Chapter Text
When the Detective invited Lucifer to join her and her spawn for game night a few days ago, he wasn’t certain what to expect. She was clearly nervous, tripping over her words and playing with her fingers as though she expected him to shoot down the invitation. But he would have been a bigger fool than Daniel to turn down the opportunity to spend more time with her, and the Devil is no fool. Of course, he made a few token innuendos about what sorts of games are we talking, here, Detective? and giving her a leering onceover as he waggled his eyebrows. And of course, she rolled her eyes, but he saw the way her lips twitched and the laughter in those rolling eyes as she did. The flare of triumph and pride he felt over getting such a reaction out of her stayed with him for the rest of the day.
They’ve been on better terms since her birthday, since the bullet necklace (that she wears everyday, and doesn’t that just give him a warm feeling?) and the private, just-for-them prom he threw for her—almost back to where they were before he ruined everything between them by going to Las Vegas. The first time, that is. She smiles at him more than she has in months; she snaps at him less; she doesn’t watch him with sadness and confusion in her gaze anymore. And it’s been...indescribably, pleasantly lovely. Surprisingly so.
Well, perhaps not surprising; Lucifer always enjoys himself in his Detective’s presence. The only surprising aspect currently is that this game night she’s invited him to will be entirely the sort of G-rated, family-friendly, domestic event to which he is in no way accustomed; that he typically scoffs at and mocks. And he can’t bloody wait for it.
Perhaps Mazikeen was right: He is going soft. But then he looks over at the Detective, laughing at some joke he made and...well. Soft is just dandy with him if it means he gets to enjoy moments like these. With her.
There are times when he looks at her and finds her already watching him with something in her eyes he can’t discern, but it makes him...feel. His heart feels too big for his chest. He feels a warmth running through his body he’s only ever experienced around her. Every thought but her leaves his mind. And then there’s the sheer longing. That part isn’t new; he’s longed for her for years. It’s evolved from when he first met her and wanted her beneath him in his bed, to wanting to get to know her, to wanting everything with her, whatever she would give him. But he’s tried to push all of that back since learning of her divine origins, for her own good, and he’s been far from successful. When he sees his own longing mirrored back at him in her eyes, though...well. It makes it difficult to hold onto his convictions to constantly keep her at arm’s length; to give her back her life, her freedom of choice, her free will.
So when she extends an invitation like this, something she’s not done in months...well. There was never a chance he would say no, was there?
Uncertain what to bring with him to this family game night, he selected a variety of items—pink, heart-shaped lollipops, chocolate-covered strawberries, wine for himself and the Detective, and a high-end sparkling grape juice for the child. He’s never done anything like this; his own family certainly never held game nights in the Silver City. In fact, he can’t even remember one, single instance where his family did anything all together. Just as well; his family is bloody awful.
When he lets himself in the front door, the Urchin greets him with her usual exuberance, exclaiming, “LUCIFER!” and latching herself onto him while the Detective stands back and just grins at him like the traitor and minx that she is. He doesn’t mind either of their reactions to his presence, to be honest, which is another surprise. Though it could be because the Detective is smiling at him, looking lovely with her hair pulled back into a messy bun and her relaxed attire. But then...he always thinks she looks lovely.
“Hello, Detective,” he says when the child finally releases him from her sticky clutches. The words were intended to come out as they always do—bright, cheerful, exuberant. Instead, there’s a...softness to it he’s come to expect in his voice when he’s near her. He tried to fight it, at first; now, he doesn’t mind it nearly so much. Especially when it makes her look at him in the same way.
She smiles at him again and his traitorous heart does that strange flipping thing. “Hi.” Her eyes dart down to the items he’s carrying. “You really didn’t have to bring anything, Lucifer,” she gently chastises.
He scoffs. “But of course I did, Detective. You’ve graciously invited me into your home; I couldn’t arrive empty-handed; that would have been incredibly rude and gauche. The Devil has impeccable manners, darling.”
With the expected eyeroll, she accepts the bottles of wine and grape juice, and the strawberries (though she raises her eyebrow, lips twitching, as she takes the latter), and leads him into the apartment. “Well, thank you. These look delicious.”
“Only the best, Detective.” He knows she’ll think he means only the best for him; what he really means is, only the best for her. Because she is truly good and deserves the best of everything the universe has to offer. Which is one of the many reasons he will never be worthy of her. Pushing that thought from his mind, he looks around the apartment for a hint of what he should expect in the coming hours. “Right, then. What, precisely, is on the itinerary for this ‘game night’ of yours, Detective?”
He probably should have realized what he’s in for when the Detective and her offspring exchange grins they’ve surely picked up from living with a demon.
“We have to get our faces painted!” the spawn announces shrilly.
Lucifer scoffs, twisting his cufflinks as he looks between their identical evil grins. “There is absolutely no chance that I am having my face painted,” he states firmly, his tone brokering no argument. Waving a hand in a circle around his face, he adds, “Besides, it would be nigh on impossible to improve upon perfection.”
In response to his words, he gets deadpan looks and raised eyebrows. Then the Detective grabs him by the wrist and drags him, not strictly against his will, to the living room, completely ignoring his protests and attempts to dig his heels into the floor. Mostly it’s for show; he’s far too distracted by the Detective’s hand around him, and trying not to wonder how it would feel elsewhere on his body, to put up any real resistance.
Once he’s standing in front of the sofa, she places both hands on his shoulders and pushes him down to sit on the cushions. “Really, Detective, if you wish to manhandle me, I’ve no objection, but I'd have thought you wouldn’t want your spawn present,” he says with a leering smirk.
