminds him a bit less of his father.
With a goal in mind, Lucifer heads out of the loop, not looking back. He can locate every loop and every soul as soon as he wishes to find them. It will simply be a matter of filtering out all the successful therapists and visiting them. Dad knows he has plenty of time.
…he doesn't know how many weeks later, Lucifer closes the door to yet another useless loop.
Sixteen.
Lucifer sighs, mentally marking off his latest attempt to find someone who can handle being the Devil’s shrink.
Sixteen duds without so much as half an insightful remark among them. The ones who might have been acceptable turned into blithering idiots when confronted with the Devil.
He’s not sure how long he’s spent at this, but it doesn’t matter. Time is meaningless in Hell. He sends out his mind to find seventeen, and moves towards his latest prospect.
Thursday morning dawns cool and breezy.
Chloe pulls her coat tighter around her and takes a sip of her coffee as she approaches the crime scene. Yellow tape waves in the breeze ahead of her, and a dozen officers are milling about.
She has a bounce in her step, hoping today will be a good day. At the very least, it will be a busy one, and busy is one of her favorite kinds.
When she reaches the tape, Dan pulls away from his conversation with Barcelo, turning to her.
“Chloe. Thanks for getting here so quick.” Dan’s eyes flick down over her and back to her face.
“What do we have?”
Chloe takes in the scene behind Dan. There are two men on the ground, a fair amount of white powder around them, and broken glass from the nearby windows. She wonders what Lucifer would make of it. He knows his way around bloody crime scenes and drugs. Would he take it seriously? Or would he find it all to be fun, a joke? Probably a bit of both.
She reminds herself he can’t be real, but the corners of her mouth turn up.
“Looks like a drug related shooting,” Dan says, bringing her back to the present. “We need some help canvasing the area.”
“Of course. Which side of the street do you want me to take?”
“Who is he?”
Chloe turns from studying the buildings across the street, to stare at Dan.
“Who?”
“The reason you’ve been smiling. I know that smile. I know the look in your eyes. That look used to be for me.”
His gaze on her seems clear and open, free from the haze of guilt or evasion she has seen too often of late. She’s been trying to keep more emotional distance between them, but she can’t help but respond to the honesty in his expression.
“There’s no one, really.” When he doesn’t give up, she sighs and continues, “Just someone I’ve run into a couple times. We’ve talked. That’s it.”
In my dreams. And he’s the Devil. But she certainly isn’t going to tell her ex about her dreams.
“I suppose he’s handsome, charming.”
“Do you think that’s all it takes to turn my head?” She narrows her eyes. He is, but his looks are only part of her attraction.
The corners of his mouth turn down, and the open expression on his face has turned tight as his eyebrows draw together.
“Just wondering who you’re bringing around our daughter.”
“No one.” Chloe says, her muscles tensing. “It wasn’t a date. And why does it matter if I do date?” Her previous good mood is well and truly deflated. “We’re separated. I’m not your concern anymore. I don’t need a third degree about talking to a man.” In his lap. “He’s a good listener. I forgot what that felt like.” She can’t help but put in a jab.
Squaring her shoulders, she shoves her feelings away and slips as fully into her role of a detective as she can manage. In a brisk tone not inviting any more personal questions, she says, “Give me the rundown. I’ll get started on the canvas.”
Dan opens his mouth as though he wants to continue quizzing her about the mysterious man, but closes it without speaking, nods, and takes her through the crime scene.
The rest of Thursday and Friday continue on as well as she can expect these days. She wishes she had a friend to share this with, but she’s never been someone who connects with people easily. Friends mean making yourself vulnerable, letting your guard down, and maybe having a personal life. None of those things are her strong suit.
She has two saving graces. One is spending time with her daughter—talking about their days, various holiday plans for the month, and anything else that pops into their minds. The second is how busy her job keeps her all day long—interviews, canvasing, cross-referencing files, studying the forensics reports, and more.
As she powers through the days holding onto her determination with both hands and working her ass off, she occasionally wonders why she is being so stubborn about keeping her distance from the star. It’s still on her table, and she likes to be near it. It feels like Lucifer. But she doesn’t want to get too attached to it.
