Chapter Text
Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
“Is it my thanks you want? Or a kiss?”
Lucifer’s soul-gathering, black-lined eyes raked Dan up and down, lingering on no particular part of him but making him feel stripped bare. Without Dan's input on the matter, his eyes flicked traitorously to Lucifer’s inviting lips. He wrenched his eyes back up with an act of willpower. Neither facial feature helped his situation, or his brain, which had taken a decidedly unplanned trip down a road he hadn't seriously considered before this very moment.
His physical side seemed just fine with this turn of events. Which was never a fun experience in a crowd, but there wasn't much to be done except mentally scream at various parts not to react.
Because that always works.
Lucifer's question reverberated in Dan’s skull, relentless and uncaring of his feelings in the matter, or his protests at the time, for months.
First, he shoved it to the back of his brain in denial-land. There was no possible way Lucifer was serious - about the question or the answer to it. He was never serious about anything.
Except sex.
Did Lucifer affect everyone this way? Everyone but his ex-wife, apparently, judging by the sheer number of eyerolls she directed at her partner. Everyone else climbed all over him. Literally.
Second, Dan spent way too long thinking about it. Not seriously, mind you. There wasn't any harm in wondering, not when the man displayed himself like a horny peacock. Even if he wasn't serious, it was clear he liked being ogled.
Shit. Am I ogling? Stop it, Dan.
Third, he did not need to date a guy with a Devil complex. Or a Father (THE Father) complex. Or any of the myriad of other issues the guy had.
Fourth, he didn’t need to date a guy.
Then again, who said anything about dating? Dan could probably just show up and deal with his curiosity and leave again and nothing would come of it. Done and done.
Certainly, he had better things to do with his time, like at least make an attempt to be a better dad and a better cop.
He noticed Lucifer stole his food but no one else’s. Pudding, sandwiches, cookies, in no particular order. Maybe more pudding than other things.
It annoyed the fuck out of him.
Dan brushed it off as being his personal snack demon. Then he started wondering if it was a 'pulling girls' pigtails thing'. Which had to be stupid, since the guy had a million lovers. It wasn't hard to see why he couldn't keep a girl/boyfriend. The wife left, too. That was weird as fuck, as she had only been around for like, a week or two. Clearly, he had commitment issues.
Still. For a dude, he is kinda pretty.
Knock it off Dan, Dan unhelpfully told his brain. Again.
His life never got any less weird.
Charlotte is Lucifer’s step-mother. Trixie talks about him all the time. He can’t escape the guy.
Maybe he should stop trying.
You know, if he would just give the Devil thing a rest-
Still no.
Charlotte forgot him entirely. Chloe had eyes for the new (boss) guy - and that was weird, even if Dan was way past being jealous - and Lucifer got even harder to deal with.
Honestly, if anyone was going undercover to be a gay husband with Lucifer, it really shouldn't have been the boss. Not that Dan is jealous of that, per se. But undercover assignments shake up the job from time to time, which is welcome.
Plus, Pierce has like, zero chemistry with anyone. Especially Lucifer. Had Pierce ever even done this kind of work before? No one asked his opinion.
Then again, he had no clue what Chloe saw in him either. If Dan were into guys, at all, it wouldn't be ones built as much as Pierce.
Actually kissing Lucifer to keep their cover intact never would have needed to happen with Dan. Granted, he would have had a really hard time not punching Lucifer for going all-in on the 'annoying neighbor' routine, but - well, yeah there's probably no other possible outcome there.
Okay, maybe they made the right call with assignments after all.
But still.
Where had Lucifer even found those speedos in the first place?
He made the mistake of asking.
A pair showed up in his mailbox from Amazon two days later, in his size . It was a Mexican flag base instead of American. He couldn't decide if Lucifer was being racist or just…Lucifer. (Fuck, he was born here.) It showed up with a note from Lucifer requesting him to model them and send photos with a cheeky devil face sketch.
Because of course he was going to do that.
If it had been anyone else, he would have set the box on fire.
No one needed to know they did make his ass look great. Even if they were ridiculous.
He threw them in the back of the closet with his surf gear.
