Chapter Text
Lucifer Morningstar is not an optimist.
This particular flaw in his character was developed over aeons of daddy issues the size of Utah, ages of listening to the symphonies of anguished screams, and millennia of tanning by the blaze of the roaring fires of perdition. So, it is no small wonder that, after his imminent return to his thrice-damned kingdom, when Chloe Decker ends up on his Hellish doorstep, he doesn’t burst into song and dance.
Instead, he opts to brood.
The first thing he does, as Chloe attempts to strip him of his jacket, is cultivate his paranoia to the size of a yielding crop of corn. Then, as Chloe tries to tear his shirt off without damaging the expensive buttons, he succeeds in twisting his guts into a slush of morose foreboding. And lastly, as an undeterred Chloe attempts to open his belt buckle with her teeth, he manages to do the thing he does best and makes this whole situation about himself.
“This is all my fault,” he moans forlornly, rubbing his hand over his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Chloe asks, already in the process of shoving his trousers down his legs.
Lucifer is so caught up in his dramatic, guilt-ridden moping that he doesn’t even notice that the woman of his waking dreams is currently kneeling at his feet.
“This!” he exclaims, throwing his hands and gesturing wildly around his quarters as if to include the wretched rooms in his mess. “You, here! I can’t believe I’ve dragged you into Hell! The one place you were never meant to see! I really am poison; everything I touch, I ruin, and –“
“Lucifer,” Chloe interrupts him, her fingers squeezing his naked thighs.
He looks down at her and gulps. Something very primal at the back of his sulking mind screams some very sophisticated profanities at him as he realises what’s been going around him the whole time he was busy moping.
“Yes?” he chokes, blinking stupidly.
“Shut up.”
She’s smiling, and she’s willing, and not even Hell can diminish her radiance – but above all else, she’s come all this way and stayed for him . Lucifer swallows and does as he’s told.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he mutters and stands to attention.
“And this, here, is the Tyrant Wing; over there is Hitler’s cell, and Stalin’s is right next to his – yes, we do like a good joke around here.”
After a good, long shag (followed by a very short and dirty one), Lucifer begins to see things differently. One may go as far as to say that the Prince of Darkness has Seen the Light. The cockiness, the self-assurance, the suave attitude, are all back with a vengeance, about to wage a holy war upon guilt and melancholy.
He escorts Chloe on an extensive tour around his kingdom, taking short to medium stops along the way for snogs and cuddles. So far, they’ve made a couple of demons gag beside the Lake of Tormented Souls, and traumatised Paimon to the point of no return back in the kitchens.
Who would have thought that eternity in Hell could have its benefits?
Lucifer looks Heavenwards, smirking smugly, and flips his Father the bird.
“How’s he being tortured?” Chloe asks, bringing him back to the here-and-now, “I mean, the possibilities must be vast .”
He looks down at her fondly and smiles. He admires her resilience, ecstatic at her easy acceptance. His Detective is one tough cookie, not even slightly repulsed by Hell and its many ‘charms’.
“Yes, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?” he agrees, musing, “I mean, it could be anything, really – murdering millions, losing the Battle of Stalingrad – but, funnily enough, his Hell loop is mostly him being rejected by his art teacher, over and over again.” After a thought, he adds, “Well, we do combine some nice classics like fingernail pulling and a few rounds on the rack, of course – “
“Of course,” Chloe agrees, her lips twitching.
“But other than that – it’s just him being a massive failure, really.”
Chloe leans into him, her hands snaking around his midriff and squeezing tightly. He gasps playfully and bends down for a kiss, but just before their lips meet, she pulls away with a naughty grin.
Tease , he thinks fondly and groans theatrically in protest. Chloe shoves him jokingly and rolls her eyes, then turns from him and takes a step towards the door on the right. Rusty chains shake and rattle, knocking against the iron door. The faint wheeze and whine of somebody playing ‘ Kalinka’ rather horribly on the accordion can be heard through the barrier. The chains sway and shake in time with the grating sound of folklore.
