Chloe Decker is lonely.
She’s also sad and miserable, sexually frustrated, and a bunch of other lovely things that would make a sane person reconsider getting out of bed in the morning. On normal days – when work is pressing and there’s no time to think – she can usually fake it ‘till she makes it, but on her quiet days, when Trixie’s with Dan, and the only company she keeps is a box of cheap red wine, Chloe feels like she’s falling apart.
She’s coming undone, tearing at the seams, barely holding it together. Her boat is sinking, there’s a giant iceberg on the horizon, and the water is cold. Nothing to do but get drunk and go down with the sodding ship.
Chloe sends a few naughty, drunken texts to Lucifer’s dead phone and sighs, plopping her feet on the coffee table.
It’s been three months, two weeks, four days and seven hours since his ill-timed return to Hell.
Not that she’s counting.
“Life sucks,” she confesses to Maze one night in a drunken haze, as the demon chugs down her fifth beer as if it were water. “Couldn’t he – c-couldn’t… he; I said, couldn’t he at –at –at least eat me out on top of his p-p-piano before he left me for Hell ?”
Maze snorts into her bottle and glances at her with ill-contained amusement.
“You said it, Decker,” she drawls and gives her the once over. “I could lend a hand, if you’re feeling it; or a mouth.”
Chloe’s eyes cloud over with emotion and she pats Maze’s hand drunkenly, finally feeling skin under her palm on her third try.
“That’s ssssso k-kind of you to – to offer, Maze,” she sighs and nods, sucking on her lips, “but it’s not the same. “
“No, I suppose not,” Maze concedes and downs the rest of her bottle, “Lucifer does give the best head; they don’t call him Master of Tongues for nothing.”
Chloe drops her head on her folded arms and cries.
Chloe Decker is lonely.
She’s also unhappy and horny and spends her nights with her fingers down her underwear moaning the Devil’s name and chanting hymns to his talented hands in her feverish mind. She hopes the bastard can hear her; why should she be the only one to suffer?
But above all else, aside from the loneliness and the frustration and the ache , Chloe Decker is mostly insane.
Otherwise, there’s no explaining her recent behaviour.
Her latest bout of madness is looking up at her from its fluffy seat of power on the floor, its yellow eyes blinking leisurely. Chloe shuts hers tightly and counts slowly to ten, trying to get a grip.
Lucifer , she prays desperately, Lucifer, damn you, look what you made me do!
(“Can we keep him, mommy?” Trixie begs, her arms full of a cardboard box filled with newspapers, the words 'kittens up for adoption’ written sloppily on it in permanent red marker. Inside the box, a little fluffy beast, black as the night, mewls pathetically and tries to scratch at the cardboard walls, no doubt trying to break free. “Please, mommy! Nobody else would take him because he’s black. I promise I will clean his litter box, if you let me keep him!”)
Chloe is lonely and sad, and – apparently – weak-willed; the Decker women now have a man in the house.
Even if he is full of fur.
“Oh my God!” Ella squeals and rubs the proffered pink belly, “He’s adorable ! What’s his name?”
Chloe mumbles something under her breath and Maze chokes on her wine, cackling madly and spitting spirits all over the carpet.
“What was that?” Linda asks, rocking Charlie’s stroller with her foot, her hand clutching her tepid coffee as if it were a lifeline.
It probably is.
Chloe coughs and looks at the floor.
“I said, ‘his name is Lucifur Morningclaw’; Luci for short,“ and then, before anyone can get the wrong impression, she hastily adds, “the name was Trixie’s idea.”
Maze howls, wine sloshing all over the place, and Ella bites her inner cheek in a valiant attempt to stop herself from laughing. Linda, bless her heart, just smiles serenely and nods.
“Cute name,” she says gently. “Trixie is very witty.”
Chloe offers her a weak, watery smile of her own, and bends down to scratch the little hellion behind its ears. Lucifur purrs loudly and submits to his mistress’s touch.
Maze continues to cackle madly for eight and a half minutes.
A month later, Lucifer returns.
It happens on one of her late nights at the precinct; Trixie is with Dan, the house is empty save for Lucifur - who spends most of his days sleeping lazily, his little pink belly heaving with the strenuous effort of lethargic rest - and a half-empty box of cheap red wine. Chloe looks at the clock at the bottom right corner of her computer screen; 21:47 – she should probably head home.
The parking lot is dark, some of its lights flickering indecisively, when Chloe makes her weary way to her car. She thinks of her dinner – frozen, packed; who even has the energy to cook after a long day?
Something moves in the shadows to her left.