Things had been looking up.
Charlotte seemed to want to get together again, but she was having pretty serious issues. Time-loss aside, her personality changed.
Still hot though.
Now that Dan knew she was intrinsically inside Lucifer's life, it probably wasn't a good idea to date again (or maybe actually date this time) while he had unresolved feelin-responses to Lucifer.
He sort of hoped that with time and exposure, they would fade. They didn't. He seemed doomed to sort it all out one way or another. Luckily, Dan was doing just fine. Unluckily, he still had to work with (and look at) the guy - who sent him thinly-veiled leers in response. Dan mostly ignored him. Lucifer could have anyone. Probably had had everyone, just wanted to add Dan to the notches, a neat little checkmark on his tidy list.
That’s all.
Dan had gotten really good at boxing up his own feelings for the greater good of a stable life. Or so he told himself. His brain knew Lucifer was kind of a dick. But his heart reminded Dan he could be a dick too. He knew Lucifer had a therapist, he knew the guy was working on things, had been through enough of a shitty childhood to decide a Satan persona was the way to go, even if he swears he’d had the name forever.
When everyone instinctively recoils from you, over a name, it’s not your fault when you create space around yourself just to breathe.
Dan never asked about the scars after the bathhouse case. They were too perfectly done to be anything but intentional. He could put two and two together between dad issues and the scars. He could forgive a lot, as long as Lucifer wasn’t actively fucking up cases, and he definitely got not wanting to talk about things better left buried.
He had some of those himself.
Not much later, Charlotte told Dan that Lucifer had wings. The resulting fight was…not pretty. He really didn't want to blame the break-up on Lucifer, but that was a pretty fucked up thing to say, to convince her of.
She threw him out when he didn't believe her.
It was absolutely insane.
Frankly, it was a little unfair, given he didn’t believe Lucifer when he said he was the Devil and he didn’t lose his shit over people not believing him.
Except then Dan confronted Lucifer a little later. His life and personal reality took a hard left turn due to new developments.
It probably wasn’t the best idea to begin with - drinking at LUX, stewing in his own juices until he talked himself into action. He was angry at Lucifer for somehow manipulating Charlotte, angry at Lucifer in general. He had never discovered how she could have possibly been related to him in any way - marriage or otherwise - as Lucifer remained a fucking black hole, despite pulling a few of the remaining strings he had left and copious digging on his own part. Not to mention an unwillingness of others to kick over rocks with Lucifer's name on them.
Rich asshole. Doing rich asshole things.
Then again, it was probably a good thing he didn’t have a ton of money himself, he’d probably be just as much of an asshole, honestly.
No one was around to stop him from going up to the penthouse, except himself, and that had never worked out well for him in the past. ‘Impulsiveness’ was practically his middle name.
The rich asshole in question slumped on his long couch with his long body, clad in shiny red PJ bottoms and nothing else. He looked...off. The vibe alone is enough to shake off his alcohol buzz.
The view...well.
His blood went cold.
The place was a mess, with a silver service set for dinner for two out on a table, candles burnt down to nubs. There's a wine bottle on the floor where it had bounced rather than shattered. On top of the odd scene, the lights were dim and Lucifer was drunk.
Like, super drunk. Maybe stoned.
Oh yeah, and the aforementioned wings are out. Except they’re in two different places across the room, bloody and dead, like horror movie props. It took several painful seconds to realize what they really are. They’re not props. He knows this like he knows he has hair on his head; the information seeping into his brain slowly but relentlessly. Inexplicable sadness suddenly weighed on him, clinging like wet fabric.
The penthouse air tastes like death in his throat. Did I just step into Hell? Or has Hell come here?
Lucifer hasn’t responded to his presence, his gaze glassy-eyed and directionless. It’s a look he’s seen on suspects before - their life had suddenly left their control, they did something stupid - sometimes it’s a victim, sometimes it’s a perp. Or something was done to them.
The blood on Lucifer’s hands said maybe it was both things. Other than that, he looked...okay, from here. He took a couple of careful steps inside, despite all his instincts screaming at him to pick another direction, any other direction than toward the thing on the couch.
