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I don't just want your heart

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I don’t just want your heart


I don’t just want

Your heart

I want your flesh

your skin

and blood and bones,

your voice, your thoughts

your pulse

and most of all your




When Lucifer returned to hell, in an act of pure self-sacrifice to protect the people he loved, Chloe was left behind, wanting. Wanting her best friend, her partner, the man she loved, back in her life. In the beginning she worked tirelessly; interrogating the celestial and infernal creatures in her life, trying to devise some kind of plan to get him back. It took her almost two months to accept the harsh reality; Lucifer was gone by his own choice and she would probably never see him again. She couldn’t think in absolutes; she couldn’t utter the word never. It made her insides quake and tremble in a way that terrified her.


It’s been almost four months now. She investigates murders. She lives with Maze. She tries to be a good mother, a good friend. She tries not to let the Lucifer shaped hole in her life swallow her whole. She misses him like hell. Pun definitely intended.

She remembers the things he used to say about hell. Morsels of information thrown haphazardly into their conversations. One night she asks Maze what is the worst thing in Hell. For him. “There is no music in Hell,” she says simply. “And no Decker,” she amends quietly with a wink, throwing back both their shots.

She wants him out of that horrible place and back into her arms. An impossible desire.


“Do you think he will hear me? If I pray to him?” she asks Amenadiel hesitantly.

 “We can hear prayers if we are open to them.” A pregnant pause and a sad look. She knows what he thinks. That she ought to let go. “So yes Chloe, I am very confident that he will hear you.”

“But what if I make things worse? I mean, I am here and he is in that god-awful place and—“ , she struggles with words, because what can she say?

“I don’t think you will make things worse. The opposite, really. I think you will make it much more bearable.”

She thinks hard about what she could tell him. Lucifer was always so eloquent, so charming and effective with the words he used. She feels terribly ill-equipped. She knows it has been too long for him, far longer than she can possibly comprehend. What words could she possibly find to soothe him, to give him some small measure of pleasure in that dark, desolate place? She torments herself so much over this, that in the end she has no words of her own.

So, in the event that he can hear her, she decides to choose words beautiful that carry extra weight, that make music.

She reads him love poems.

Victorian, contemporary, romantic. Shakespeare and Yeats, Cummings and Neruda, Browning and Angelou and many more.

Some carry such pain in their chosen words that they resonate deeply with the ever-present ache behind her ribcage that so often cuts her breaths short. And some others are so wanton and desirous, that cause a different kind of ache to blossom between her thighs. What would he think if he could actually hear her? If he can actually hear her. His straight-laced Detective reciting poetry porn for him. She imagines his surprise and delight and a small smile pulls at her lips. It doesn’t matter though, for there is no answer to her prayers and every night she weeps silently into her pillow, guiltily sorting through all the what-ifs that could have been. And no matter how utterly unattainable he is, she is unable and unwilling to move on.

She wants. Oh, how she wants.

When Lucifer does return against all odds, it doesn’t take them long to fall into each other. And Chloe thinks that it’s over. This hopeless, unfathomable wanting. That she can climb out of this pit of unsatisfied, unmet, unfulfilled desires.

But she is not prepared for the beast that has grown under her skin. The one that feeds on her fear and desire. The one that laps up, that consumes greedily every kiss, every touch, every look they share. It feels like a black hole sucking away everything, leaving a void in their place; making it so that nothing is ever enough.


Chloe wants. And she wants and wants and wants.

Her desire is like a bottomless well, unknowably deep and without end. It’s not the first or the second or the third time they come together. In fact, she has lost count. And yes, she had been counting. Counting to see when this naked hunger would finally abate. But somewhere during their first weekend alone together she lost track of many things. She knew only Lucifer’s lips, hands, his skin and those delightfully adorable curls.

And her hunger remains incessant.

Lucifer pushes her against the step ladder, his lips soft on her neck as he pushes her hair aside. His hands are warm, so warm and heavy on her skin. They move slowly covering every inch of skin revealed as he pulls the satiny dress down her body, to pool at the feet. She pulls his face to her and kisses him all tongue and teeth and despair. He’s here now, but for how long? Her fear has been clawing at her heart every waking moment since his return; terrified, constantly terrified that he will be ripped from her side again. She wants so much and she doesn’t know how much time they have. He ends their kiss softly and pulls away to kiss the corners of her eyes, tasting salt, and smoothes his hands down her back soothingly.

“I am here darling, right here,” he whispers-his voice honey and bass and she wants it inside her-  his lips at the shell of her ear and she can feel the vibrations of his promise down to her very bones. She trembles with it.