“In your dreams,” she mutters, though he sees something in her eyes that suggests her words are halfhearted at best.
He waggles his eyebrows at her. “In my dreams, indeed, darling,” he says, his voice low and husky. In fact, he dreamt about her just last night. The most confusing part of that was, they were both fully clothed, just sitting on his sofa, chatting and holding hands.
He’s certain he doesn’t imagine her shiver at his tone. His teasing flirting comes to an abrupt halt, however, when the Detective settles not beside him on the sofa but directly in front of him on the coffee table, situating herself between the V of his legs. Beside her is a case of some sort that contains what he assumes is face paints in all the colors of the rainbow and then some. He grimaces when he notices two rows of them are glittery. Turning back to the Detective, he finds her grinning mischievously at him.
“So, what’ll it be?” she asks him in a low voice, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
He nearly swallows his tongue, despite knowing she is teasing him, and croaks without thinking, “Bruce Lee, mid-flykick.”
The Detective’s lips twitch. “I can do flowers and unicorns,” she states flatly.
The Urchin gasps as though a brilliant idea has occurred to her. She leans in to whisper something into her mother’s ear. Her hand is cupped around her mouth to avoid Lucifer hearing. Unfortunately for her, his hearing is far more advanced than any mere, puny human’s—he still can’t make out what she whispers.
Then, the Detective turns back at him, that truly evil smile on her lips again as she sizes him up. “I think that is a great idea, Monkey.”
“What?” he asks. And it definitely is not panic in his voice. The Devil does not panic. “What’s a ‘great idea’, Detective?”
The Detective smiles sweetly at him, cocking her head to the side. His traitorous heart skips another beat. “Do you trust me?”
“Not when you smile like that, I don’t.”
Rolling her eyes, she turns to the case of paints, examining her options and choosing her torture devices—he means paint colors and paintbrushes. “Don’t be a baby...”
Sighing, he resigns himself to his fate, grumbling under his breath...until the Detective takes hold of his face and gently turns it to the right, leaning in close. He can feel her breath puffing on his cheek and has to swallow hard at the sensation of having her so nearby. Their eyes lock for a moment and he thinks there’s something similar happening to her, judging by the look in her own eyes.
“This okay?” she asks uncertainly under her breath, just loudly enough for him to hear.
He can only nod silently, swallowing again. Hard.
He watches her as well as he can, the way her brow furrows with intense concentration, as if this task is of the utmost importance. She bites her lip as she works, eyes darting up to check on him every so often. She is pressed so close to him that her breasts accidentally brush against his arm occasionally. More than once he has to adjust his position to avoid her seeing the effect she has on him. Particularly when he realizes that, if he wanted to, if he had the nerve, he could simply turn his head to kiss her. Her fingers on his opposite cheek to where she’s working are gentle; he feels her thumb absentmindedly stroking his skin, as if she’s trying to put him at ease. It works. And the smiles she gives him every so often...they make his (traitorous) heart beat a little faster.
The entire experience makes the end result more than worth it. When she finishes, Lucifer is passed a small handheld mirror, allowing him to inspect her work. A pink and purple, sparkly unicorn is now adorning the Devil’s face. Well, at least it’s well-drawn. He had no idea the Detective had such artistic skill.
“Well done, Detective,” he murmurs proudly, twisting the mirror this way and that to better see the new enhancement to his face.
The Detective purses her lips, trying to hide her smile. She can’t, however, cover up her blush. “Glad you like it,” she says.
Then she takes a picture with her phone.
Lucifer makes a sound of outrage. “Absolutely not! Detective, I demand you delete that photo at once!”
She snorts a laugh while her offspring cackles. “Definitely not. I might just make this my new lock screen.”
He narrows his eyes at her, then looks at the face paints. “Right, then. My turn,” he says, turning to her with his own Devilish grin.
The Detective hesitates, but her offspring is on his side, for once, and urges her to switch places with Lucifer to let him paint her face. With a strangled, resigned sigh, she gives in. “Okay, okay...” She sits down on the sofa where Lucifer was a few moments ago and he sits directly across from her on the table.
“What’ll it be, Detective?” He repeats her earlier words in a low, husky voice. And he’s certain he hears her breath hitch and sees her eyes darken a touch. A smirk attempts to tug at his lips at her reaction...which is also having an effect on him. It’s a circle of mild arousal between them he’s sure they’ve never experienced before.
She swallows, exactly as he had, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. “Surprise me. Just...keep it PG, Lucifer,” she adds hastily.
Stifling a laugh, he considers her for a moment and makes his decision. Selecting his colors, he picks up a fresh paintbrush, dips it in a pale pink paint, and cups the Detective’s right cheek, leaning towards her. She watches him closely, her breathing speeding up just enough for him to notice.
“This okay?” he murmurs to her, wondering if having him this close is making her uncomfortable. That is something he never wishes to do.
She nods, smiling a little as she stills her fidgeting hands. “I trust you.”
Simple words that mean more to him than she could possibly understand. Would she still trust him if she knew the truth? If she knew what he really is? Shaking himself, he gets to work painting a banner of pink hyacinths above her brow. He isn’t the best artist in the world, even he can admit that, but he’s determined that this will be perfect—nothing less for his Detective.
She watches him as he watched her, resting her hands just above his knees to keep her balance as she leans closer to him. Somehow, he manages not to startle in surprise and ruin the whole thing. It’s distracting, having her at such a close distance for a second time tonight when typically they’re keeping each other at arm’s length for one reason or another. Her shampoo and perfume are familiar to him, but he can’t recall ever having the opportunity to smell them up close for this long. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to him, to be honest; they spend much of their days in close quarters driving to and from crime scenes or to question witnesses. Shouldn't he be immune to this by now? Immune to her?