He approached, pressing a hand on a cushion near a silk-covered leg. He knew victims in this kind of state could snap or lash out, uncaring of who was near them. He could feel the heat coming off Lucifer’s body from there. He scanned carefully for injuries but didn’t see any on the front. He didn’t see any blood running off him either.
Lucifer’s fingers twitched on his pants, red on red.
Lucifer, self-proclaimed Devil.
Actual Devil.
Fucking great.
He thought about calling 911, but a second look at the wings made him discard it.
Chloe was another option, but he didn’t want to alarm her if she didn’t already know about...this.
He laughed to himself, quietly. Over a decade of police training kept him focused, kept him from collapsing on the floor or the end of the couch. Assess the situation. Don’t contaminate the scene.
He was about to contaminate the hell out of it.
A curved knife - far too small to have caused this much damage - rested on the floor. The blood on it (and trailed across the floor from where it was flung or dropped) stood counter to his opinion of the thing. Loose, broken feathers littered the floor in singles and in cold, wet clumps and sharp white fragments, almost like chips of ice or snow on the ground.
From under a mop of unruly black hair, Lucifer finally met his eyes - or at least looked at his face. There's fear there. Loathing. An impossibly deep well of rejection. Dan has a passing familiarity with that feeling, but this...
The moment stretched.
Almost hysterically, Dan said, “you gotta put a lock on that elevator, man.”
Lucifer nodded. Perhaps in agreement. Perhaps he was too stoned to take notice of someone else in the room, just responding to noise.
In this fantastic new world, that's all Dan is; noise. Merely human.
If nothing else, Dan can put practicality first, shoving the cosmic ramifications of the scene somewhere he could maybe unpack later, and maybe even not go crazy doing so. He doubted he'd be that lucky. But maybe he could get home first and lose his mind in privacy.
He's not sure why he didn't just turn around and leave, except Lucifer is also a friend, who clearly needs some help.
He found a cleaning closet, more of a cubby or nook since there seemed to be no doors at all in the whole damn place, and grabbed a dustpan and broom. The lights were left turned down, as it felt anathema to raise them now, even though it would have helped his task.
Methodically, working his way around the room, he swept up every loose feather he could find, avoiding the dead, shattered wings as if they might bite him. The gentle, flexing scrape of the brush bristles along the floor kept him focused on his job. Bit by bit, he could distinguish bits of a bloody feather here and there from the dark wood floor. He began a routine; trips to the garbage bag he opened and left in the corner. Sweep, fill the pan, dump, repeat.
When he got to the bar he stopped and poured a drink for himself, brought a fresh one to Lucifer, setting it down near him and resumed sweeping until he had a garbage bag half-full of celestial detritus. He thought it might be glowing slightly. He ignored it.
He looked helplessly between the 39-gallon black garbage bag and the wings, then gave up and went looking for a tarp or maybe a wheeled carrier of some kind. His search quickly became fruitless, so he finally found the light switch and checked again on Lucifer.
When he did turn the lights up, the violent mess of Lucifer’s back became starkly visible as the Devil sat up on the couch, his skin sticking to the leather and snapping away again wetly.
Dan had suspected there would be blood on his shoulders, but not the torn flesh. He didn’t know why he assumed one but not the other. He’d seen the results of stabbings, even flaying, but this was different. Lucifer’s back had been juiced like an orange. Fighting down bile and not entirely succeeding - he felt the acid burning his throat - he used the excuse of sprinting to the bathroom to grab towels, running a few under hot water and grabbing more to dry with. He spit several times into a sink, rinsing his mouth out and coming back to the couch slowly.
Lucifer followed his movements robotically. While Dan found it a little unnerving, he pressed on.
Wing scars.
The touch of a warm, damp towel to Lucifer’s neck jolted him out of his remaining stupor. He jumped up and off the couch with far more energy than Dan suspected him capable of with his injury, but he finally seemed to realize he wasn’t alone. “Daniel?”
“Hey, hold still. That might get infected.”