“And what about him?” she asks, jutting her chin out in the direction of the door. “What’s his loop like?”
Lucifer smiles brilliantly at her undivided interest, basking in her complete acceptance of him and his role, and ducks his head to hide his admiration. Best not to let the entire underworld see how utterly smitten he is. With a small shake of his head, he takes a step forward and places his hand on the small of her back. Chloe looks up at the touch, her eyes shining brightly.
“Well, darling,” he says, and pulls her to him, stirring them both towards the wing’s exit, “do you perhaps remember that famous caricature showing Stalin dressed in a wedding gown, marrying Hitler? Well …”
They spend their days snogging and shagging all over the place like a couple of hormone-ridden youths at a rock concert, pawing at each other’s clothes and stroking random body parts. It comes to the point that Lucifer starts to seriously contemplate the wisdom of going to the trouble of even putting on his trousers in the morning at all?.
Sex with the Detective ends up being so much more than he imagined it to be – it’s high and it’s wild and it’s sweet and it’s raw – and Lucifer thinks, in utter blasphemy and delighted heresy, that he may have finally found religion.
Their torrid relationship progresses so very nicely; they are so utterly in love, the differences that were such an obstacle on Earth, completely void in the gloomy landscape of eternal damnation. He’s sometimes crispy and she’s somewhat saintly, but they make it work. Everything is finally good. All is as it should be, at bloody last.
So, naturally, that’s when things start to go tremendously bad.
It happens one morning when the amorous pair is busy sucking face on the wooden throne in the Great Hall. Chloe is rooted in Lucifer’s lap, her fingers buried in his hair, pulling at the silken strands like an enthusiastic coachman trying to stir a disobedient horse in the right direction. The Devil groans happily at the slightly painful tugs and licks his way down her neck.
They’re so engrossed in each other, so utterly oblivious to their surroundings, that they don’t realise that they have company until said company stands before them, coughing and hacking purposely to get their attention.
Without parting his lips from Chloe’s skin, Lucifer opens one eye to a narrow slit and peers irritably at the interrupting nuisance, ready to give the offending party a good smiting.
In the middle of the Great Hall, fueled by righteous indignation, stands Dromos, a look of stern disapproval on his face.
“Sire,” he begins admonishingly, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, “This must stop.”
Lucifer finally detaches his lips from Chloe’s neck and arches a disinterested brow in the demon’s direction.
“What must?” he drawls and leans back against the throne. In his lap, Chloe rearranges her blouse frantically and tries to fix her hair.
“This…. depravity , Sire,” Dromos sniffs, gesturing in their direction with one of his hands. “I raised you better than that, young man.”
Lucifer gaps at the demon in astonishment. Chloe snorts in amusement and attempts to cover it with a faltering cough.
“You didn’t raise me!” the Devil cries in bewildered outrage, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.
Dromos gasps and looks at him with wide, hurt eyes.
“Oh, haven’t I? Hark at him!” he cries and looks away, his lips tight. “Who tried to console you when you were moping? Cooked you some nourishing soup? Made sure you always had your jumper on in that drafty, cold place you call a throne? Ha? You wound me, Sire – truly.”
Chloe bites her lips and turns her head, hiding her face in Lucifer’s neck as she shakes quietly with barely contained laughter. Lucifer sighs.
“What’s this about , Dromos?” he asks, suddenly tired. He wonders briefly if he can tempt Chloe to follow him into the bedroom for a short…nap. He pokes her waist gently and she jumps in his lap, still smiling at the demon’s petulant fit.
Pleased that his plea is finally being acknowledged, Dromos pulls himself to his full height, his chest puffing out with righteous intent.