“Ooh...Mommy, that’s so pretty!” the Urchin gushes as Lucifer is finishing up.
“Yeah?” the Detective asks hopefully. “Let’s see.” She reaches for the little handheld mirror to check out his handiwork and he watches anxiously, hoping she likes it. Her lips part in delighted surprise. “Wow, Lucifer. That...really is pretty.” She turns her head this way and that to get every angle of her flower crown, just as he did with his unicorn.
He scoffs. “Well, yes, of course it is, Detective. I am a magnificent artist.”
She gives him a deadpan look. “Uh huh.” He grins at her.
“Me next!” the Urchin announces.
Next on the itinerary for game night is the actual game. Monopoly. It’s one Lucifer is vaguely familiar with, but only from Hell Loops in which damned souls relive their own family game nights where they said something cruel or accrued some other guilt. The one constant is that somebody always gets angry and flips the game board, sending fake money and game pieces scattering around the room. Or somebody gets one of those little red house-shaped pieces jammed up their nostril. The game looked tortuous in and of itself.
Reminding himself that he’s as far from Hell as he’s likely to get, Lucifer suddenly remembers the pink lollies he bought specially for tonight and passes them out, much to the Urchin’s delight. The Detective accepts hers with a grin, immediately unwrapping and popping it into her mouth. Lucifer has never wanted to be a lollipop more than he does right this very moment. He does, however, have enough sense to bite back the I have something else you could suck on, Detective innuendo on the tip of his tongue. Though he gets the feeling she knows exactly what’s running through his mind; she sends him a warning look, her eyes dancing in amusement.
Kicking off his shoes, removing his suit jacket, and rolling up his shirtsleeves, he settles on the floor beside the Detective and across from the Urchin. He doesn’t miss the way the Detective’s eyes linger in his forearms when he reaches for something. How interesting...
Lucifer hums, removing the lolly from his mouth. “This is a new one on me, Detective.”
The Detective moans a little as she takes a bite of a chocolate-covered strawberry. He’s glad they’re on their stomachs and she can’t see his...physical reaction. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” she replies in a flirty tone, grinning.
“Yes, but I’ve heard it can take hours. I’m not sure even I have the endurance for that.”
The Urchin pipes up as she finishes setting up the board. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you!”
The Detective has explained the rules to him, amazed that she even had to (because who has never played Monopoly before?), and assured him she will explain further as they go along. Beside them, the gas fireplace has been lit, as it’s a chilly evening and the Detective is always cold. Meanwhile, Lucifer is unable to recall another time he’s felt this comfortable in somebody else’s home. Unless there are more carnal activities being enjoyed, he’s usually on edge and antsy, eager to leave and get back to his own interests and hobbies. Here, though, with Chloe and Trixie...it’s odd, but a feeling of contentment washes over him and he feels as if this is someplace he could...belong.
“I’ll be the top hat!” the Urchin immediately announces, snatching the little silver piece and setting it on the square marked GO!
“I will be the race car,” the Detective says, picking up her piece. “Because I’m going to leave you both in. the. dust.”
Lucifer chuckles. He does enjoy her sense of humor; it’s so rare that she allows herself to make use of it unless she’s being sarcastic. “Very funny. RIght, then...” He examines the remaining tokens. “Wheelbarrow...shoe. Oh! I guess I’ll have to be the shot glass. Cheers!”
The Detective scoffs and snatches the piece from his fingers. “That’s a thimble.”
He looks at her incredulously. What does a bloody thimble have to do with real estate? “What? I want to conquer real estate, not mend socks.”
“So then, be the shoe!” the Urchin says reasonably. Her painted on, pink princess tiara is glimmering in the firelight with its little, plastic jewels. Because that wasn’t enough sparkly, she also put on an even sparklier silver headband with cat’s ears.
Lucifer scoffs now. “Please. I am not a shoe. Clearly, I’m a top hat. So, come on, hand it over.” He holds out his hand towards her expectantly, folding his fingers back and forth in a gimme now gesture.
The Urchin holds the silver top hat tauntingly. “You want it? It’s gonna cost you.”
Impressed at her bargaining skills, Lucifer reaches for the colorful, paper money sitting at his elbow. “Oh. Well, name your price, Urchin,” he says, starting to count out the bills.
Smirking, the child scoffs right back at him. “Oh, I’m not talking fake money.”
“Oh, wow,” the Detective taunts. “She slammed you.” She laughs.
Lucifer looks between them, wondering how he even wound up here in the first place, on his belly in front of a ridiculous board game. Then he sees the way his Detective’s eyes sparkle at him and remembers.
Oh. Right.
Refusing to pay the exorbitant fee of $200 cash for a little game token, Lucifer swallows his pride and chooses the Scottish Terrier instead. “Close enough to resemble a Hellhound, I suppose,” he says musingly, setting it beside the Detective’s race car. He gets an eyeroll for the comment that makes him grin; he loves her eye—
Likes. Lucifer likes her eyerolls... His heart beats a little faster at the thought of that other word. Inwardly, he scoffs. It’s just a bloody word and you’re the Devil. Get a hold of yourself, man!
He tries to focus on the game. He does; his competitive instincts, however, are dampened with the Detective pressed against his shoulder. At first, he tries to blame it on his vulnerability in her presence, but he knows that isn’t the true cause. It’s just...her. She’s always had an effect on him that has nothing to do with physicality. He feels...happier in her presence, less in the dark as he’s been for longer than he cares to think about. Chloe Decker is his best friend, but it’s far more than that; far deeper. Yet when he tries to reach for the word to describe what she means to him, a terror he can’t describe creeps up into his throat, choking him. It’s completely absurd. At the same time, though, it feels...amazing and he will do anything to keep feeling this way.