I mean, probably? He's never seen him sick. Sleep-deprived, sure. Angels have some metabolic processes, apparently.
“What are you doing?”
“Sit back down, I’m going to clean that. Your couch is probably ruined, by the way.”
He looked like he was going to shrug, then hissed in pain. “I guess if you want to stop me from bleeding all over the place, I should let you.”
“Sure. I want to help you protect your floors. Sit and turn around.”
Dark eyes tracked him warily.
“I’m not arresting you or anything-” oh there’s a fun thought. “ Just, have a seat, okay?”
Lucifer finally did, sitting on the piano bench this time, which sat away from the instrument as if it had been kicked over and turned upright again.
Dan wasn’t sure where to start, settled for applying a cloth near the top of his back. He got a soft, low, sigh in return and he tried not to think about that sound too much. Bright red blood came away with long, tender strokes. The badly coordinated cuts made him realize Lucifer had done this to himself; there were too many, most starting low and dragging upward when they hadn’t severed...things. It had already begun to heal - clots coming away here and there, but showing only paper-cut slashes along the outer edges.
Dan dropped a dry towel on the floor with barely a sound and Lucifer flinched anyway. He winced himself, lightly dragging a new, damp one down the center of his back, avoiding the worst of the damage. Blood soaked into it almost immediately, and Dan regretted not grabbing gloves.
Uncharitably, he was thankful the blood seemed fresh and he wouldn’t have to scrub it off skin, probably.
His heart had taken up residence in his throat and hadn’t budged since he got here, filling it to the point of choking him. The faint smell of blood didn’t help, but at least it smelled like...well, blood and not...anything completely unfamiliar to him. Mixed in with it was a hint of Lucifer’s hair product - something tea tree-ish, with his sweat.
He carried on, and the damage looked like it was healing under his clumsy attempts to clean it. He dropped the blood-soaked towel in the bag of feathers and came back, rubbing another one in slow, careful circles, imagining he was just bathing Trixie when she was still small.
It was enough to mentally brace himself to keep going.
The third towel came away clean, the flesh under it visibly knitting and healing. The writhing skin made him gag again, but at least it was coming together, rather than apart. It closed up with less sound than Dan would have thought, and without leaving scars. Well, at least not any new or additional scars.
Lucifer shivered and took in a breath. His shoulders flexed violently, joints cracking under the skin and he let out a whine, blindly reaching for the knife on the floor.
Dan intercepted him, realizing immediately that if Lucifer wanted to break the hold, he could. Risking the wrath of he knew not what, he grabbed Lucifer’s bicep. “What happened?”
The body he touched sighed and tilted, giving up.
Dan caught him, wrapping his arms around him and guiding him back to the couch. “You okay?” He felt stupid for asking, but he didn’t have anything else. He grabbed the last damp towel and wrapped it around one of Lucifer’s bloody hands.
Finally, finally, Lucifer registered he wasn’t alone. The earlier responses must have been reflexive. His eyes regained a bit of life, looking at Dan for the first time all night. “Douche?”
Dan rolled his eyes, “Ah, yeah, that’s how I know you’re back,” he suspected, but asked anyway, “you want to tell me who did this to you?”
Lucifer sat back, pulling the heat of his torso away from Dan, who tried not to just follow the movement like a lizard seeking a rock to sprawl on. No, Dan, bad imagery. He still tightened his grip with the towel, working blood out of Lucifer’s knuckles and keeping him close enough to perform the actions comfortably. He’d need soap to get it all out, but he hoped the action felt as soothing to him as it did to Lucifer - to help.
“I did it. It doesn’t matter. They’re back again. I can feel them crawling in my skin.”
There was no processing power left. “Come again?”
He all but shouted, “My bloody wings ! I can feel them all over again”
He flinched but didn’t let go, working the cloth between fingers. “Is that normal?”
“Only since the first time I had them removed. She refused to do it again,” he laughed lowly, “demons refusing my orders. I would have killed her in Hell for such a thing. Perhaps not Mazikeen, but any others. It’s easy with demons, you know.”
