Work Text:
Chloe thinks things will get better after Lucifer breaks up with Eve.
They don’t.
She’s never been naïve. She’s always been sharp, and sensible, and not a dreamer. So she doesn’t know why when he murmurs “I broke up with Eve”, she half expects him to say “so now I can be with you. I did it because I want you.”
He doesn’t say these things.
Instead, when he looks at her, his dark eyes glimmer with pain, not nervous anticipation. His throat bobs with a swallow. It looks like it hurts to breathe.
And he says “I don’t like how that makes me feel either.”
He makes it clear that pushing Eve away hasn’t brought him any closer to her.
The gap between them feels wider than ever… and it feels like the end of something, not the beginning.
“I’m not going.”
Maze and Ella huff, wearing matching expressions of frustration as they stand at Chloe’s door.
“Come on,” Ella tries first, “normally I’d say nothing about you wanting to sit in the house alone all night, but it’s New Years! Come celebrate with us.”
“I’m not alone,” Chloe lies with a sniff, “I have Trixie.”
“No you don’t,” Maze says dryly, “Dan has her.”
Chloe sighs, her hand flexing around the door frame. She steps aside to let them pass, but mutters, “this doesn’t mean I’m coming.”
She just can’t leave them out in the cold, that’s all.
She shuts the door behind them and leans against it.
They look good.
Maze is head to toe in black leather, her lips painted dark red and her hair woven into an elaborate up-do. Ella’s outfit is more understated but no less sexy, a shimmering silver halter-neck and black jeans. Both women wear heavy eye-makeup and it’s clear they’re in the mood to party.
Chloe doesn’t care if she’s living up to her nickname Granny Pants Decker.
She’s not.
"I just want an early night," she tries to insist, "I'm not in the mood for partying."
"You mean you're not in the mood to see Lucifer?" Maze corrects, as subtle as a sledgehammer.
Chloe bristles under the implication. Things have been tense between them lately as they find themselves stuck in this grey area - less than lovers, more than friends. Since he broke up with Eve and even before, implication has burned between them, tightly simmering under an uneven lid. One of these days, she knows it'll blow over, and she doesn't think she's ready for the fallout. Whatever that is.
But ignoring it... living with this strange tension... that's becoming unbearable too.
For the first time in a long time, Chloe Decker has no idea what she's doing.
"You're going to Lux," she says, though it's not a question.
"Well, we'd have to pay for our drinks anywhere else," Ella scoffs then lightly adds, "so duh."
It's only then that Chloe notices Maze is holding something. It takes her a moment to realise what is, and when she does, she tips her head back and moans in frustration.
"You want me to wear that?"
Maze's face lights up in a grin as she holds the dress up.
It's red, and short, and tight.
"We guessed you wouldn't have anything fitting for the occasion in your sad, sad wardrobe," Maze says, completely oblivious to how her words are actually quite offensive, and practically shoves it into Chloe's hands.
She has to admit, the fabric is nice... soft... and it would look good on her. She thinks about the bottle of rosé in her fridge, and the new HBO documentary she was thinking of watching, and guesses a night out on the town would be more fun. She feels her refusal start to seep away at the edges, making way for her friends' persuasion.
But Lucifer...
Her mind flits back to him, the way it always does.
He'll be there.
He'll be there in his fancy three piece suit and perfectly trimmed beard, looking more handsome than he has any right to. He'll be there, the heady smell of smoke clinging to his lapels as he toys a glass of expensive whiskey in his hand. He'll be there, wearing that cocky smile that doesn't reach his eyes anymore, the light behind them snuffed out. She hates that she's part of the reason why. She hates that she hurt him, and she wishes she was brave enough to tell him that. She wishes she was brave enough to tell him that he's loyal, and worthy, and above all, so very good.
If all else fails, if they can't find their way and romance never fully blooms between them, he'll still be her best friend.
If she can't have anything else, she wants that back.
She just doesn't know how to get it.
"I don't know," she says, toying her bottom lip between her teeth anxiously, "I don't think he wants to see me."
"He always wants to see you," Maze rolls her eyes, "I've known him-" she pauses, likely stopping herself because Ella's here, "forever. And I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So get your head out your ass and come get him."
Chloe purses her lips to conceal a laugh, unsurprised at her change in direction. Maze doesn't exactly do heartfelt. But Ella does, and she nods along in agreement.