None of it makes any bloody sense.
That other word tries to creep back into his mind. He firmly slams the door on it. Those sorts of thoughts will lead him nowhere good. Or they will and he’s just being an idiot. Certainly a possibility.
It doesn’t take long for him to be trounced by the Detective and her miniature. The former attempted, at first, to correct him when he wanted to spend all of his fake money on every property he landed on; then she gave up when he argued that this is how real estate works in real life, Detective! and allowed him to play how he desired. He should have listened to her—he’s bankrupt within thirty minutes, to the Urchin’s gloating delight, and spends the hour after that drinking wine, eating strawberries, and watching the Detective.
He’s always known she has a quiet competitive streak, but she is a cutthroat in this game, even against her offspring, who is equally determined to win. In the end, the Detective squeaks out a triumph over her child, who pouts and grumbles while her mother smirks at her.
“Trixie usually always wins,” the Detective tells him smugly, biting off the end of the chocolate-covered strawberry Lucifer offered her as a reward for her success. And he has to stop himself staring as she licks the juice off her lips, suddenly desiring nothing more than to do so for her. “So, anytime I beat her, it’s a miracle.”
His fantasy comes to a grinding halt; it feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on him as he recalls why he can’t be the one to lick fruit juice off her lips and chin—or any other part of her body. Chloe Decker is a Miracle put in the Devil’s path without her own free will to choose how she feels. He forced himself to leave her after she was poisoned because of it and convinced her (and himself) they could be nothing more than “just friends”.
With a weak smile, he pushes those thoughts back. “In that case, well done, Detective,” he says quietly, tapping his wine glass against hers then draining his own. “May I get you more wine, darling?” He jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen in order to compose himself in preparation for the rest of the evening, feeling her slightly confused eyes following him.
Lucifer may not be able to be with the Detective how he desires, but at least he has her in his life at all. There was a brief period during which he thought he’d never see her again, because he hadn’t planned on returning to Los Angeles...until he and Candy struck their deal. He knows now he wouldn't have been able to stay away much longer; it physically hurt him in a way he still can’t describe, being away from the Detective for those two weeks.
So he had to find a way to keep her in his life but shatter any feelings or illusions she may have had about anything romantic happening between them. Oblivious as he may be about other people’s emotions a lot of the time, he knows he hurt her deeply with that move. He hurt himself with it, as well; it still hurts, raw as it was the day he returned to Los Angeles. But what else can he do until he knows for certain her feelings are her own? There is a fear that if the day comes and he does find out it’s real, it will be too late; he’ll have lost her to somebody else, somebody better than the Devil could ever be. Though he can’t imagine there exists a soul worthy of Chloe Decker. Or she’ll just have given up on him completely.
Sometimes he wonders whether he should just put them both out of their misery, damn the consequences. That is, assuming the Detective has any residual feelings or interest in him in that way; he highly suspects she doesn’t, not after all he’s done.
When he returns to the living room, he finds the game board moved out of the way to make room for a small contraption with bright, multi-colored lights surrounding what looks to be a speaker. The Urchin is kneeling in front of it, three microphones beside her, as she fiddles with it.
“What’s this, then?” he asks, intrigued.
“Post-game karaoke,” the Detective tells him with a grin. “Something you might actually be good at.”
Lucifer scoffs, affronted. “How dare you! I painted a gorgeous masterpiece on your forehead which only enhances your already breathtaking beauty! You take that back, Detective!”
The Detective’s eyes widen and she pauses in reaching for her wine, staring at him. He replays what he just said and...oh. Well, certainly that couldn’t be news to her—that he finds her breathtakingly beautiful. The look on her face, however, says differently. Her lips part as though she wants to say something to him, but then seems to remember her child is present.
“Um, yeah, you... Yeah...” Her face is flushed and she quickly looks away from Lucifer’s bemused gaze. Shaking herself, she smiles at her daughter. “Okay, Trix, you’re up first—what’s it gonna be?”
How does she not know how strikingly beautiful she is? Physically, yes, obviously. But also, beautiful on the inside. Chloe Decker is amongst the brightest souls he’s ever encountered; he could go on for hours about her attributes that have nothing to do with her looks.
The Urchin turns to her mother with an excited, slightly mischievous expression. “Let it gooo!” she sings. Loudly. And so off-key that Lucifer flinches.
“This is going to be painful,” Lucifer says under his breath, sitting down beside the Detective on the sofa. Hiding a cringe in her wine, the Detective reaches for her phone, opening some sort of application and typing in the name of the song. Distracted as she is, she still kicks him in the shin with her socked foot and shoots him a be nice look for his comment. A moment later, music begins playing from the speaker and the lights move along with the tune, brightening and dimming, swirling around the speaker to match the tempo.
Sighing, Lucifer drains his own wine, relieved that he thought to bring the bottle. “Should have brought something stronger than wine. Why didn’t you warn me this was a possibility?”
The Detective ignores him completely.
It’s more painful than Lucifer could have imagined. As far as musical abilities go, the Urchin possesses none. She dances around the living room singing the words to the dreadful song—well, allegedly it’s singing; it comes out more as screeching. Even the Detective, who is constantly bragging about how wonderful and amazing her spawn is, can’t quite hide her own pain. Her smile is a little tight at the corners and Lucifer sees her wince more than once, though that could be because the Urchin is jumping all over the furniture like a demented primate.
