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From the start, Lucifer knows having his wings involved in a scene is far from a great idea. He doesn't think it'll be terrible , because it's Chloe, and the only thing that can be terrible about her is her absence. But. His wings . He has to school his reaction when she brings it up.
“My wings? Whatever would you want to see those stuffy old things for?” He tries to play to humor and knows in a second she doesn't buy it. Honestly, Lucifer is terrified for her reasoning. It's been months since she saw them first and yet part of him is still nervous about a possible divine worship (read: obsession).
Chloe leans forward and grabs his hands, and Lucifer knows in his soul he'd say yes to anything she asked. She makes eye contact, “Because they're a part of you.” Her love is palpable, nearly blows him over with its intensity. It's moments like these he knows her love cannot have been manufactured: Dad could never come up with something as perfect as this.
So he agrees. Chloe has definitely picked up on his unease, however, and insists on ground rules.
“I won't restrain them or focus on them, and at any point you can de-manifest them and/or safeword. What are your safewords?”
He barely resists rolling his eyes as he replies, “Honey for good, brakes for slow and mercy to stop. If I can't speak, a squeeze is good, a poke is slow and no response, dematerializing my wings, or hitting the bed all mean stop. Right now, however, I am sweet as honey and want to begin.”
Chloe snorts fondly, shaking her head at his eagerness for the scene, “I'm ready too, thanks for asking. Strip in the bedroom and kneel on the floor, I'll be with you in a moment.” Her voice slowly slips into Command, and Lucifer’s mouth goes dry.
“Yes, mistress.”
He can hear her moving around from the bedroom, almost purposefully being louder so she knows he can hear her, and he smiles. Stays put like she asks, leaning in to the rough feeling of the carpet on his knees. His hands are loosely folded in his lap, not clasped in prayer, because with her he doesn't have to pray, to beg for love and attention.
There's a cool rush of air over his bare skin as the door opens, but he doesn't turn to look. Lucifer knows it's her anyways, always. She trails her fingers over his back and he can't help but shiver as she lets her nails drag slowly, no real pain but a sharp sensation.
“You did so well, waiting for me,” she whispers into his ear, and while it had felt like an eternity he'd gladly do it again just to hear her praise. “Now spread your arms out.”
His arms are sore from staying in the same position (she'd only had him waiting for fifteen minutes, maybe, but time passes so slowly like this) but he does as he's asked. Chloe takes her time tying his wrists to the bedposts in front of him and he is open and vulnerable and safe and secure, spread before her like the sacrificial lamb.
“I want to see you,” she commands, “ all of you.” And Lucifer hesitates. Only a millisecond, or a fraction of that, certainly nothing a mortal would notice, but for a second he's no longer Chloe’s Lucifer, he is Lucifer defying God and offering his wings to blades.
His wings unfurl, the feathers ruffled in a way he wishes they weren't because he's fine , he's with Chloe, his stupid wings have nothing to complain about—
“Thank you. Now we can start.” His muscles tense and un-tense in equal measure, his trust relaxing him but past knowledge preparing him for pain. She begins slowly, like always, using just her fingers and breath until every nerve in his body is on fire. She mostly stays to his back and arms, occasionally teasing the ends of his wings just enough to make him shiver. And it's good, it's great, it's bloody divine .
One strike of the riding crop on his back and he screams , arching into and away from the overwhelming sensation. He gets asked his safeword and honey drips off his tongue, sliding out of his slack mouth. She gives him a few more good hits before switching back to light sensation, running a silk scarf over the raw skin.
His wings twitch involuntarily; it's as if he can feel each individual thread pulling him effortlessly apart. Meaningless chants are falling out of his mouth, pleading for more and yes and never stop . The silk trails across where flesh meats feather and for a second he loses the feeling, replaced with phantom sensation of heavy scar tissue, but then it moves back over one of the spots she hit and he keens, throwing himself almost forcibly back into the scene.