"Chloe... that man has been in love with you since the moment he saw you. So put this ridiculously sexy dress on, let's go get a drink, and then make his eyes fall out the sockets. Eve is gone. You're miserable without him. What have you got to lose?"
Traces of hesitation must still show on Chloe's face because Maze starts to lose her patience.
"Decker," she says, a harder edge to her voice, "I'm not going to get into it now," her eyes slide pointedly to Ella again, "but he's sacrificed so much for you. He's fought for you. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty and I understand why you did what you did... but don't you think it's time you fought for him?"
Deep down, Chloe knows she's right.
She knows their relationship is built upon mutual trust and respect, and while he's done wrong too, she had broken that trust. What she did with Kinley still burns and bristles between them. She had knocked him back, and she understands why he won't put himself out there again. She understands that she needs to be the one to make the first move.
She needs to show him that she's not afraid of him anymore. She's only afraid of losing him.
She needs to show him that she's his, and he's hers, and they belong together.
She needs to go get her man.
"I don't know if this will work," Chloe bites her nail nervously, huffing as Maze knocks her hand away from her mouth.
The other woman lets her eyes drag not-so-subtly from her perfectly curled hair down to her heeled feet.
"Trust me," she runs her tongue over her teeth, her eyes flashing mischievously, "it'll work."
As they ride the elevator to the penthouse, Chloe catches a glimpse of herself in the mirrored console. She has to admit, she looks hot. There's a faint blush on her cheeks, a mixture of heat from the club and blood rushing to the surface of her skin in nervous excitement. Her hair frames her face in soft curls, tumbling loosely down her shoulders. She remembers Lucifer saying he likes her hair down.
The blood red dress she's wearing hugs her curves in all the right places, accentuating her cleavage and clinging to her thighs. Maze bats her hand away again when she goes to anxiously tug on the hem. Her makeup is soft but effective, emphasising her best features. Lucifer always said he liked her eyes too.
She tries to predict what he'll say, what he'll do, when he sees her. She hopes he'll think she looks good - beautiful, even.
She hopes he'll listen to her. She hopes he'll forgive her.
She hopes he's there. She hadn't seen him at the bar, or on the dancefloor, flitting around like a king surveying his kingdom, schmoozing with loyal subjects. She hadn't seen people greedy for a piece of him, for a mere glimpse. She had walked past glittering decorations and drunk, writhing bodies as people got ready to ring in the new year. She had walked straight to the elevator, Maze by her side for moral support.
Her heart is pounding in her chest by the time the elevator doors rasp open.
As expected, Lucifer is standing by his bar, glass of whiskey in hand. His brow arches, his glass pausing halfway to his lips, when he sees them.
He tries to hide it, but his reaction to her is obvious. Dark eyes sweep over her form, his pupils dilating, his throat moving with a bob. He looks at her like he wants to devour her, like he wants to make her his, and she hopes, wishes more than anything, that he will.
"Ladies," he murmurs eventually, putting the glass down, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We want you to come downstairs," Maze cuts to the chase, "come celebrate New Year's with us."
"Celebrate another pointless year ending so another pointless year can begin?" he answers dryly, "I'll pass."
Chloe tries not to roll her eyes at his dramatics.
He takes a sip of his drink again.
"They all tend to merge into one when you're immortal," he elaborates and then downs his whiskey in one.
"Either way, it's no fun to stay up here moping by yourself," Maze says, "come drink with us."
He sniffs, stares at them, and then adjusts his cuffs.
"I do not mope," he mutters stubbornly, and then continues, "but I suppose I can agree to a drink… or ten."
He grabs his jacket from where it's draped over the piano. He shrugs it on, a dark purple colour which reeks of royalty. Chloe hates how attractive she finds him, how drawn to him she is.
When he steps back into the elevator between them, the air is thin and tense.
She hates that too.
They ride it in silence, no-one speaking a word until they reach Lux. The doors open to the club's pulsing beats, bright lights flashing and clubgoers dancing. Maze leaves the elevator first and promptly spins on her heel when they go to follow. She places a hand on Lucifer's chest and shoves him back into the carriage.
"Excuse me?" he huffs indignantly, giving a little tug on his jacket.
"You two are driving us insane with this will they/won't they bullshit," she insists, brow arched and hand on her hip, "you're going to stay in there until you work it out. Even if that takes until next year."