Nevertheless, the Detective claps and cheers at the end of the song, elbowing Lucifer to do the same. Grudgingly, he does. “Great job, Monkey!” she calls out as her child takes a bow and catches her breath.
Then the Detective looks at him, grinning. “Wanna take the next turn?”
“I’ll give it a shot,” he says, grinning back charmingly. “Couldn’t be any worse than—oof...” Another elbow to the side. Rubbing his ribs and scowling at her, he snatches the Detective’s phone. “Unnecessary roughness, Detective.”
“Baby,” she teased.
His lips twitch as he looks through the song choices. “Ooh, big surprise—mostly 90s jams, I see. And Disney. Bloody hell, isn’t there any rock’n’roll available? Some AC/DC? Led Zeppelin? Bowie?”
“I don’t know who they are,” Trixie announces, nonplussed, scrunching her nose.
Lucifer shoots the Detective an accusing glare. “You really must widen your spawn’s horizons, Detective,” he says with mock-disappointment. “You’ve allowed her to come this far in life without ever coming into contact with proper music? What sort of mother are you, anyway?” She rolls her eyes at him, knowing he’s only teasing—she’s an incredible mother, far better than his own could ever hope to be.
And then he finds the song he wishes to sing. The Detective has played it in the cruiser on the way to crime scenes before, so he knows she likes it, and...well. It isn’t completely awful.
“Right, then, Urchin, hand that microphone over to a proper musician,” he says, standing and moving to the middle of the room. The Detective’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise when the music begins, pursing her lips to hide a smile. Her eyes are dancing with laughter and something else...something softer. He holds her gaze as he begins to sing.
You are my fire
The one desire
Believe when I say
I want it that way
But we are two worlds apart
Can't reach to your heart
When you say
That I want it that way
Lucifer chose this song mostly to tease the Detective about her inferior tastes in music, but now that he’s singing it to her...well. Silly as the lyrics are, they resonate with him. Deeply. She is his one desire; she has been for longer than he cares to admit. In fact, the only thing he can ever recall desiring more than her is free will. Though admittedly, that didn’t exactly go well for him, did it? More than anything, he wishes the situation between himself and the Detective was different; that he could be absolutely, without a doubt certain that whatever feelings she may have for him (or did have, rather) are real.
The Detective’s smile falters slightly, her eyes flickering with something that tugs on his heartstrings, trying to pull him towards her. He resists. Barely. Instead, he distracts himself, putting his all into the performance, singing the song as he would if he were at Lux and playing for a much larger crowd. His dance moves are a bit exaggerated—an attempt to make the Detective and her offspring laugh; it works. Her eyes are bright and happy, and he feels warm pride that he’s the one making her happy. It seems as though, lately, all he does is upset her or make her cry. Or annoy and frustrate her. Happy moments between them have been fleeting.
Am I your fire?
Your one desire
Yes, I know it's too late
But I want it that way
Now I can see that we're fallin' apart
From the way that it used to be, yeah
No matter the distance, I want you to know
That deep down inside of me
He can’t help holding the Detective’s gaze as he sings, trying to impart upon her that she means more to him than he could ever attempt to explain. And that she always will. Music is how he expresses himself best. Well. Second only to sex, of course. But Lucifer is certain he sees his longing, his desire mirrored in her eyes, as if there is something left of what she feels for him, after all; that he didn’t completely destroy what they had.
You are my fire
The one desire
You are...
Don't wanna hear you
Ain't nothin' but a heartache
Ain't nothin' but a mistake
I never wanna hear you say
I want it that way
Lucifer takes a bow as the Detective and Urchin clap and cheer for him, the former giving him a smile she’s only given him on rare occasions, the last on her birthday when he gave her the bullet necklace. In fact, her fingers reach up for the aforementioned bullet now, as though she’s remembering the same. Or just thinking of him. He rather likes that thought—that she thinks of him, even when he isn’t present. The reverse is certainly true.
“Your turn, Mommy!” the Urchin announces, unceremoniously ripping the microphone from Lucifer’s hand. He huffs, affronted.
The Detective freezes in an instant. “Um...you know, Monkey, I don’t think I feel like singing tonight.”
“But you have to,” the child says beseechingly, sticking out her bottom lip and giving her mother the best set of puppy dog eyes Lucifer has ever seen. “Pleeeease, Mommy?”
Blue eyes dart to him then away quickly. “I don’t know, baby.”
Lucifer realizes that for some inexplicable reason, his Detective is nervous to sing in front of him. But she has no reason to be; he’s heard her singing under her breath in the car and she has a voice as beautiful as the rest of her. “Oh, come on, Detective,” he says encouragingly, reaching for her hand and pulling her off the sofa. She drags her feet but allows herself to be moved. “One song. Or we could do a duet?”
“Ooh! Yeah! Do a duet!” the child gasps. “Please, please, pleeeease?!”
The Detective is clearly hesitant, but between Lucifer and the Urchin, they convince her. And apparently, the devious little creature has the perfect song for them. Both of their eyes widen when they hear the chosen tune, glancing uncertainly at one another, but Lucifer doesn’t back down from the challenge. If singing along with her puts his Detective at ease...well. He can think of few things he desires more right now.
“Okay, okay,” she sighs defeatedly, accepting the second microphone. “You sure you’re okay with this? I’m not that good; wouldn’t want to tarnish your devilish reputation.”
He gives her a look. Her tone was sarcastic, but he can see the truth of her statement in her eyes. “You could never tarnish my reputation, Detective,” he murmurs, flipping his own microphone in his hand. Her lips part slightly in surprise at his earnestness. “Right, then. Shall we? I believe the first verse is yours, darling...”