“Lucifer,” she whispers brokenly, wanting, and stares into eyes that are darker and far more beautiful than the empty spaces of the universe his light has left untouched.

“Tell me,” his lips implore, leaving open mouthed kisses along her jaw while his hands tear away the last scraps of fabric from her skin.

“Will it ever stop?” she wonders aloud. This fear, this desperate craving, the insatiable hunger. She doesn’t speak of her vices aloud, but he knows.

His lips move lower, to her breasts, leaving wet kisses and licks all around the sensitive flesh, but never on her nipples. She groans and breathes shakily as they harden in desperate anticipation.

“It will my love,” he reassures her and kisses between her breasts and then nips playfully her left nipple. The noise that leaves her lips is a cross between a moan and a laugh and twin tears slip from her eyes in the dark, sparkling like two falling stars.

He grins unrepentant, and there’s such beauty to him that she can’t tear her eyes away. Still, she pulls his hair a little for good measure. He groans, lascivious grin still in place, and sucks slowly at her other nipple. Her fingers tighten in his hair and she feels his hands running up and down the length of her thighs, each time closer to her sex. It’s maddening. And not enough. She wants more.

He licks a long line from her collarbone to her ear.

“Tell me what you want, what you need,” he says, his voice pleading. The answer is easy. Not because of his mojo but because she wants him to know. He needs to know of her darkest desire.

“I want you. I want your lips, your hands, your voice, your cock,” she moans obscenely as his fingers part soft, wet lips.  His eyes are two black holes pulling her in. She would willingly lose herself in their unknown depths. His dexterous fingers fuck her slowly, sweetly while his thumb caresses her clit. It’s the sweetest kind of torture and she surrenders herself to him with no conscious thought. And he stares and stares and stares into her eyes like they are the only light in the sky. And she moans long and wantonly, burning under his heated gaze. But she’s not done yet.

“I want your flesh, your bones, your blood,” and it is hers isn’t it? “An- And all the divine baggage that comes along,” her words tremble like the rest of her body and he laughs, carefree and open and kisses her, his tongue dancing obscenely with hers. His hand that is supporting the small of her back, drops lower squeezing her ass and drawing her closer. She grips his upper arms harder, her fingers trying to find purchase on pristine fabric, trying to hold steady, anchoring herself to him.

His fingers twist and speed up and her moans grow longer and louder. She wants to tell him everything but all she can focus on is the pleasure that is reaching a crescendo inside her, spreading through her body in a brilliant, bright, blinding flash-being born again in his arms like one of the many stars he put in the sky. All she can do is pull him close by his hair and moan an approximation of his name in his ear. More, she wants to say, even if her pleasure is still going and he knows. He bites the spot where her shoulder meets her neck- it’s just shy of painful and it does wonders for her orgasm, her walls contracting relentlessly around his fingers, again and again.

Lucifer kisses the angry, red mark sweetly and pulls his fingers out slowly. She misses him instantly. He makes a show of licking his fingers clean and the look he gives her is fiery, yet tender, adoringly so, that it shatters her. It shatters her.

Nothing is ever enough,” she laments, caught somewhere between her post-orgasmic haze and her rapacious desire. Her heart still hungers. She presses her forehead to him, her hands cradling his jaw lovingly while his hands wrap around her waist like a steel vice.

“I want to breathe you in, man and spice, petrichor and sulfur, and keep you in my lungs forever. I want to burrow into your arms and seep into your skin, to be one with your flesh, always. I want to crawl into your heart and soothe every and all of your aches.”

He looks at her like he recognizes this feeling, this burning need. Maybe he does. She hopes he does.

And still she wants more.

“I want your feathers, your burns and your scabs, everything divine and infernal.”

“Chloe—“ Lucifer whispers and how can two syllables hold so much emotion, convey such a tangle of feelings? It speaks of pain, and a loneliness so profound she is not certain she can grasp-no matter how much she had missed him. It speaks of desire and a yearning so deep and wide that millions of stars could never dream to fill its void.

And still, they could never outshine him, and all this light that is barely contained under his skin.

“I want you Lucifer. The devil, the angel, the man. My best friend, my lover, my partner. I want you forever,” her voice trembles and her eyes water, because she knows she is asking for too much again. 

I am yours, Chloe. Yours, yours, yours. All that I am belongs to you,” his voice is shaky but he sounds so happy, as if his own desire has been met. They kiss, drawn to each other simultaneously and she pulls him impossibly closer, drawing all his hard lines into her softness. She makes a deeply satisfied sound. He pulls her back by her hair, meeting her eyes again.