He hears before he feels the thudding leather flogger, the dull warmth so different from the cool silk or the bright bite of the crop. She keeps at the slower hits for a while, traveling over his whole back before throwing one sharper hit at his barely exposed buttox. He lets out what he would never admit is a squeal, which turns into a moan as the heat rushes to his skin.
Now, Chloe leaves little space between strikes, going one after the other in a figure-eight motion. Lucifer's cock is hard and leaking in his lap; he honestly might come just from this, the pain his partner brings to him wrapped in the complete love and trust between them.
She faints a hit to his shoulder, just sending a puff of air through his feathers, and his wing twitches in surprise. To get to the real meat of his shoulder, a space she knows will have him falling off the ledge in seconds, she lightly pushes his wing down out of the way and
he's being held down by Michael as his brothers and sisters stand around him. Dad has stopped talking now, Lucifer doesn't know where he is and he still doesn't know why , the only sound is his desperate cries as he struggles against his brother's grasp
“I'm sorry, brother,” Michael whispers in his ear, and with one twist of the white wing in his hold Lucifer's whole body is agony, all he can say over and over is
“Mercy! Please, mercy!”
“It's okay, you're okay Lucifer I heard you, mercy, I'm untying you now.” He's still chanting mercy under his breath when the restraints leave his wrists, still shaking as Chloe gently turns his head and puts her hands on his face. “Luci, sweetheart, will you let me touch you? I want to put some ointment on your back and let you get settled. Do you want to put your wings away?”
They pop out of this plane with barely a thought, and while they're still there it feels as if their weight is off his shoulders, at least for the moment. His mind is stuck in the loop of the moments before his Fall, of hands all over his wings as he feels his bones snap. He wants new contact, something to get rid of his brother's, father's hands on him. He nods to Chloe, before remembering to squeeze her hand. She smiles, shaky yet proud, and starts applying arnica to the raw skin on his back. The touch awakens him to just how fried his nerves are from the waves of different sensations he's gone through.
Lucifer shifts, intent on relieving the pressure on his knees, and that shifts his awareness to part of him he'd forgotten. His cock is uncomfortably hard; Lucifer is possibly the furthest he's ever been from aroused, but his body is still in the pleasure-pain state of the scene, and every touch of Chloe on his back sends a twitch through his overstimulated body.
Eventually he pokes her hand, and she immediately moves away, coming back moments later with a soft blanket. He grabs it gratefully, but doesn't wrap it around himself, instead scooting until his back is against the end of the bed and fiddling with the blanket, taking in the welcome new sensation. By doing so, he exposes his… problem to her, and he feels he has to explain.
“I am… very much done with the scene, but my body has not exactly caught up with this.” Lucifer's speech is shaky, almost slurred, but the effects of the intrusive thoughts have started to fade.
Chloe sits on the edge of the bed and faces him, “I more than understand, I know how sensitive you get. Would it be okay if I laid down next to you?”
“Getting fresh on me?” he jokes lazily, but at her serious shake of the head relents, “Oh come on, up you get. Can't cuddle without my miracle, can I?”
She crawls across the bed up next to him, shifting until she's gently spooning him, a protective arm around his waist. Lucifer sighs and sinks into her hold, ready to nap and ignore his re-awakened memories.
“Hey,” she whispers into his shoulder, before shifting her elbow to rest her head on her hand, “we're gonna talk about this in the morning, you hear me?”
“Understood.”
--
He taps his fingers anxiously on the wooden counter of her breakfast nook. Chloe's making breakfast, just some quick scrambled eggs with leftover veggie stir fry since she doesn't have Trixie's tastes to cater to, and Lucifer is making his coffin (not really; he's already picked out multiple in the off-chance he needs to fake his death). His lover knows the barest details of his fall, only slightly more than what one could get from the Bible, and Lucifer would gladly keep it that way. But of course the Detective has to go and make him emotionally vulnerable as well as physically, and has him sharing his celestial traumas as if exchanging dinner recipes.
Chloe slides a plate in front of him with a small serving of food; she knows he'll do more playing with it than eating, because somehow the Devil has an awful poker face. She sits down and takes a few bites of her own meal before starting.