He clenched his jaw, refusing to jump up and run away screaming. Deliberately, Dan turned Lucifer’s right hand over to work on the palm, feeling the warmth leaking through the cooling towel. “I don’t know.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Maze didn’t do this part.”
Dan pretended he didn’t understand. Not thinking was easier. “I have a kid. I’ve cleaned up my share of messes. I’ve seen more blood at crime scenes. Not for lack of trying on your part, apparently.”
“I heal fast.”
“Okay, Wolverine.” Dan dropped Lucifer’s right hand and picked up the left. Lucifer’s skin was smooth and warm. He felt his own skin flush slightly, his pulse raise a little He sensed Lucifer’s smirk more than saw it, looking away from his face and down.
“I guess you believe me now?”
Reality - his new reality started to press in from the edges, demanding his attention. “I suppose I have to.”
Lucifer. Fallen. Lord of the Underworld, walking the earth.
Saving Chloe. Probably him too.
Devil and pudding thief.
Winding himself into their lives, never lying about who he was.
He didn’t mean to do it, not exactly. He slid his hands up to Lucifer’s face, who looked back, bitterly, “I guess you can’t deny my power anymore, then, can you?”
He missed the significance of the statement. “Your what?” Then it hit him. Everyone wanted to fuck him. His desire powers made people around him want to have sex with him. Therefore, Dan was just succumbing to his aura.
Just like everyone else.
“My powers of sexy persuasion.”
This was his world now. “I don’t think that’s it. I want to help.”
“That’s what they all want, isn’t it? To help? Well, take me to bed then.”
“What?” Now that Lucifer mentioned it, he could feel his power, cloying and sweet and promising things his eyes clearly didn’t actually want, not now. “Maybe...maybe later. When I think you can consent.”
“You’re saying no? I must be losing my touch. Admittedly, the bloody mess isn’t helping.”
“Lucifer. You’ve just had a lot of trauma. Maybe you need a blood transfusion, I don’t know.”
“I’ll recover. I’ve done this before. It didn’t help then either. I didn’t need help.”
There was a lie there, but Dan didn’t know if Lucifer was actually aware of it. He looked healthy enough, now either way. Dan dropped his hands. Words spoken aside, he had trouble keeping his eyes up, above the deceptively gentle curves of his collarbones, just begging to be - nope. “What can I do?”
“If you aren't going to make yourself useful, you can leave me alone.”
Dan leaned back, opening the space between them. “Fine.” If he doesn’t want help, or to acknowledge what he’d been doing so far, then he can deal with the rest of this by himself.
He swept up the knife on the floor, pausing by the dinner service and wondering about the story there. He hadn’t always been able to ask for help himself when he most needed it, and he was human. Lucifer’s lack of tact and adultness made a lot more sense now. “Can you at least promise me you won’t hurt yourself again?”
His lips thinned. “There’s a mate to that dagger, on the counter. Take it and I won’t be able to. Well, not unless the… never mind.”
Which wasn’t a promise at all and the half-finished sentence struck something in his brain he just couldn’t put his finger on, but it would have to do. Watching him, Dan went into the kitchen to grab it. He did, stacking it with the other one, then turned around and Lucifer was there. “JESUS CHRIST!”
“Must I repeat myself, especially to you? No, not Jesus. May I ask what you’re planning on doing?”
Dan commanded his heart to stop racing. At least he was upright again. “With what? Your knives? Clean them and put them in a drawer somewhere, probably.”
He nodded toward a wing on the floor. “With your… newfound faith.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet. I assume I’m not the only one who knows.”
Without giving anything away, he said, “that’s correct.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been through, but clearly, it’s a lot. You asked me to leave, so I’m leaving. Unless you want to talk?”
“Why aren’t you screaming in terror?”
Why aren’t I? “Because you’re the one in pain.”
“I told you, I’m fine, now. Right as rain. Healthy as a horse. Fit as a bloody fiddle."
“I’m not talking about physical pain, though I envy your recovery time.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You did this for a reason.”
“I could ask you the same - why are you here?”
“Honestly, I wanted to punch you in the face. I don’t, now. And I owe someone an apology, I think.”
“Well, now you know just how ineffective punching me would be.”