“Well then, Sire,” he insists stubbornly, crossing his arms again and squaring his shoulders, getting ready for a strenuous argument, “If you are indeed serious about this young lady, I shall have to insist on separate rooms during her stay. You cannot possibly share her bed without at least offering her father some livestock first,” he explains, shrugging. “That’s just not how it’s done.”
Lucifer and Chloe stare at the demon in horrified fascination, mouths gaping and eyes wide. Evil Incarnate recovers first, spluttering and unbelieving.
“But,” he begins, fishing for any kind of appropriate comeback, “Her father’s in the Silver City!”
Chloe frowns at him, throwing her hands in frustration at the stupid retort, and Lucifer shrugs helplessly and cringes.
Dromos is not impressed.
“Offer it to her mother, then,” he replies, sniffing in virtuous indignation. “We are all about equality here.”
Chloe snorts in disbelief and arches her eyebrows.
“Now, listen here, Dromos –” Lucifer begins, gearing up for a verbal battle, but he’s quickly interrupted by his demon’s raised hand and cutting voice.
“No, no, Sire,” he reprimands, shaking his head in disapproval, “that’s quite out of the question. Now, I’ll go and prepare a room for Detective Decker, shall I?”
With that he skulks down the hallway, towards the private wing, leaving the pair to blink and stare into space. After a few moments of utter silence, Chloe coughs.
“What the hell just happened?” she mutters, her eyes blank and unfocused.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Lucifer answers, his gaze as vacant and fuzzy as hers.
But this is Hell, after all.
Yes, Lucifer thinks miserably , this must be torture.
So much for the nap.
At first, they try to resist the horrific celibacy forced upon them by sneaking around the ever-vigilant Dromos, Protector of Chastity and Virtue, but after a few times that they find the demon lurking under Lucifer’s bed or waiting behind the door with a stern look of disapproval on his face, they stop trying to rebel and accept the situation with heavy hearts and even heavier loins.
“But I was made to rebel, Detective!” Lucifer whines one night, as they sit on a nice picnic blanket by the Lake of Fire, under the ever-watchful eye of their infernal chaperone, “it’s my jam!”
“Well, so are loopholes, right?” she retorts, looking at him in frustration and pent up sexual tension in her pleading eyes, “so think of something. Fast !”
It takes him a few days, but he comes up with a plan.
After Lucifer makes sure that Dromos is down for the night, courtesy of one cup of spiked wine, he sneaks out of his chambers and climbs into Chloe’s room through the open window, causing her to have a mild heart attack and a case of the hiccups.
“Don’t freak out,” he whispers, holding his hand over her mouth, pressing a finger to his own lips.
Chloe pushes him off of her, causing him to land inelegantly on her bed.
“It’s a little too late for that!” she hisses harshly and presses a hand above her rapidly beating heart. “What the hell, Lucifer?”
“I’m sorry, darling,” he smiles sheepishly, already crawling towards her, his hand on her knees, pushing them apart, “but I have a cunning plan!”
“How cunning?” she asks, pouting, as he slides between her parted thighs, his hands settling on her waist and pulling her close.
“Very,” he breathes softly, his grin wicked and wide against her mouth. “I’m going to crown you Queen of Hell.”
His tongue on her lower lip short-circuits her brain for a few seconds, and she moans into his kiss, pulling him closer and on-top of her, as she falls back against her pillows. They kiss frantically for a few seconds before sense finally comes a-knocking and Chloe pushes at Lucifer’s chest.
“Wait, what?” she mutters, staring at him with wide eyes. “Isn’t that like – I don’t know – marriage ?!”
Lucifer thinks on that for a few minutes and shrugs indifferently.
“Sure, why not?” he leers and dives back in for a kiss or ten.
But Chloe is having none of that. She pushes at his shoulders again, this time more insistently. Lucifer sighs and sits up, looking disgruntled.
“Are you serious?” she asks, joining him, trying to read his eyes in the darkness. “This scheme is quite…rash.. if the only outcome is us sleeping together without Dromos pressuring you to offer some goats and chickens to my city-born mother.”