“You are my North star. You have been my only guiding light in centuries of darkness. No one can tear me apart from you, not again.” He kisses her again and she can feel his might, a King’s might, his resolve and steely determination. “Chloe, the man I have become—“he swallows nervously and kisses her beauty mark. “I wouldn’t be who I am this moment if it hadn’t been for you. You live and breathe under the motley of this skin, for I carry you in my heart always.” It’s like any confession really, spoken softly, reverently with disarming honesty. It destroys her and makes her whole at the same time. She kisses him then, pouring all that she is, her very essence into the kiss, knowing that this time it will be enough. There will be no more goodbyes. He groans low in his throat, holding her perhaps too tightly in his arms. She welcomes it. She wants to get as close as possible, to be one with him again. She fumbles with his shirt buttons, managing to pry a few open while others she tears in her haste to get to closer to his skin. Lucifer tugs impatiently at his belt, tearing the button of the trousers as well and pulls them sharply down, relieved at having his erection free at last. And what a sight he makes. She pushes him against the stepladder, roughly switching places and leans down placing an open mouthed kiss at the glistening tip. He tastes of the stars, of love and desire. She licks and kisses while her fingers dig greedily in his ass. All he can do is stare, awestruck, desire evident in every line of his beautiful face and body. After a few moments, he pulls her sharply back, breathing heavily and lifts her up effortlessly, her back against his bookcase, his hands wrapping around her thighs. He slides his cock teasingly between her folds, bumping against her clit, their faces nose to nose, tasting each other’s breaths.

“Don’t be a tease,” she means to chastise, but it comes out breathless and wanting. Nonetheless, he obeys and pushes himself slowly inside her, savouring the sensation. They groan in unison, their noses bumping and Chloe licks and bites at his lips as he grinds against her, fucking her with long, slow thrusts. They stare at each other hotly and she can feel the air around her sizzling. And then Lucifer leans in closer, his lips by her ear and starts whispering brokenly, in time with his thrusts, his voice and his words pulling at the very core of her being.

“I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart,” a sweet kiss below her ear.

“I am never without it-anywhere I go you go, my dear;” a deep, stuttering breath. “And whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling.” He pulls back to look at her, his hips never ceasing, and he is so open, so vulnerable-

“I love you,” she whispers, recognizing the words, remembering her tears. “I love you.”

“I fear no fate, for you are my fate my sweet,” he whispers against her lips before he kisses her. “I want no world, for beautiful you are my world, my true.”

She moans steadily now as he hits her g-spot, her nails surely leaving marks on his skin.

“And it’s you-ooh fuck” she is so close, she knows he can feel it,”- you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing… is you.” His words are like sapphires and rubies that she wishes to hoard away like a greedy dragon.

Hers. Only hers.

His voice, these words, his cock-she feels like she is coming apart at the seams; and all at once white-hot pleasure floods her body, leaving her tingling and shaking, unable to do anything but whisper his name against his lips. He kisses her, his lips demanding and passionate. And she feels like her soul, that tiny part of divinity in her mortal shell, is climbing up her throat, past her lips to slip into his body and burrow there for the rest of eternity.

“Here is the deepest secret nobody knows.”

He is close too. She can feel it in the coil of his muscles, in the slightly disjointed rhythm of his hips and the slightest catch in his velvety voice. She kisses along his jaw and sucks that small patch of skin where his jaw meets his neck, just under his ear, and pushes a little her heels into his ass—

“Here is the roo—“ his moan is long and almost pained against her cheek and her entire body vibrates with it; his hips are still moving, drawing out his orgasm and she kisses every part of him that she can reach. He pulls back and looks at her, eyes dancing with mirth.

“My, my detective! Aren’t you a naughty little minx!” Chloe shrugs unapologetic and he laughs and kisses her eyes, her cheeks, her nose.

They take care of each other with soft, tender touches and equally soft smiles. They end up in his bed, limbs tangled and eyes locked. She looks at him and waits. For she knows he is not done yet.

“Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of a sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.” He brushes his fingers along her cheekbone and stares, and stares.

“And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart-I carry it in my heart.” She closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his. “I love you Chloe Jane Decker.” He brushes away her tears. “I love you too Lucifer. All of you.”

And at last, she feels sated, replete in a way she has never truly experienced. She doesn’t know what the future holds for them, but she knows they will face it together. And she will fight for him. Whatever it takes.

He kisses her again and again and whispers against her ribs, “Ready for round two?”

And she is. She is.