She knows getting attached is a bad idea even when not talking about—she can’t believe she’s actually thinking it—magical stars and Devils. People leave. They go away. They never see her, but instead what they wish to see, who they wish she would be. They find something more important than her.
If it is doing something magical, she has to admit the whatever it is has been providing her with excellent sleep and some time with a surprisingly respectful, handsome stranger. Though also an annoying and frankly weird stranger. Weird. It’s her word of the year, or at least the past week.
But she isn’t the type of person to let someone—or something—decide her path for her. She wants to make the choice for herself.
By Friday evening she is ready.
Chloe drags her ornament boxes into the kitchen, arranging them near the dining table, next to her mother’s box of decorations. They are getting their tree tomorrow, so she wants to go through the boxes to check if any of the decorations are in need replacing or repair.
Trixie wanders over from her show, Ms. Alien in hand, tv still blaring in the living room, and leans over the table watching her. She’s in the reindeer pjs Chloe bought at Costco with the rest of their new nightwear, and is worrying at her remaining front tooth with her tongue.
Chloe pulls out the garland. She remembers buying it with Dan the year Trixie was born. Trixie was so small. Dan had her in his arms and had let Trixie pick which garland she wanted. Chloe holds it, blinking fast, and tries to focus on whether it’s too worn out or if they have another year with it.
“What do you think, Monkey? New garland, or do we keep it?”
Trixie studies it seriously before saying, “I think we should keep it, mommy, but we can look for new garland tomorrow at the tree place.”
“Sounds good. I’ll put it in the maybe pile.” She sets it aside. “Okay, so tree shopping tomorrow morning, delivery on Sunday, and we’ll decorate in the afternoon. How does that sound?”
“Awesome! Will Daddy be here to help us?”
“Yeah. He’ll be over Sunday afternoon,” she says, while hoping they can keep from sniping at each other for a few hours. Gritting her teeth, she reminds herself, it was her idea for regular planned family time. “We’ll do the tree, then you get spend a few days with him.”
“Can we make cookies too?”
“Sure. We’ll pick up a tube of sugar cookie dough tomorrow.”
“Yay! It’s going to be so much fun!”
Trixie takes her cup in from the living room over to the sink, moves her stool into place, and gets herself a drink of water. Chloe makes a mental note to herself to make sure she has all their holiday plans in her calendar.
“Fifteen more minutes. Then it’s time to get your teeth brushed.”
“Yes, mommy.” Trixie runs back into the living room, throwing herself on the couch.
Rummaging through the box, she pulls out some decorative candles. These would look nice above the mantle with the poinsettia garland her mom has.
As she empties the boxes, the star twinkles steadily by her side. Chloe is warm, cozy, happy. As though everything is going to be alright.
She decides not to think too much about the implications of through the decoration boxes in the kitchen. She’s testing a theory. Meeting with Lucifer again would be a side effect of the test, not the reason for the test. A small part of her mind wonders if she is going to have a dream tonight. A smaller part hopes she will.
As she half expected—but is still weirded out about—Chloe finds herself in the now familiar landscape of Hell. She is surrounded by the same black stone, same ash falling, same oppressive atmosphere and dark, muddy sky. The same feeling of contradiction where everything is both real and not.
A feeling which is less when Lucifer is near. Then her dreams—her visits?—feel true, feel tangible. The difference might be simply the fact she can touch him, though she can touch nothing else, but it seems to be more.
Chloe shoves her nebulous thought away without examining it too closely.
This time she is in one of the many corridors she saw snaking out in all directions from Lucifer’s throne. From what he said last time, they are nearly countless, each containing door after door, with one human soul behind each door.
Chloe looks around. There are four—no, five—doors along the corridor. While there is a faint pull to open the doors, she remembers his stern admonition to never touch or open a door. She could be trapped.
She walks along the corridor, keeping her hands by her sides, stopping frequently to look up at the overhanging stone, happy she isn’t claustrophobic, but she might be soon if she doesn’t get out of here.