“Lucifer, I want you to know that you don't have to share anything. I do need to know what I did so that I don't do it again, but I don't need to know why it spooked you. You know I love it whenever you do share with me, but if you don't want to I won't push.”
He would be lying if he said all his worries went away at that, but it's a near thing. That pit of anxiety is still buried in his chest, but Lucifer feels his whole body get lighter as Chloe reassures him. He turns his eyes to hers and nods, hoping it conveys at least some of the depth of his gratitude.
“Thank you, my dear. When you… when my wing was twisted, it reminded me of…” blood crying confusion mercy “an uncomfortable situation from my past. I had known my wings wouldn't be exactly pleasurable in scene, but I didn't know to the extent—”
“Wait, Lucifer, slow down,” Chloe interjects, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline, “did you say you already knew you'd have a bad reaction to your wings being out in-scene?” Lucifer gives a confused nod, and his confusion only grows as Chloe groans and rubs her face with her hands. “Luci, you can't do that! A scene is supposed to be—” she cuts herself off and takes a deep breath in, recalculating. “In order to keep our scenes safe and pleasurable, we use RACK, remember?”
Lucifer nods, “Yes, you went over it in detail: risk-aware consensual kink. But I hardly see what that has to do with this.”
Chloe mumbles something that suspiciously sounds like ‘that's the problem’ into the palm over her face before she responds. “If there is any risk , all parties need to be made aware. You knew there was a risk of your wings triggering something for you, and you didn't make me aware. As your partner,” her voice softens here. She grabs his hand from the table, “as your partner, and your lover, I understand why you didn't want to share this with me. But as your dominant, I needed to know. Okay?”
Lucifer interlocks his fingers with hers. “Yes, I… I think I understand.” He says after a beat, and she smiles one of her soft moonlight smiles. “In the spirit of this… awareness, I wish to share with you. Not all of it, but why I knew I'd be less than comfortable with them during a scene.”
Chloe nods slowly, understanding. She pushes their plates away and folds her hands under her chin in that way that signals to toddlers, criminals, and Devils alike that they have her full attention. Her brow is drawn thoughtfully, and there is love and pride in her eyes.
He begins, “When I came to Los Angeles, I had Maize remove my wings. Then I was kidnapped, and they were back.” Chloe nods but doesn't speak; they both know that she already knows this much. “My father gifted me these new wings, and no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't get rid of them.” At this point, he doesn't know quite how to explain why he gets so unsettled by his wings without sounding terribly melodramatic. Linda would tell him that he shouldn't apologize for the intensity of his feelings, and that any way he would choose to describe it is valid.
Lucifer isn't quite at that level of self-actualization yet, so he tries to get the detective to figure it out on her own. “I know the comparison isn't quite fair, but there is a reason it took me so long to trust you wouldn't do something without my consent.”
It takes one, two beats before Chloe has slapped herself across the face, “Of course, how could I have been so stupid, of course . G-Lucifer, I am so sorry.” Chloe is heavily, genuinely apologetic. Lucifer is confused. Again.
“I appreciate the apology, though I am unsure why you thought it necessary. I'm being rather… sensitive, after all.”
Anger flashes through Chloe's eyes, but before he can understand why, it's gone. Replaced with a look he recognizes from work, what she uses with particularly frightened witnesses.
“You aren't being sensitive, Lucifer. You were knocked out, kidnapped for two weeks, something was done to your body without your consent, and you are left carrying the reminder. You work with the police, you know what that sounds like.”
Lucifer straightens his back, eyes going cold. “I was not raped .”
Chloe sighs, yet nods. “No, you weren't. But just because it wasn't sexual, that doesn't mean it wasn't traumatic.” She reaches for his hand across the table again, and eventually he closes the distance. “I think one of the main reasons you're comfortable being my submissive is because you know that you have the ultimate control, the final say in what happens to your body. With your wings, you don't have that, because their existence itself is something you didn't consent to, so you can't have that level of control.”
Lucifer tries to wrap his head around that for a few seconds before giving up. “I suppose this is why I have you, then. To help me understand what I need.”
“Always.”