Blushing, she nods as the Urchin bounces excitedly back to the sofa, practically vibrating on the spot as she watches them attentively.
Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Lucifer stares in awe as she sings, quietly at first, then a little louder as her confidence grows. And while he wouldn’t encourage her to quit being a detective to pursue a music career, her voice is lovely. In fact, he’s so mesmerized, really hearing it for the first time, that he nearly misses his cue on the next verse.
Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the beast
Yet another song that seems to encapsulate himself and his Detective. Strangers to (reluctant on her part) partners to friends to...whatever it is they are now. Lucifer isn’t even certain he knows anymore. Nothing has frightened him more than Chloe Decker. What he feels for her, it isn’t something he’s ever experienced with anybody else. Eons of feeling nothing and suddenly, he feels everything...all at once. There was a time she might have felt something for him, too; she’s made it clear those days are over and done with.
Sometimes, though, he wonders if that’s the entire truth.
Even if they were both free to choose one another, however, there would still be the knowledge that he isn’t, could never be, worthy of her. Her grace, her kindness, her beauty. And he is but a beast, even without his Devil face. Dark, monstrous...poison.
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
And ever just as sure
As the sun will rise
It shouldn’t surprise him that their voices meld together as perfectly as they themselves do—in their partnership, how they work together; their friendship. Opposites though they may be, there has always been something drawing them together like magnets...and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with divinity. It’s simply...them.
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Their gazes met and locked at some point, and for all Lucifer is concerned, there is nobody else in the room. In the universe. It’s just him and Chloe. The mortal woman who changed the Devil for the better. Or rather, who made him want to change. And not only to be worthy of her, but for himself, as well. He’s been caught in a bit of an identity crisis since his wings returned, trying to figure out who he is now. Trying to revert to the Devil he once was to regain some level ground. Only...the thing is, he isn’t entirely certain he wants to be the old Devil anymore. Or the angel. He just wants to...be. Himself. Lucifer Morningstar. Whoever that is now.
And the Detective...well. She makes him feel more like himself than he has in eons. She makes him feel less...beastly. As if it could be possible to one day be worthy of her.
Certain as the sun
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the beast
As the song fades to silence, they hold each other’s gazes. Lucifer can see emotions flitting through her eyes he isn’t certain he wants to identify. Well. He does; but he doesn’t know that he should. Because nothing has changed. Has it? She’s still a Miracle without freedom to choose him herself. He’s still the Devil.
Beauty and the Beast, indeed...
They both startle when the Urchin begins cheering and whooping and telling them that was soo good! The Detective gives him a small, shy smile that he returns before she’s turning away to accept her daughter’s hug. It gives him a moment to collect himself and his thoughts; to push back the ache in his chest that has become more pronounced since their duet began.
The Urchin demands another turn to “sing” and Lucifer can’t even summon a token complaint, too lost in his thoughts. Wordlessly, he sits back down beside the Detective, carefully not looking at the way she’s glancing at him sidelong every so often.
An hour later, they’ve all taken more turns with different, less emotionally-fueled songs—the Detective even singing a couple solo. Lucifer spent her songs smiling widely and proudly as she let her hair down (literally and figuratively, when she removed her hair tie) and just enjoyed herself. It’s a side of her he so rarely sees and he likes it. Far more than he should.
It’s the Urchin’s bedtime now, and she’s whining and cajoling and protesting that she isn’t tired—through an enormous yawn. The Detective gives her a stern MumLook that could put the Devil’s own mum’s to shame and the child relents, heading off to grudgingly complete her nightly bedtime routine, grumbling under her breath about it the entire way.
The Detective turns to him once her spawn is out of the room, looking uncertain but hopeful. Shy, even. “I, um, need to tuck her in, but... Can you stay a little while?”
He should probably say no, that there’s something pressing at Lux to tend to; he could probably even have Patrick fabricate a situation. But, of course, he doesn’t; he doesn’t lie, especially not to her. Besides, he would be a fool of the highest regard to turn down the chance to spend even another minute more with her.
“Of course, Detective,” he says quietly. “Nowhere I’d rather be.”
Pressing a hand to his shoulder, she gives him a smile that makes his continuously traitorous heart skip a beat, then stands to follow the Urchin into her bedroom. Except, the Urchin detours at the last second, launching herself into his lap and wrapping her little arms around his neck.
“G’night, Lucifer! Thanks for coming to game night! It was really fun!”
He never quite knows what to do with her exuberant, freely given affection. But of all the children he’s crossed paths with in his long existence, not that there have been many, he can at least admit to himself that this one is far from being the worst. In fact, he’s nearly as fond of her as he is of her mother.
Arms flailing for a moment, he finally settles on patting her on the head. “Erm, yes, child. I suppose it wasn’t entirely awful,” he says awkwardly. “Sleep well, then.”
When she releases him, Lucifer huffs and adjusts his waistcoat, sending the Detective, who is grinning at his discomfort again, a narrow-eyed glare. “Back in a minute,” she promises.
“Take your time, darling.”
While she’s occupied, he goes about clearing up some of their earlier mess. Partly because he’s a smidge OCD; partly so that she doesn’t have to do it herself later on when she’s too tired. He eyes the Monopoly board as he places it back in the box, then the little silver tokens, specifically the shoe. On impulse, he slips it into his pocket—a souvenir from one of the best nights he’s had in some time.
Domestic though it may have been, it didn’t feel that way to him. It wasn’t boring or dreadful, or any of the things he would have thought it would be. He downplayed it to the Urchin, of course, but he enjoyed himself immensely—every moment.