“Seriously, what prompted this?”
Lucifer’s face closed down. “I’m sure you’ll find out shortly. Dad has a strange sense of humor.”
It wasn’t until Dan stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind him that he realized what Lucifer meant by Dad.
“Fuck me.”
Dan took a long, hot as balls shower, then went to bed. Got up again. Went back to bed. Flicked helplessly through Instagram (found Lucifer’s too) and finally texted his daughter on a whim.
Dad: Hey, Trix. I know you should be sleeping, but I just wanted to be sappy and say I love you. I’m gonna pick up a huge chocolate cake for next time you’re here.
He went back to skimming aimlessly. Apparently, the Devil figured out filters on his phone. He had a ton of followers, many of who left a staggering number of inappropriate comments on the photos.
The first dozen were probably flattering. Even here, people threw themselves at him.
A few minutes later, the phone buzzed with a reply.
Trixie: Hi dad, can't sleep?
Dad: Nah, long night. You're in bed, right? Did I wake you up?
Trixie: Mom says I'm not supposed to be on the phone after bed, but it's you, so.
Dad: didnt think you'd be there, sorry to wake you up. There’s no emergency.
Trixie: Did you have a nightmare? I sometimes wake up from nightmares.
Dad: No, I jsut can’t sleep. Miss my kid. The place is kinda empty.
Trixie: dork
Dad: monkey butt
Trixie: everything cool?
He stared at his screen like it might tell him what to ask. He knew what he wanted to say, but it just seemed weird.
Dad: I need to ask, Lucifer's nice to you right? You said he's funny.
Trixie: He's a dork too.
Dad: Like me?
Trixie: Totally different dork. He used to come over more.
The totally-not-jealousy pang pulled his chest unexpectedly.
Dad: …. Like, a lot?
Trixie: (smiley face emoji) Not like that. Not like *Marcus*. But I wish it was Lucifer instead - he’s a lot funnier.
Dad: Oh.
Trixie: We used to do board games, monopoly and stuff.
Dad: Yeah?
Trixie: I have a secret. I like Lucifer a lot more than moms boyfriend.
Dad: ...yeah, me too.
Trixie: (Devil emoji) (Heart emoji)
Trixie: see you soon, right? Maybe we can do a board game night too.
Would asking his daughter if she wanted Lucifer there too sound weird? If she couldn’t have him there through her mom, would she be happy another way?
Apparently, he thought about it too long.
Trixie: you can invite Lucifer too if you want. You can be dorky together.
Hoping he’s not responding too quickly, he texted back.
Dad: If he’s free, sure.
Trixie: (more heart emojis)
What was he getting himself into?
One sleepless night later, Dan stared into the bottom of his empty coffee mug. Lucifer hadn’t turned up for work yet and last night had started to catch up to him. His shoulders felt itchy for no discernible reason, except maybe leftover sympathy for the Devil.
He scratched his neck since that looks far less weird than reaching over his shoulder in the middle of work.
Across the way, Chloe’s ring finger caught the light.
He suddenly had a better idea of why Lucifer went off the deep end. Dan knew Lucifer had a thing for her - it was obvious to everyone, including her, really. He didn’t think she knew the truth though, or she might flip out. Maybe Lucifer wasn’t actually her type.
Right. Tall, dark and handsome is everyone's type.
He was free to wonder now, at least, without feeling like he might be in the way. Even if it seemed way too soon.
Even if he privately just laid a bet against the marriage lasting. Just to himself really, it wasn’t his business - except that would make Pierce Trixie’s step-dad, and he really didn’t deserve her. Either of them, really. Dan put his pencil down before he broke it.
The occasional person stopped to congratulate her. She smiled, played with the ring, and bent back over her paperwork. She caught Dan looking, once. They stared at one another for a long second.
Dan waved weakly.
I hope she’s happy.
Chloe smiled and waved back.
Fuck it.
Dan texted Lucifer. Wanna get dinner later? I have to do a thing, but I could use some company. Drinks after?
Ella watched Lucifer come into her lab. “You okay, bud?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ella swept in for a hug instead of answering.