Does Hell want to crush her? Lucifer spoke of it as though it’s a living being. If that’s the case, it probably doesn’t like anything taking his attention away. Where is he anyway? If previous visits hold true, he must be near.
The corridor narrows to a point where she would almost have to brush along it to keep going, which makes her nervous. While she pauses, debating on where to turn, she hears a noise. She stills, listening. Conversation, and neither speaker is Lucifer.
Oh, fuck. Demons.
Can they see her? Can they touch her? She really doesn’t want to find out.
Chloe scurries back to a wider spot where another corridor branched off, stepping into a bend near the crossroad. She shouldn’t have worn her plaid jammies tonight. They are extra cute on her, but light pink and soft brown stands out like a beacon against dark stone.
The voices come closer. Shit. They are going to go right past her. She looks back down the corridor. Should she keep moving? With a sigh, she decides to stay put. Where there are two demons, there are more. She is going to see some, no matter what. If nothing else, she can drop Lucifer’s name and make it clear their King would be angry if she is harmed.
He would be, right? Absolutely. If she knows anything about the current weirdness that is her life, she knows he cares about her.
“Excellent jump scare today. You’ve hit the mark every day for a week.”
They are right around the bend. Chloe holds completely still, her heart thundering in her ears, wishing she had her gun.
“You think so? I wasn’t sure I was bloody enough.”
“It’s so hard to drip enough blood, but his scream was delicious.”
Two demons, one dressed as a businessman in a suit covered with blood and the other as a 50s style diner waitress, pass by her. The waitress turns her head as though to look directly at Chloe, but her eyes slide past.
Chloe lets out a long, slow breath as they continue on, chattering about their successful tortures. Their voices fade away. The corridor is quiet again, with only the impression of noises she can't quite hear pressing on her consciousness.
Right. With the question of demons answered, she has a new one. Or rather a previous one. Where is Lucifer? How can she find him?
In her prior dreams, she remembers how solid and real the area near him felt. How attracted her attention was to him, and where he was. The door. The spire. She didn’t have to decide to approach them. They were like magnets.
Chloe shuts her eyes and spins around, trying to sense the correct direction. There—a pull. She opens her eyes and moves forward.
A few minutes—or is it more?—later, she is in front of a door. It’s tall and broad, arched on top, dark blue with stained glass down the center. The edges look singed, and the glass is cracked.
She can barely keep herself from touching it and immediately clasps her hands behind her back. Please let Lucifer come out of the loop soon. She isn’t sure how long she’ll be able to resist.
As she stands, unable to move farther away and unwilling to move closer, her resolve wavers. This isn’t her loop after all. Lucifer is inside. The demons can’t see her. And, dammit, this must be a dream! It can’t be real. Why is she acting as though it is?
Her hands loosen. They come unclasped. She shifts her weight onto the balls of her feet. Two steps. She'll be close enough to touch it..
It opens.
Lucifer is standing framed within. His face is in shadow, but it seems different. Rougher. A dark red maybe. His eyes are flames.
This is only a dream. This is only a very weird dream. If she keeps saying it, maybe it will be true.
Those eyes find her and widen. The flames dim as he walks out towards her, and there is the handsome Devil she was expecting, this time in a black coat with a silver scale design and a deep purple shirt with kind of a shimmer. Not that she was looking.
“Dream Girl.” His gaze sweeps over her. “How many new pajama sets did you buy? I am a particular fan of this one.”
His gaze doesn't exactly linger anywhere, but Chloe is reminded of the pink, stretchy, knit top she is wearing. Scoop-necked and long-sleeved, but not exactly loose.
His brow furrows. “I don’t think the corridors are a safe place for you.”
Chloe laughs with an edge of hysteria. “It’s fine. The demons can’t see me.” Lucifer moves forward, eyes hard, scanning the corridor as though trying to find someone to punish. “You in a loop was way more dangerous.”
“It was?” His eyes snap back to hers.
“I nearly touched the door you were behind.”
A frown spreads across his face. He glances back to the door, then runs his hand through his hair.