From the face painting—he brushes his fingers down the little unicorn adorning his left cheek, careful not to smudge it; then the right cheek where the Detective’s fingers tenderly held him in place. He can still feel her touch there, even now.
To Monopoly—he may have lost the game, but cheering the Detective on as they lay on their stomachs, shoulder-to-shoulder, feeling every movement she made was lovely. They felt more like a team, partners united against the spawn, than they have in months.
To karaoke—the song he sang to the Detective and the one they sang together; the look in her eyes that suggested she thinks he’s worthy.
He wants more nights like this, with both his Detective and her Urchin. The laughter and teasing made him feel part of a family—their family. As if he could be one of them. Neither of them expected anything from him except the pleasure of his company; it isn’t something he experiences with anybody else. And they seemed to enjoy having him here with them. At least, he hopes they have. The ache in his chest deepens with longing and desire.
It’s a fool’s hope, of course. The Devil could never have the sort of life he knows the Detective desires—a mortal, domestic, normal life. What’s more, she doesn’t even know that he’s the Devil. He’s told her every day since they first met and he’s tried to show her twice now, but without his Devil face, he can’t show her the truth of what he is. Yes, he could show her the wings and she would, at minimum, know that he isn’t human; she’s clever enough to go from that to confirming he’s exactly who he says he is. But the wings feel like too much of a lie; as if he’d be showing her only the good side of him whilst still hiding the bad.
The longer they go on, though, without her knowing the truth...that also feels like a lie. He could tell her until he turns blue in the face that he is the Devil; he knows she won’t believe him without proof, because that is who she is. A woman of logic and reason. She believes what’s right in front of her. What she can see. That’s how she draws conclusions. The problem is, he doesn’t know which conclusion she would draw—whether she would accept him or run away from him in fear. He hopes for the former but expects the latter, because that is how all humans react, and that is one of the main reasons he’s not shown her. Because he couldn’t bear seeing her frightened of him. Watching her leave him for good; taking her light with her and leaving him in eternal darkness.
His head snaps up at the sound of the Urchin’s bedroom door sliding shut to find the Detective taking one last peek at her offspring for the night, a small, adoring smile on her face. Refilling their wine glasses, he joins her in the living room and they settle side-by-side on the sofa. She stretches her legs out on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankle; he does the same, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa. They’re pressed practically together now (and how did that happen?).
She tilts her head back to look at him, eyes glittering happily. “I had fun tonight,” she says softly.
Smiling just as softly, he nods, sipping his wine. “Yes. I did, as well.”
Bumping her foot against one of his, she raises an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to sound so surprised by that, you know,” she grumbles playfully.
Lucifer laughs. “I’ve no idea why I’m surprised; I always have fun when I’m with you, Detective.”
Her eyes soften. “Yeah?” He nods. She looks away briefly, biting her lip. “I know this isn’t your usual kind of fun, but I’m really glad you’re here, Lucifer. And so is Trixie; she told me when I tucked her in that this has been the best game night ever.”
“Well, of course, it has, Detective. My presence transforms even the most mundane evenings into the best ever,” he says smugly, Something flashes in her eyes too quickly for him to make out, but she purses her lips, then quickly sips her wine and shoves the thought away. He bumps his socked foot against hers this time. “And you? Do you concur with your offspring?” He raises his eyebrows hopefully.
She smiles. “Yeah, I do,” she says softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I, um, had a realization recently, actually. Well. More like...I admitted something to myself. About you.”
Intrigue and apprehension burst to life within him. “Oh? Do tell.”
Biting her lip again, she looks at him, the glint that tugs on his heartstrings has returned to her eyes, tugging even harder now. “I’ve missed you, Lucifer.”
His brow furrows as bemusement strikes. “Missed me?” he says with a small laugh. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve seen you practically every day for two years, Detective.”
She shakes her head. “No, I meant...” Trailing off, she takes a deep breath as she rolls her eyes—at herself, he thinks. “I meant, spending time with you...outside of work. Hanging out, talking, just us. You know?”
His heart stutters to a stop. “Oh...”
Before he ran off for Las Vegas, they spent more time together, outside of work, as she said. Whether in her home or his, or even at Lux, having a celebratory drink after closing a case, they could easily spend hours together doing nothing but chatting and teasing one another. Until quite recently, her birthday, specifically, and then the prom he threw for her, they’d not done that in months. To cover up the loss he felt without those evenings spent with her, he partied harder, took more people to bed and pretended he wasn’t imagining the Detective beneath him, her hands on his body rather than whomever he was with. Pretended something wasn’t missing.
He takes a quick swallow of wine to dislodge the lump in his throat. “Yes,” he murmurs softly. “I’ve missed this, too, Detective. Missed you.” More than he wants to admit.
“Maybe we can do this more often, then?” she says hopefully.
The suggestion sends warmth through his whole body. “I’d like that.”
“So, you don’t actually mind being a shoe?” she teases.
Chuckling, and thinking of the small trinket in his trousers pocket (surely she doesn’t know he took it?), he shakes his head. “I suppose not. A well-polished Louboutin, of course. But if being a shoe means that I get to spend more time with you, Detective, then...” He shrugs the shoulder she isn’t leaning against, feeling shy. Which is utterly absurd. When has he ever felt shy about anything?
Light fills her eyes and he watches in fascination as her gaze drops to his lips. Belatedly, he realizes he’s leaned closer to her—or she’s tilted more towards him, he isn’t sure which. Either way, their faces are far closer than what can be considered platonic and “just friends”.