Lucifer sighs, suddenly uncharacteristically serious, and reaches for one of her hands.
“Chloe,” he whispers, and his voice is mellow, like sweet wine or amber mead, gentle and soothing and lilting. She closes her eyes. “This – surely you know – “ he falters, and his breath catches. And she smiles into the deep blackness around her, “what I feel, for you – you must – “
She takes pity on him and reaches out until her fumbling fingers find his stubbled jaw.
“Alright,” she breathes, and feels him smile under her skin, “let’s get royally hitched.”
Of course, that’s when the real troubles begin.
They’re stumbling into his chambers – their chambers – after the coronation ceremony, tearing the ceremonial clothes off each other’s frames, breathless and moaning and wild .
“ Fuck ,” Chloe stutters into Lucifer’s mouth as they fall on the bed, limbs entwined, bodies grinding. “Fuck, that was hot; you were hot.”
He laughs against her lips and slides into her, groaning at her heat and slickness and the sounds she makes in the back of her throat.
When she reaches for her hair, Lucifer catches her wrist and pins it above her head.
“No, love,” he croons, pushing into her with fervent intent, “leave the crown on. My Queen .”
The circlet is iron-cast - as it is with most things Hellish - with jagged spikes sprouting upwards from its base. It’s a grotesque thing, resembling his own more elaborate design, but on her it looks almost heavenly. It shines against the golden strands of her wavy hair, now splayed across his pillow like threads of gold, alleviating the gloomy darkness of their wretched kingdom.
She keens and whimpers at his tenacity, her thighs splayed wide apart to receive him wantonly, her back arching into him with every deep movement he makes within the sanctuary of her body. She’s grace and sin combined, his salvation and demise rolled up in one, and he gladly falls and rises from her body like the fallen angel that he is.
They lie entangled, naked above the covers, close to completion, ready to crash and fall apart, when, suddenly, the door bangs open and Crucio, dragging a large iron rack behind him, barges in unannounced. Chloe squeaks in mortification and hides her face in Lucifer’s chest.
“Oh, don’t you mind me, Sire, you just carry on,” Crucio says pleasantly, straining under the weight of pulling the torture device. The heavy rack creeks and groans as it’s being handled and manoeuvred, and, at last, manipulated into the far corner of the room. The demon smiles proudly and pats the iron beast affectionately, like an old friend. “I’ll just leave it here for later, shall I? You know, hanging upside down really helps the seed reach the womb faster, so tie up the missus tight and good, my Liege!”
Lucifer’s eyes light up with Hellfire.
“Out!” he growls, and Crucio raises up his palms in placation, inching towards the door.
“Right you are, Sire,” he squeaks and runs out of the room.
Chloe sighs forlornly and throws her head back against the bed.
“Well, that’s it then; the moment’s ruined,” she pouts, dropping her palm over her eyes, “and I was so close, too!”
Lucifer leans in and kisses the spot under her ear.
“No, don’t say that, darling,” he purrs, squeezing her thigh and massaging his fingers into her skin. “Let’s see what we can do about your satisfaction, yes?”
She smiles prettily at him, the colour in her cheek rising again, this time due to arousal. Her arms come to rest around his neck, and she wiggles a little around him.
“Yes,” she breathes brokenly.
Behind the door, thumping on the wall rather excitedly, Crucio yells, “You can do it, Sire! We believe in you!”
Lucifer groans.
A few days later, Lucifer and Chloe find themselves barricaded in their chambers, two large chairs propped against the door handles to prevent entrance to nosy demons. The closed doors are rattling with the force of sincere conviction and quite a mass of determined bodies.
“Come on, Sire, we just want to talk!”
“Yes, my Liege, we only want what’s best for the realm!”
“We have some great advice for you and the missus! ‘Twill be a shame indeed to miss out on our expertise!”