He sighed but accepted the hug. “Yes… well.”
She let go with a last squeeze. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“I generally dislike cats. They do brighten up the internet, however.”
“You’re fidgeting dude.”
“I do not fidget.”
“You really do. Spill.”
Lucifer peered out her lab windows in the general direction of the bullpen, but there were any number of people he could be looking for. “I’m at odds. Someone wants to spend time with me, and it’s not the detective. And I don’t know why.”
“Like a tribe night thing? You know I’d love to hang sometime if you want.”
“...Perhaps that’s it.”
“Maybe they have the hots for you. Do I know who it is?”
Lucifer scraped the bottom of his stolen pudding cup with his spoon and held it up as if inspecting the last tongueful of vanilla swirl sweetness. “You do know them, yes.”
“Then go do the thing and come back with some juicy gossip. You look like you need a distraction.”
A distraction. Yes, that's it.
The knock on the van door startled Dan. He opened the back door to find Lucifer, dressed probably extra-nicely, guessing by the way his hair looked recently touched up.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting this.”
Dan looked a hair pole-axed as he peered from the door of the undercover van. “Huh.” Lucifer's already attractive bearing had been groomed, his perfect five o'clock shadow had been shaved with a razor edge, making him look like something out of a movie. He must have been staring, but Lucifer didn’t seem to notice.
“I admit, when you asked me to meet you at the corner of these streets, I assumed you meant the upscale food truck - as unsanitary as it is - on the other side of the road.”
Dan loosed his grip on the door handle, wiping his hands down his best pair of jeans. “Get in the van, Lucifer. And it is kind of what I meant.”
His partner of the night looked around doubtfully but did as requested. "Hold up, are we on a job ?"
Dan held a pair of headphones and indicated the other chair. "Why else would I ask you out here?"
"I suppose the complete lack of ambiance should be a clue."
Did he look...disappointed? Surely not. Still, Dan had wanted to get him out here and now his subterfuge seemed shitty. It was a spur of the moment idea, invite Lucifer out to a location because he didn't think he'd bother to show up otherwise for work, not after last night anyway.
And maybe Dan could be a chickenshit who thought he might be turned down if he asked without a backup excuse of 'stakeout'.
Both things happened to be true.
Now, Dan had to figure out how to salvage the situation without looking like even more of an asshole. Which seemed unlikely.
Lucifer, as unobservant as he was, still didn't miss Dan's not exactly internal sigh. "I'm sorry if my mere presence is so disappointing."
"God, no, it's not that. I actually like working with you."
"Wrong deity, again. I somehow doubt it. I assume you want to drown me with questions?”
“I mean, yeah, I have questions, but that’s not why asked you out...here.”
“Aspirations of a food truck dinner notwithstanding, I did show up hungry. I can't help but feel like I'm being stood up."
He cleared his throat. "Ah. I could spring for dinner. The truck over there is actually pretty good."
He got a stink-eye in response. "Don't feel like you have to make me feel better. Clearly, it was just a ruse to get me out here since you have so little faith in me as a co-worker. "
Ah, shit. His stomach felt like lead. "It's not like that."
"What's it like then? Living up to your nickname?"
"Okay, I'm sorry! I didn't think-"
"Well, that much is obvious."
"That'd you say ‘yes’."
"To you?"
"To me, to a direct question." Fuck. This is not going well. "You're talented and charming and good-looking and I'm ...not." he dropped his gaze, unable to prevent the oncoming disaster but at least he didn't have to look at it for the next three seconds. “We have a case, too. I really can use your help if you can stay.”
"Daniel."
Unwillingly, he tilted his head back up, to meet a softer set of eyes than he expected.
"I did come out here. The surveillance truck is not my idea of a date location."
"Not exactly mine either, actually. After the penthouse, I wasn’t sure…”
Lucifer walked him back to the wall of the van, tilting his head almost dangerously, stalking him. “If all you want is a good shag…” Dan swallowed. “No…”
He drew back. “No? again?”