“I’m sorr—that is to say, you shouldn’t—ah…I’m happy to see you again.”
“Yeah. I’m happy to see you too.”
They stand there, softly smiling at one another for several long moments until the faint sounds of demons talking drift over them.
Lucifer startles, as if coming back to himself, and puts out his hand.
“Since you need not fear falling from a great height this time, would you be willing to travel with me?” He wiggles his fingers at her.
“Yes, Lucifer, I would.” She clasps his hand. The walls of this place are way too close.
Faster than she would have thought possible, even in whatever these visits are, they are standing outside his home.
“Well, well. It worked.” Lucifer sounds pleased and surprised.
“What exactly did you do? How did we move so fast?”
“I can travel the usual way. Walking. Flying.” He shrugs, his hand still in hers. “But Hell is vast. It would take forever when I need to visit different areas. So I…translate. I desire to go somewhere, and I do so with the speed of my thought.”
Chloe is all too aware they are still holding hands. His skin is warm and soft while his grip is firm. She doesn’t want to let go.
As though he could read her thoughts—can he??—Lucifer quirks an eyebrow at her and smirks.
Smirk firmly in place, he slowly lifts her hand to his mouth. He kisses her knuckles, then sweeps his thumb over them.
Oh, my. Chloe is hot and cold and both more and less solid than ever.
“Shall we go inside?” His voice is a low rumble, which doesn't help her regain her equilibrium at all.
“Sure. Let’s find out if I can sit.” Chloe is happy her voice sounds way more steady than she feels.
She can’t.
When they went inside, Lucifer led her from the front room she was in before, to a smaller, almost comfortable, sitting room. When she looked around as he closed the door, she saw a visible ceiling, no ash falling down, an extensive liquor cabinet, and elaborately carved wooden chairs with cushions. But one experiment in trying a chair had her falling through it, and possibly the floor too if Lucifer hadn’t been quick enough to take her hand, pulling her upright.
Now she is in Lucifer’s arms, trembling from her close call, and willing her breathing to slow down.
“If you wanted to jump into my arms, Dream Girl, you only had to ask. No need for all these dramatics.”
Her panic attack bursts. Chloe pushes herself away from him, rolling her eyes. He gives her a hard-edged grin and runs his tongue over his teeth.
She was right. Eye rolling is going to become her new thing.
“How come I can stand but not sit?”
“That’s the wrong question.” He makes a dismissive gesture. “It’s how you can stand when no other part of you can touch anything. Besides me, of course.”
With a smirk, he gracefully lowers himself to his knees in front of her. Chloe tries without success not to think about anything she shouldn't be thinking about. When he looks up at her, his eyes are dark, his expression sinful. Her breathing hitches. He is clearly thinking about it.
He dips his head to the floor and studies her feet for several moments before standing.
“You are not touching the floor. It’s subtle—perhaps a sheet of paper could fit between you and the floor—but that is what is keeping you from falling through the bottom of Hell.”
“So when I visit I can't even sit? Ugh. This dream sucks.”
“I seem to remember we established you can sit.”
“On your lap,” she huffs, giving him a glare.
“Exactly. The precise opposite of a problem.” He tilts forward into her space. “I enjoyed having you there, and you certainly found the seating arrangements comfortable.”
Chloe can feel another eye roll coming on. Satan may not be evil, but he is already an expert at getting on her last nerve. The thing is, she wants to sit on his lap. She enjoyed being close to him. And she can’t deny he was entirely respectful. No matter how many innuendos he makes.
Also, her legs are getting tired.
She crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “Same rules as last time.”
Lucifer about vibrates with glee in front of her, before bounding to the chair and sitting with a flourish. He motions to his lap, watching intently as she approaches.
“Agreed. Same rules on your part too.” When she furrows her brow at him, he continues, “If you want more than a respectful hug, you need only take advantage of me in any way you wish.”
“I am not having sex with you, Lucifer.” She nearly giggles over the juxtaposition of saying that as she climbs onto his lap.
“Why ever not?”