"Maze—" Chloe starts, eyes narrowed, because this was not the plan.
"Mazikeen—" Lucifer growls at the same time.
"Have fun!" she chirps, giving a sarcastic little wave, before the doors close in-front of her.
"That crafty little demon."
Lucifer mutters, frantically pressing buttons on the elevator console. He starts mumbling to himself, something about Maze again and bloody buttons and the ridiculousness of not being able to control his own elevator.
Maze has done something to it, jammed it or locked it or otherwise prevented it from opening. Chloe thinks there are other ways she could have got their attention, but she supposes the bounty hunter has always been nothing if not dramatic.
Eventually, all his huffing, and swearing, and adjusting his cuffs starts to get on her nerves.
“Is the idea of spending a few minutes with me really so horrible?”
She watches the muscles in his back tense under his suit.
“It’s Maze, Detective. It’ll hardly be a few minutes. She’s probably in one of my Red Rooms whipping some poor sub as we speak.”
“So what? What’s your problem?”
She can’t see his face, but he clearly tenses again. She’s asking him a direct question, and he can’t lie.
“My problem…” he starts lowly, his jaw ticking as he slowly turns around, “…is that I am stuck in a bloody box with—”
“—with me?”
Hurt flickers across her face, his words and the harsh tone behind them lashing at her like those whips he mentioned.
He blinks at her, sighs, and then rubs an anxious hand over his jaw.
“That's not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” she asks, a harder edge to her voice, “because I sure as hell don't know anymore. I thought… I thought that when you broke up with Eve—”
“—I would forget everything that happened between us?” he interrupts her, dark eyes shining dully, “breaking up with Eve has changed nothing.”
The words hurt, but she forces herself to be brave. She forces herself to stand strong and weather this, all his anger and his pain, so the storm can pass. Then hopefully blue skies will break through, and there’ll be a chance for them.
After-all, he can't run away in a broken elevator.
“Of course it has,” she risks a step towards him and it kills her, how he flinches away from her, “it’s the first step towards admitting who you want to be… and what you truly want.”
“And what do I want, Detective?” he almost sneers, his top lip curling, but she’s not afraid.
She knows what he’s trying to do.
He’s trying to push her away, because he thinks he’s not worth it.
But she’d let him go once before. She’d let herself be ruled by her fear once before. She’s not doing it again. Never again.
So she takes another step towards him. She leaves little between them, little space to run, little space to do anything other than breathe each other’s air.
Lucifer lifts his chin, a look of determination flickering over his handsome face. In the half glow of yellow light, casting shadows under his eyes, she thinks he's never looked more beautiful. That muscle in his jaw leaps again, as though he’s clenching his teeth tight enough to hurt.
“I think I know,” she whispers, implication brimming between them, “but I’ll tell you what I want.”
His throat bobs with a swallow, but he stays silent. Dark eyes watch her with single minded attention, as though he can’t see anything else. It’s a heady, intoxicating thing to have his focus like this.
“I want things to go back to normal,” she starts, emotion welling in her throat, “I want us to stop tip-toeing around this, walking on eggshells. I want you to laugh at me, and tease me, and tell me stupid jokes, and bring me my coffee in the morning… not barely look at me. I want to stop lying to Trixie and making up excuses for why you don’t come around anymore. I want you to forgive me. I want you to believe me when I tell you how sorry I am… and when I tell you all the good things about you. I want to be partners and yes, if I’m honest… I want to be more.”
He swallows again, his eyes flickering with something indecipherable.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” he murmurs eventually.
“Which part?”
“All of it,” he releases a huff of air, heavy and incredulous, “I don’t know if I can just go back. So much has happened, Detective… I just—it hurts.”
“I know,” her chest aches with sympathy for him, “I know it does. I know I hurt you. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have done that, but I did and I... I am so sorry. I was scared, and I let myself be manipulated… but it wasn’t the truth. You are the truth. How I feel about you… that’s the truth.”
He nods, and he still looks hesitant, but at least some of the anger has dissipated.
“You won’t do it again?” he whispers, and the vulnerability in his voice makes her ache.
“Never,” she promises fiercely.
“Why? Nothing has changed. I’m still…” he pauses, waving a hand over his body in a gesture that implies he has no idea what he is, “I’m still this.”
“The most loyal man I’ve ever known?” she laughs humourlessly, “the kindest, the funniest? My partner?”