Chloe and Lucifer are leaning heavily against the doors, putting all their body weight into the task of keeping the ‘Good Samaritans’ and their ‘great advice’ out of their room.
“What’s wrong with your demons, anyway?” Chloe asks, pushing her shoulder into the door. “Something changed since the coronation.”
Lucifer sighs and rolls his eyes.
“They’re nesting, I guess,” he admits, leaning against the shaking door and fishing out a pack of smokes out of his suit pocket. He snaps his fingers and the cigarette he’s holding lights up on its own.
“Neat trick,” Chloe says, impressed despite herself.
“Thank you,” Lucifer replies around the cigarette. “Now, what was I saying?
“Nesting demons.”
“Right, nesting demons,” he agrees, sucking smoke into his lungs, and closing his eyes, treasuring the nicotine flooding his system. “They think they’ll be getting their long-awaited Antichrist now that I am tied down,” he says on the exhale and opens his eyes.
Chloe blinks at him, her eyebrows dangerously high.
“I’m sorry, what now?”
“Oh dear,” Lucifer answer, smiling nervously; this is not the expected answer, apparently. “I should have mentioned something earlier, shouldn’t I?”
“You really should have, yes,” Chloe mutters, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Look,” he says, taking another hit and blowing out a round of perfect smoke rings, “thing is, it can’t happen. I’m celestial, you’re human, we’re not compatible that way. End of story. Besides,” he adds, shrugging, “no such thing as the ‘Antichrist’, anyway.”
The doors rattle and shake again, the voices beyond them grow sulkier and more urgent.
“Really, Sire, is this necessary? We only wish to help .”
“Don’t need your help, Azazel, thank you!” Lucifer sing-songs loudly and flicks the cigarette across the room, towards the open window.
“Sure you do! You don’t know all the conception secrets! We know plenty !”
“That’s right, missus! When you fellate the king, you should absolutely swallow his semen, it increases fertility!”
“Not a bad idea, that,” Lucifer mutters, leering at her and wiggling his eyebrows. Chloe rolls her eyes and shoves him hard.
“Ouch,” he chuckles, winking.
Beyond the closed doors, the demon hoard keeps on piling unwanted advice.
“Oh-Oh, and he should absolutely enter you from behind, with you facing north-west!”
“And don’t eat lemons!”
“No, you idiot, it’s don’t eat melons!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is !”
Chloe sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.
“What about Charlie, then?” she asks, crossing her arms. “He was conceived somehow .”
Lucifer waives his hand and makes a face.
“Oh, that,” he says, lighting another cigarette with the snap of his fingers. “Not to worry. Amenadiel was human at the time – complicated, I know – and, even though I am vulnerable around you, I’m not, nor will I ever be, human.” He winks at her again and laughs, “Your ovaries are safe from me, darling.”
“Hmmm,” Chloe makes a noncommittal sound and stares into the distance.
A noise from the vicinity of the window makes them turn sharply towards the sound. A long leg appears on the windowsill, followed by the struggling body of Dromos, who somehow manages to pull himself upwards and into the room, using only one hand. The reason for this sudden disadvantage is that he uses his other hand to balance a large, iron tray on his head.
“Oh no,” Lucifer mutters, dread settling in his gut, “it’s only another bloody cake.”
“Now,” the demon begins, wheezing and hacking, and lowers the tray onto the table, “you were being unreasonable, my Lord, so I had to take drastic measures.”
“Right,” Lucifer says weakly, eyes filled with trepidation and mistrust.
Dromos lifts the heavy lid with a flourish and bows low.
“A little gift from me and the lads down in the kitchens, to commemorate this auspicious event in our lives!”
“Thank you, Dromos,” the Devil mumbles, eyes widening in terror at the lump oozing off the tray, “much obliged, I’m sure.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Chloe joins in, voice soft and sweet. “That’s very thoughtful, Dromos.”