“I mean, I don’t think I’d - look, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, so if this isn’t something you want -”
“I’ve slept with hundreds, perhaps thousands of partners, what makes you think I don’t?”
His face was inches away, but he was as hard to read as ever when he had his guard up. “Your eyes. You might do it - me - but I don’t think you really want to. It’s not me you want.” Dan was guessing blindly, but it wasn’t a far assumption to make. He’d been in a similar situation with Charlotte, letting her in, but not for sex.
It wasn’t what he wanted. Dan wanted lazy mornings and warm embraces. He wanted a partner again. He wanted someone to smile at over dessert, share popcorn at the movies with.
And okay, maybe the literal Devil shouldn’t be anywhere on the list of potentials, but he felt so deeply. A giant dork, sure, but, he cares about people.
The Devil never lied about who he was.
The mask dropped like a crack in the sky. “You’re only half right. I do enjoy sex, you know.” Lucifer stood a few inches taller than him, looming. “If I said I wouldn’t let the sex affect our friendship, would you deny me a third time?”
Hnnngh. “Yeah.”
His eyes lit up - not the reaction Dan was expecting. His fingers gripped the back of Dan’s neck, thumb brushing his earlobe. His voice was low and soft, considering, “really?”
“Only if you want it. Me. I don’t want to just be another drive-by.” Dan looked back at him, searching for something, hoping to find it. His hands were on Lucifer’s hips, thumbs on his belt under the jacket. He didn’t remember doing that.
It was oddly scary if the alternative turned out to be true: if he didn’t actually want it. Him.
Cigarette smoke lingered on Lucifer’s breath. The heat between them was almost tangible.
Lucifer paused, centimeters away. “You want me though.”
Dan felt it this time, the power of the man, of the Devil. His bones shivered.
How do I know the Devil isn’t evil?
“Yeah. Yes. But not in a van. And not if you’re just doing your ‘sexy powers’ thing.”
“I have it on good authority that this police van is perfectly adequate for a romp. Plenty of space to be on my knees.”
The visual was extremely compelling. “Like you said, not ideal for a date though.”
Lucifer shifted, ducking his head and latching his lips to the bottom of Dan’s neck, at the collar, sucking the skin into purpling submission. It hit him like a live wire. Lucifer’s hot, cigarette breath floated along his skin under a muttered promise, “something to think about then,” he drew away with a secret smile all the same, quickly and innocently turning away to find the case file somewhere in the van. “So, what’s this crime we’re looking into?”
His ability to process anything failed for several eternities. “I.. ah. There’s a thing.”
Lucifer nodded seriously. “That tends to happen here.”
That’s how. He could have just taken me.
...I kind of wanted him to.
Dan commanded his dick to calm the fuck down. He touched his neck, feeling the leftover warmth and slightly damp hickey and relieved it was low enough to hide tomorrow if he wanted to. He toyed with the idea of not covering it, a sort of giddy, guilty thrill riding up his spine and pricking the back of his head.
There was no doubt Lucifer would be very very good in bed. Some part of Dan needed to know that Lucifer would back down, (mostly) respect his boundaries. Another part of Dan wanted to shove Lucifer up against the wall of the van and devour him, inch by inch. Tug out the black curls that lurked below the surface of all the hair product, tear the buttons of that shirt-
Lucifer Cheshire-cat-grinned at him.
What was-? Right. “There’s a guy who’s making a drop tonight. Drug deal. Nothing exciting, honestly, but we need to watch for him.”
“Well, I suppose we can’t have you all distracted, can we?”
He remembered to drop his hand. “I’ll get us some food if you keep watch.”
Lucifer’s stare very deliberately flicked downward to the front of Dan’s tight jeans. Dammit.
He took several long breaths. “I did promise you dinner.” He also said he showed up hungry. Did… angels and devils actually get hungry? Devils... Demons. He shook his head before he decided to ask questions he didn’t really want the answer to - yet.
He’s a strong guy himself, but the literal Devil could have anyone he wanted. Take anyone he wanted. Bury it with money under a rock if it was problematic. Go back to Hell or whatever it was going on for a few decades until the heat wore off the name.
He could have used force.
He didn’t.