“Even this weren’t only my third visit, and this wasn’t a weird dream, I can’t lay down.”
“You do know there is a great deal of fun we can have with you on top?” His mouth is by her ear. The low murmur of his voice and the warmth of his breath on her skin has her thinking filthy thoughts about fun on top that she needs to shove aside once more. “As for your other two reasons, how are either of them problems?”
“I don’t have sex with people I don’t know well.” Off his raised eyebrow, Chloe says, “You might, and that’s fine, but I don’t. And I guess doing things in a dream I wouldn’t usually do is normal for dreams, but it doesn’t feel right for this dream. Which doesn’t feel like a dream.”
“Because it isn’t. You, Chloe, are truly here in Hell with the Devil, sitting on his lap.” Lucifer gives her a leer.
“Yeah, because that sounds totally believable.” And yet, she is starting to believe it.
“It is not my fault humans have such limited imaginations.”
“You do know insulting my species is not a great way to convince me to take advantage of you?”
“I usually don’t have to do anything to be convincing. Humans flock to me. I am their desires personified. Any other human would have propositioned me on their first visit.”
Chloe can believe it. She's obviously noticed how handsome he is. He’s also an enjoyable conversationalist and capable of great charm. If he can pull out people’s desires, they probably do fall at his feet with no effort.
“I obviously don’t hate you or anything, but we’ve already figured out your desire thing doesn’t work on me.”
Lucifer hums happily, his arm around her. “There is something truly wrong with you.”
“At least you can be certain I’m sitting here because I want to.” She plays with the sleeve of his jacket. “And not because you mojoed me.”
“As I said,” his tone darkens, “there is something wrong with you.”
“What have you been doing while I was gone? Are there things you need to do as King?”
“There are tasks expected of me, but nothing I must do.”
“You did something, though? It would be awfully dull otherwise.”
“It’s dull either way, but I did patrol the borders and visit new loops.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“As you wish.” He grins at her impishly. “I’m willing to answer any questions you may have.”
Chloe listens as he launches into an account of patrolling. He tells her how he checks for faults where a damned soul could escape, if it got out of its loop, and describes the creatures living in the shadows on the edges of his realm. She enjoys the sound of his voice, even when he’s enthusiastically describing the multi-limbed and multi-fanged animals of Hell.
“Did you learn how to fight when you came here?” she asks after he offers to demonstrate the knife skills he uses to fend off the creatures.
“No.” Lucifer’s jaw clenches. “The Silver City is full of war games and weapons lessons. We were all warriors of God.” He runs a thumb along her side in way that suggests a need to move, to fidget. “However, I did learn how to fight dirty here. There is no honor among demons, only winning or losing.”
Chloe hums, thinking, absentmindedly stroking his arm. “Who were you supposed to fight as a warrior of God?”
“We were never told.” He shrugs. “Each other as it turns out.”
She raises her eyebrows questioningly at him.
“My Fall.”
Of course. Every sword raised against him for the glory of their Father. She remembers he wasn’t armed.
She can feel the tension in the way he is holding her, and decides to change the subject, asking about the loops and more about how they work. He relaxes as he describes a few of the ones he visited since she was here last. She’s been wondering how they work since he told her about them, and asks some of the questions on her list. True to his word, he answers her readily and in detail.
“What has my dream girl been up to these past…two or three days I believe?”
Lucifer flicks his gaze over her face, his expression sharp, with a hint of humor around his eyes. She believes he actually wants to know and isn’t asking to be polite. Does the Devil care about politeness? Chloe decides, yes he does.
She tries to put aside how pretty his eyes are and tells him about her cases, the latest petty insults, her talk with Dan, and more. His smile when she recounts the conversation with Dan is decidedly predatory, pleased, and smug. It doesn’t bother her nearly as much as she thinks it probably should.
As she is talking, Chloe finds herself more and more comfortable leaning on him with her legs slung over the side of his lap. He’s warm and might smell even better than last time.