He should back away. The way he did during their first dance at their private prom a couple of weeks ago when he had her in a dip. She looked at him this way then, too; silently pleading with him to lean in and kiss her. And he wanted to, so badly, but MIRACLE flashed in his mind in bold, neon letters, and he couldn’t take advantage of her that way.
Tonight, though, the reminder of what his father did is in the farthest reaches of his mind. He reasons with himself that nobody truly knows what it means that Chloe Decker is a Miracle. Everybody from himself to Amenadiel to Mum...they’ve all just guessed. Assumed they knew the score because of past manipulations and traps and mysterious ways.
The truth is, for all Lucifer knows, the Detective is entirely in control of her feelings—or as in control as anybody can be; the good doctor likes to tell him nobody can fully control how they feel. They’re hers and hers alone. He’ll likely never know the truth about whether his father manipulated them by placing her in his path; perhaps that’s all He did. Well, that, and making her immune to his mojo. But he likes that she’s immune; he likes that he can’t simply take all the mystery out of it by pulling out her desires. And he likes that when she looks at him, she doesn’t see her greatest desire—she just sees him.
The ache is worse than ever now as his own eyes slide down to her lips, stained slightly red from the wine she’s drunk. He’s forced to swallow a groan when her tongue darts out to wet them.
How much longer can he deny them this? Her eyes are telling him exactly what she desires, even if he can’t use his mojo to find out—she wants him to kiss her. And he wants to kiss her. So, why the bloody hell is he allowing his father’s so-called manipulations to stand in the way of their mutual desire?
She stretches just far enough to brush her lips across his and it’s as though an electrical storm has been set off in his body—tingles from head to toe of the best kind. Warmth blossoms from the center of his chest, spreading outwards, as if he’s coming to life for the first time in months—since their first kiss on the beach; since their hug on the staircase of that university science lab before everything fell apart around them. His heart is racing as though he’s run a marathon and it’s bloody absurd. It was barely a kiss, but he’s done far more with other people and felt far less than he does right now.
And he needs to feel it again; his nerves are raw with it; his heart screaming at him to just bloody kiss her already!
So he does.
His free hand lifts to cradle her face in his palm, searching her eyes to make certain this truly is what she desires. Her eyes widen just a touch as she leans into his hand. And then their lips meet. There’s no angelic chorus, or trumpets, or fireworks—except for the ones he feels in his heart—it’s just them: Lucifer and Chloe. The Devil and his Detective.
She makes a sound, a sort of humming noise in her throat and it spurs him on, pressing his lips harder against hers. Then her fingers are against his neck, his pulse point; he’s certain she can feel how hard and frantically his heart beats. Their lips move, eyes flutter closed, and when they part after a minute or so, he rests his forehead against hers. His eyes are still tightly shut, knowing that if he opens them now, she’ll see everything he’s ever felt for her in them and he’s too dazed to try hiding it.
“Lucifer...” Her voice is little more than a breath.
He makes some low noise, both acknowledging that she spoke and appreciation of hearing her say his name like that. “Detective...”
Fingers are stroking his cheek, his stubble, his nose, his lips. Finally, he opens his eyes and swallows a gasp when he sees the emotion staring back at him. He doesn’t know what it means, exactly, barely understands his own emotions, let alone someone else’s—even hers. But it makes his heart skip a beat. Lucifer decides right here and now that he wants her to look at him like this for the rest of time.
He doesn’t know what to say to her; what they are supposed to do; or even what they are doing. The insane urge to call Dr. Linda and ask her advice pops into his mind, but that would require moving away from the Detective and...well. That certainly isn’t happening.
“Have dinner with me?” she whispers, her fingers still stroking his face.
He leans further into her touch, even as his brow furrows in bemusement. “Right...now?”
She laughs softly, shaking her head slightly. “I was thinking...tomorrow night?”
“Oh, right,” he huffs, watching his own thumb slide along her jawline. He’s wanted to do this for two years. The woman’s jaw could cut glass and he’s had more fantasies than he can count about running his tongue across it on his way down her long neck. “I’d like that.”
She bites her lip to contain her smile. “Really?”
He nods. Dinner. He can do dinner with her. And he vows to not repeat his past mistake of making plans with her and not showing up. Of leaving her sitting alone in a restaurant for two hours feeling rejected and humiliated. She never specifically stated that’s how she felt, but he tried to imagine himself in that position, at Dr. Linda’s urging, and those are the feelings that came to mind. It made him feel even worse for standing her up.
“Okay...” She starts to lean in to kiss him again, and while he would love nothing more than to allow her, he feels he needs to warn her before this goes too far. Placing a finger on her lips and getting a confused look in return, he takes a breath, forcing himself to pull back from her. Enough that he can look her in the eyes.
“There are things, Detective, that you don’t know. About me,” about you, he adds silently, because he isn’t ready for that conversation yet. “Things I fear would change how you see me. Things I fear will...chase you away for good.”
Her brow furrows as she studies him intently. She shakes her head. “Nothing could do that, Lucifer,” she says confidently.
“You say that now...”
“Then, tell me. Not tonight,” she adds when he takes a breath. “Tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to...” Her eyes slide down to his lips again.
He should insist on telling her now, but perhaps there isn’t any harm in giving into this for one night. One good night with her before it all falls apart. Again. This time when he tells her the truth. “As you wish, Detective.”
Smiling, she kisses him. And he’s lost.
Neither of them notices the door behind them quietly sliding open and two brown eyes peeking out. Nor do they notice the owner of those eyes smiling in satisfaction that her plan worked. Closing the door again, Trixie leaves her mom and Lucifer to their kissing.
It took them long enough...