“Yes, well,” the demon mumbles, actually blushing under the sudden praise,” ‘twas nothing really.” And then, making his excuses, he bolts out of the door, knocking out a few eavesdropping demons on his way out.
Chloe and Lucifer look at the cake in silence.
Its flexible, shifting shape can only be described as elliptic, or something pertaining to be of that geometrical form. Hot bubble pink glaze covers the surface; the cake’s edges resembling two gaping eyelids, drooping down in unimaginable fatigue. The words ‘Let’s Make A Baby’ are scribbled in a blood-red sugary drizzle on what appears to be the upper lid.
“Well, that’s nice,” Chloe says at long last, squinting at the shifting pastry, “Look, they made us a cake in the shape of an…. eye?”
Lucifer bites his lips and shakes his head.
“It’s not an eye , Detective.”
Chloe squints at the cake again.
“ Oh .”
“You have to tell them,” Chloe says, a few days later, over a glass of wine, “it’s too cruel if you don’t.”
Lucifer arches his eyebrows at her, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“They’re demons , darling,” he explains, “and this is Hell .”
Chloe pouts and takes a sip, grimacing at the rancid taste.
“Still,” she mutters, swirling the disgusting liquid in her glass, “it’s a bit heartbreaking when they all come to me with some horrendous 14th-century advice on how to conceive when I know nothing will ever come out of it.”
Lucifer frowns at the wistful tone in her voice.
“Do – do you regret it, Chloe?” he asks quietly, and she looks up at him in surprise, as if she wasn’t ever expecting this sort of question from him.
“Me? No ,” she hurries to assure him, laughing nervously, “I’m quite okay with just Trixie, thank you. No, it’s just that I feel sorry for them. They’re so… hopeful .”
They sit for a few moments in silence, but then Lucifer reaches over and squeezes her hand.
“You’re very good, Chloe Decker,” he says softly, his eyes bright and full of stars.
“Thank you,” she replies, blushing comely, and returns the squeeze. “So, will you tell them?”
“Absolutely not!” he exclaims merrily and drops her hand, returning to the slosh Hell likes to call whisky. “No, they will notice it themselves when time passes, and you fail to become ‘great with child’,” he supplies theatrically, taking a reluctant sip.
“You’re wicked,” she sighs, shaking her head.
Lucifer turns to her, smiling brilliantly, like a goddamn supernova.
“So they say.”
“I have to go back soon,” she sighs on one of their afternoon strolls, two weeks after her coronation. “I’m guessing people will start noticing that I’ve disappeared if I don’t come back shortly.”
Lucifer doesn’t say anything, just nods silently and looks away. Chloe stops walking and pulls on his sleeve.
“Hey,” she says softly, touching his jaw with trembling fingers, “I’m going to come back, you know that, right? The next night Dan has Trixie, I’m coming back.” When he still doesn’t look at her, she rises on her tiptoes and kisses his tight lips, “Because I love you, Lucifer.”
He sighs against her pliant mouth, closing his eyes and bringing her closer to him.
“And I, you,” he utters, words like a prayer, an invocation to the heart, an incantation to the soul. “Forgive me for being such a grouch, it’s just – Hell is, well … Hell without you here.”
Chloe kisses him again, and again, bites his lips and sighs into his mouth.
“I will bring you your favourite whisky when I return,” she laughs wetly, trying to lighten the mood, “and a few bottles of wine.”
He hums, smiling slightly, the spark crawling back into his eyes.
“Brilliant, darling, and don’t forget my smokes, too; all the cigarettes here taste like dung.”
Chloe bites her lower lip, eyes clouding slightly. Standing this close, he can practically feel her body heat.
“Anything else?” she asks, in that low, breathless voice she sometimes gets when other things beside murder and budget shopping are occupying her mind.
Lucifer’s mood brightens considerably; he looks upwards, a crazy idea forming in his devilish mind.
“Say, fancy attempting a shag on my throne before you go?”