She likes the feel of his arm around her—his large hand lightly stroking her side or rubbing circles on her back. She likes the line of his jaw, the scruff along his cheeks, the column of his neck. She wants to run her fingers through his hair, to kiss the hollow of his throat, to bite the soft skin under his ear.
She smooths a palm over his chest, enjoying the soft fabric of his shirt and the shifting of his muscles, then stills. It’s one thing to want. It’s another to do.
“You can stroke my chest, darling. You need not hold back on my account.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You want to, and I want to you to. You should.”
“It doesn’t seem fair. For me to touch you, when I’ve told you, you can’t touch me.”
“You have a choice, Dream Girl. Hold yourself back, or loosen my leash,” he murmurs, flashing his teeth at her.
A shiver runs up her spine. Not only does she, a normal human woman, have a leash on the Devil, but she is going to loosen it.
“I would like to kiss you,” Chloe says quietly, looking at his neck above the collar of his shirt.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “May I touch you?”
“Yes.” She twists to face him and lifts her eyes to his, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. She doesn’t miss how his eyes dart to her mouth and darken. His tongue darts out as his licks his lips. “But nothing too much.”
Slowly, Lucifer lifts his hand. He brushes her cheek with the back of his fingers, then slides them into her hair, cradling her face. She tilts her head towards him, and he softly presses his lips to hers.
Oh, wow.
It’s as chaste a kiss on the mouth as she can imagine, but it feels indecent. Desire fizzes at the touch of their lips and courses through her veins.
Chloe opens her mouth. Lucifer takes full advantage of her invitation, tightening his grip on her head as he kisses her with consummate skill. The fizzing in her veins strengthens into a roar as he slips his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers.
His lips slide over hers while his thumb strokes her cheek. With his other hand, he traces a finger along her spine. She arches towards him, gasping into his mouth, clutching his jacket in her fist. Heat pools in her core with each press of his lips and lick of his tongue. He firmly grasps her thigh, tilting her towards him. She moans in approval. She can’t get close enough to him.
Chloe isn’t sure how long they kiss, and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to stop. She needs more.
She presses her legs together, feeling slickness between her thighs and shifts on his lap, trying to twist herself further towards him.
Lucifer growls against her lips, muttering that she’s going to be the death of him, and she feels his hardness underneath her—sending a throb between her legs.
When he tilts back to look at her, his eyes are nearly black with lust. Sparks race up her spine as desire thrums within her. She drags his head back to hers, her fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him messily, pulsing with need. She loves the roughness of his scruff on her skin and rubs his jawline with her palm.
He drops kisses on her cheek and jaw, each press of his lips sending new pulses of need through her. She tilts her head to allow him access to her neck. Lucifer licks a stripe from her shoulder to the hinge of her jaw, then trails kisses down her neck, branding her with the heat of his mouth. He nips at her pulsepoint, then licks her skin to soothe the bite, before continuing down to the neckline of her shirt.
His hand, which had been stroking her back, circles around her side with his thumb resting just under her breasts. She wants his hands on them, touching her.
She is gasping, breathless, ready to beg for him. To fully remove his leash.
“Please, Lucifer. Please, I need—”
Chloe wakes in her bed and bolts into a sitting position, breathing hard.
She lifts a hand to trace her lips. She can feel the ghost of his scruff on her cheek. She can smell him on her skin. She wonders if she has beard burn.
They kissed for so long—mouths, cheeks, necks. His hands not going too far, as she asked, but caressing her arms and her sides, trailing down her legs.
She was saved from saying ‘fuck it’ and tossing away all her objections only by returning home. She shivers. Should she go back again tonight as he asked? But she promised, and understands now how important his word is to him. So she can’t break her word to him. She won’t.
She also knows she wants the Devil, or at least the one she has been visiting. Will she be able to keep herself from giving in to her desires? It’s easy to say she’ll be strong when he’s not here, or she’s not there, but more than wanting him, she likes him. She likes him a lot.
Chloe lays back down, still feeling wound up. With a sigh, she rummages into her bedside table. She isn’t going to be able to sleep until she releases the tension.
It’s some time before she falls back asleep. Her dreams are of strong hands and a smooth British accent.