Chloe jumps and drops her bag, her right hand moving to her holster. Lucifer steps out of the shadows and into the flickering light above.
He looks good. He looks good . Armani clad and polished, not a single hair out of place, his immaculate four-o’clock stubble sharp as his cheekbones. He’s perfect in every sense of the word; untouchable, almost – his ‘Devil may care’ attitude as textbook as his looks. Except, he isn’t perfect; not emotionally. She can see how torn he is when he looks at her with undying longing in his ancient eyes.
She throws herself at him, colliding with his chest with such force that he stumbles back into her car, as she flings her arms around his neck.
“You’re back,” she cries into his skin, the scent of his cologne assuaging her frayed nerves, “you’re back ; you’re here!”
His hands come up to grip her waist tightly, his nose brushing the underline of her jaw.
“I am,” he mutters, and he pulls her into him, holding her firmly against his torso. “Yes; Chloe…”
She pushes herself away from him, her eyes searching his face for clues.
Lucifer frowns and looks away.
“Sort of,” he replies and shrugs halfheartedly. “I will need to return for a day or two every couple of weeks, just to keep order below. I – I put the fear of the Devil in the little buggers; hopefully, it’ll be enough.”
His hands on her waist are warm; Chloe can feel the heat of his body through their clothes.
“Did you take a shower before coming here to stalk me?” she asks, trying to break the ice. Lucifer bristles and pulls a face.
“Naturally,” he says, sniffling. “I wouldn’t come to see you after nearly five months, reeking of brimstone and covered in ash, now, would I?”
Chloe laughs, and tears spill from her eyes and glide down the slopes of her flushed cheeks; Lucifer frowns and tilts his head inquisitively.
“Detective…?” he asks, clearly baffled by her reactions.
She pulls him down to her level and sighs, “Shut up,” against his gaping mouth.
For once, Lucifer does as he’s told.
She takes him home, once they manage to break apart for breath and driving. The ride back to her place is full of tension and barely restrained desire. Chloe feels like a bomb, about to go off at any little jostle. When they finally park and exit the car, she finds herself pressed between the Devil and the vehicle.
“I heard everything, Detective; every little dirty prayer,” Lucifer mutters into her neck, his thumbs hooking in the waistband of her jeans; he tugs her towards him, and she gasps, reaching for his suit jacket with trembling fingers. “Your naughty texts were the first thing to greet me when I reached topside,” he moans against her parted lips as they stumble through the front door, all hands and teeth and open mouths. “Chloe, I’m going to – What in Dad’s name is this thing?”
No doubt roused by the sound of the door banging open, the little black kitty comes trotting out of Trixie’s room and stretches, purring to the high heavens. Chloe pulls away from the horrified Devil and stoops down to pick the little locomotive engine up.
“This thing is a cat , Lucifer,” Chloe replies, smiling fondly at the creature and scratching it behind the ears. “You do know what a cat is, don’t you?”
Lucifer mutters something along the lines of, “Vile, nasty creatures,” and shudders.
Chloe squishes her nose against the furry face and coos, “Did you miss me, baby? Did you have a nice day?”
The kitty purrs even louder and flattens a little pink paw against her chin, making her giggle. Lucifer looks on with wide eyes and mutters, “ Baby ?” in disgruntled dismay, as Chloe deposits the furry beast on the sofa.
“I was lonely,” she explains, not taking her eyes off the kitten, “and Trixie saved him. Nobody wanted him because of his colour. Prejudice, you see. So now, Luci has a home with us.”
“Mhhm,” Chloe nods and turns to Lucifer, smiling impishly, “short for ‘Lucifur Morningclaw’; Trixie’s idea.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She laughs at his cry of indignation and takes a step forward in his direction, but he moves a few steps backwards and raises his hands as a buffer.
“Not until you wash your hands off of this foul beast, young lady!”
Chloe rolls her eyes and pulls Lucifer to her by hooking her fingers in his belt loops, much like he did with her but a few minutes ago.
“Don’t be such a baby”, she croons and kisses his neck. Hmmm, but he really does smell amazing. “Cats are clean animals.”
He grumbles for a bit, but eventually, his arms come to encircle her waist.
“I save the world at a great personal cost, and you replace me with a cat ,” he grouses grumpily, but his voice is a little breathy around the edges; Chloe licks a line under his ear.
She giggles and pulls back a little to look at his unhappy face.
“Are you jealous?”
Lucifer scoffs and turns his head from her, but there’s a certain glimmer in his eyes that makes Chloe feel a little too elated. He is - of course he is; the King of Hell is jealous of a little black cat.
She bites her lower lip, mostly to stop herself from scaring him off with the big words so soon after his return. Lucifer is not unlike his namesake, skittish and easily frightened; poised to run at the first sign of complexity. She smiles a little at the comparison and pulls his face to hers, her fingers catching on his stubble.
“You silly man,” she says softly and kisses him.
And like a large cat, Lucifer leans into the kiss with a purr of his own.
It’s happening. It’s finally happening.
She heaves and she pants and clutches at her pillow with so much force, she fears she may tear it; her eyes are stuck to the ceiling and the room is swimming around her with such intensity, it’s possible she’s close to fainting. And then – oh, then – everything explodes and she’s coming and crying with the force of it all, gasping and squeaking, probably sounding a little like a mouse, and Lucifer crawls up her body smiling like the smug, feline bastard that he is.
“Liked that, did you?” he asks, smiling wickedly. Chloe rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
“You know I did.”
He drops his head to nuzzle at her neck and she sighs and digs her fingers into his coiffed hair.
“I kind of want to hear you say it, though,” he confesses and laughs, “you know, for the ‘I told you so’s.”
Chloe snorts a little and grabs his face.
“Oh, Lucifer,” she moans and notes in satisfaction how his eyes light up with mischief, “you are the best I’ve ever had! Your tongue is so talented and long, your fingers are so nimble; you’re so big-!”
He digs said fingers into her side, tickling her mercilessly, making her howl and squirm.
“I’ll show you ‘big’,” he mutters and hoists her thigh over his hip, sliding in with little ceremony; Chloe gasps and clutches at his arms.
“ Oh my G- “
“Don’t say it!” he huffs, laughing shortly. “Let’s not ruin the mood, darling.”
She nods fervently and kisses him, her teeth bruising his lower lip. His surprised, stimulated hiss delights her; the flexing muscles beneath her fingers tremble briefly.
“So long,” she pants into his mouth, her thigh pressed tightly to his hip. “It took us so long – “
“I know,” he nods, cutting her off; his fingers glide down her body and anchor at her midriff, “so much time wasted.”
Chloe shakes her head and pushes at him; he lets her flip them over.
“Don’t say that,” she sighs, her breath stuttering, her hips rising and catching and trembling above him. “Don’t – you’re here now… with me; we’re – “
Their sighs and cries and heartfelt words are interrupted by a little clicking sound followed by a dip in the mattress and loud purring. Chloe turns her head awkwardly to look for the disruption. Lucifer raises his head and curses.
“Bloody hell, what’s it doing here?”
Lucifur tilts his fury head to the side and starts licking his paw. Chloe turns around as far as she can in her position and pokes at the little beast.
“Shoo, baby,” she coos, trying to balance herself on Lucifer’s thighs, “go away, mommy’s busy.”
“That’s right, foul fiend,“ Lucifer supplies unhelpfully from underneath her, “your ‘mommy’ is preoccupied. So off you pop!”
But the cat chooses that exact moment to perceive the finger poking at him as its mortal enemy and decides to swat at it with its sharp claws.
“Ow!” Chloe cries and jumps a little, causing Lucifer to groan in stifled pain and sit up. “Luci, you little asshole!”
Blood gathers at the little, but rather deep, cut, and Chloe hisses at the stinging, pulsating ache under her parted skin.
“Does it hurt?” Lucifer asks, the offending animal forgotten, as he brings her hand to his face for a thorough inspection.
“It burns a bit,” she confesses, wincing as one tiny drop of blood falls from the cut and onto his thigh, “but I’ve had worse.”
The Devil looks at the little sanguine drop on his naked skin with sudden fascination; then, slowly and deliberately, his half-lidded eyes map her body in sharp intensity, climbing all the way up north in avid hunger.
“I bet you have,” he mutters huskily and brings her hurt finger to his lips, catching the gathering droplets of crimson liquid with his tongue, and sucking it gently into his mouth.
Chloe shudders, her breath catching in her throat; heat blossoms in her womb, spreading like roots through her pelvis. She feels him inside her, stirring with renewed vigour and vim, ready to forget the little furry interruption at their heels.
She gasps, her eyes and mouth open, as sin incarnate licks at her finger at the same manner that he licked at her clit, his own vision clouded with desire and the ever-burning fires of Hell.
“Oh, fuck ,” she chokes, and pushes at his shoulder, and her finger slips out of his wet, hot mouth; he is smiling like a cad - like the wicked man that he is – and she’s coming hard and fast, suffocating on her moans and swallowing her cries.
“Yes, darling,” he breathes, his fingers tight on her thighs, his own movements abrupt and not at all elegant; not at all sophisticated as she’d imagined they would be. It’s raw and it’s fast and his own eyes are suddenly shut tight, but – oh – she understands; when he reaches the edge, and he spills himself into her vacant womb, and he bites at his lips like he’s ready to bleed – then, oh then, he’s the most beautiful of all the angels of Heaven.
And at the edge of the bed, pressed against the shin of the King of Hell, a little black cat lies curled up in oblivious sleep.
She spends the nights of Lucifer’s Hellish business trips curled up on her sofa with the little black kitty asleep in her lap. The loud purrs and the soft little nose anchor her to the present, driving her further away from the frenzied worry that eats at her guts at the mere thought of the Devil in Hell.
And it’s not that she doesn’t trust him to make good on his promise and return to her – she does; it’s just that she’s worried, really worried, that she let her partner walk into hostile territory without her at his back.
“I know it’s foolish,” she whispers into one pointy black ear, and presses the warm body further against her stomach, “I mean, he’s the Devil , he can take care of himself, but…. I know he’s all alone down there, you understand?”
Lucifur shakes his little head, no doubt roused from sleep by the gust of susurration in his ear and mewls in drowsy puzzlement.
“No,” Chloe sighs and rests her head on the back of her sofa, “I don’t suppose you do, seeing as you’re only a cat and all.”
The cat mewls again, more decisively this time - it’s been rudely awakened from the best nap of his short life and has spotted an opportunity to be fed again – but Chloe’s already falling asleep. Her dear friend, Cheap Box of Red Wine, is ready to send her off on a nice, brief vacation to Bedfordshire. She yawns loudly and settles further into the plush sofa, taking the feebly protesting kitten with her.
They fall asleep to the sounds of a few boisterous crickets.
“Well, foul fiend, if you are to stay, at least earn your keep and learn to defend your mistress.”
“It’s a cat, Lucifer,” she mutters, drinking her coffee with her feet deposited in the Devil’s lap and smiling at the faces he pulls at her lazily lounging cat, “not a guard dog. Besides, I have a gun, you know.”
Lucifer sighs exasperatedly and shakes his head in disappointment.
“Useless beast,” he mutters and sighs again for good measure, as if the burden of not being understood weighs heavily on his sturdy shoulders. The kitty rises from its seat of leisure, arches its back and stretches, turning its tail in Lucifer’s direction.
He scoffs and turns to look at Chloe, eyes wide and unbelieving. “See? My point exactly!”
She bites her lower lip and hides her face in her mug, only twitching slightly with ill repressed chortles.
“Oh well, how nice,” Lucifer bristles, clearly affronted. “What’s so funny, Detective?”
“Nothing,” she smiles, calming down; her chest is light and bubbly and her stomach churns, but in a pleasant sort of way, with the butterfly variety. “You’re adorable.”
Lucifer fixes her with a blank look and sighs for the third time, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I rule Hell , you know,” he intones, his fingers coming up to drum up a rhythm on her naked ankle, “ ’ adorable’ is not one of my attributes.”
Lucifur chooses this exact moment to hop on the sofa and claws his way onto the Devil’s lap, pushing Chloe’s feet off in the process. Satan sighs for the fourth time in ten minutes and looks down at the furry beast.
“Mocked and disparaged wherever I go,“ he laments and drops his hand to scratch idly at a little fluffy ear. “No respect for the Dark Lord. What is the world coming to?”
Chloe doesn’t laugh. Her chest is too tight.
She lowers her mug on the coffee table and scoots closer to him, rising to her folded knees.
“I love you,” she says suddenly, quite unable to contain herself; the words rising a little unbidden in her constricted throat. “I really do.”
Lucifer looks at her in surprise, his eyes wide and shining, his hand spasming in cat fur.
“Why?” he asks, his voice raspy and raw and full of ill-disguised emotion. “Because I let this beast sit in my Armani clad lap?”
And she’s shaking her head and leaning into him, like he’s her anchor in a storm, or something else just as poetic as that.
“No,” she wobbles, her smile watery and sincere and full of promises, “because you’re you.”
He looks at her, lost for words and a little out of his depth.
“Oh,” he says, and scratches a second furry ear.
Lucifur purrs happily and flexes his pink paws.
And one night, after a long, indulgent shower, she comes down the stairs to find both Lucis asleep on her sofa, curled up in each other and snoring softly.
She covers both with her fluffy duvet and kisses each black head with deep affection and soft amusement, wishing both a good night.
And if both purr in response and curl even deeper into the sofa, well, that’s quite alright.
Chloe Decker is happy enough.