“The Devil,” he corrects, mouth twisting into a grim line, “evil incarnate, and all that probably very valid nonsense. But I didn’t… I never wanted them to suffer.”
Her chest aches again, at all the pain he carries, the very heavy weight on his shoulders. She lifts her hand to rest it against his chest. He tenses a little, but doesn’t pull away.
“I know. It wasn’t your fault. None of it. You didn’t ask for it, and you didn’t deserve it. You have to stop blaming yourself, Lucifer. And as for me? I’m not afraid of you anymore. The only thing I’m afraid of… is you walking away from me, out of this elevator, and never coming back.”
His eyes slip shut, as though no-one’s ever told him that before.
“You talk about what I want…” he starts quietly, “I just want to be the sort of person someone could love.”
“Someone does love you,” she whispers, and they both know she’s not talking about Eve.
He brings his hand up to squeeze hers, his fingers gentle and warm.
“You have no idea…” he starts lowly, “how much power you have over me.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile.
“You don’t have to be afraid of it. It’s a good thing.”
“Being at your mercy?” he scoffs incredulously, “dancing like a bloody puppet on your string?”
“Being vulnerable,” she corrects, using that word which has defined and symbolised so much of their connection, “trusting someone else. Putting your faith in them. You don’t have to be so strong all the time.”
“I don’t feel very strong around you,” he admits quietly.
Before she can answer, the club suddenly seems louder on the other side of the elevator.
“What’s the time?” she asks.
He reaches into his pocket to glance at his phone before he slips it back inside.
“11:59.”
Chloe swallows and drops his hand, suddenly feeling a little awkward. She takes a step back, putting some distance between them.
“It’s nearly midnight,” she whispers. As though to emphasise her very obvious point, the music on the other side suddenly dims to make way for the countdown. Happy voices ring out and begin to chant.
10…
Chloe clears her throat, averting her gaze. She wrings her hands. Nervous anticipation flutters in the pit of stomach because she knows… and she knows he knows… what people traditionally do at the end of this countdown.
9…
His eyes drop to her lips. He’s thinking the same thing.
8…
“We really should get out of here,” she murmurs, eyes dropping to his lips too, heat starting to rise into her cheeks.
“We should,” he mutters back, but doesn’t move.
7…
She takes a step back. He takes a step forward. The dam breaks between them, and a kiss to ring in the new year starts to feel inevitable.
It thrums in the air between them.
6…
“It won’t be easy,” he warns lowly, jaw locked.
5…
“I wouldn’t want it to be,” she says softly—because this thing between them... it's beautiful and complicated and messy... and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
4…
He closes the gap between them, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. Long fingers slide into her hair. Her eyelids flutter.
3…
“I’m still not worth it,” he insists, voice rough, harkening back to sand and saltwater and their kiss on the beach. Her hands grip the suit at his hips in fists of expensive material.
2…
“You’re wrong,” she says simply.
1…
His mouth crashes to hers just as cheers and confetti explode on the other side of the door.
As soon as their lips connect, there’s nothing gentle about it. Years of pent up frustration and sexual tension spill over at once, sparking a lust that’s lay dormant inside her to life. He kisses her hard, mouth slanting passionately over hers, and she pushes right back.
Outside, the club still thrums with life, with pounding music and cheers and laughter to ring in the new year. Inside the elevator, they make their own music, a cacophony of pants and heavy breaths and heated moans filling the small cart.
With a confident firmness, he walks her forward until her back hits the wall. She rips her mouth away from his with a gasp, her breath catching in her throat as he kisses along her jaw to her neck. Her hips roll without her permission, her legs splaying open so his own hips can move in shallow thrusts against her.
He sucks a bloom into her neck, the warmth and softness of his lips sparking heat between her thighs. He hooks a hand around one, hiking her leg high on his hip. Her heels grant her the extra height she needs to feel him pressing against her, hard and pulsing and as ready for her as she is for him.
He drags his mouth back to her ear.
“I want you,” he husks, the desire in his voice rocketing through her entire body, “I want to take you right here.”
She whimpers, heat throbbing from her core to travel through her blood and strangle her throat. His hips rock against hers, rubbing, thrusting, mimicking what they could be doing right now if these pesky clothes would just disappear.
“I want you too,” she gasps out and it would be so easy to just give in, to let him lift her up into his arms and just do it, “but in a bed. Where I can really show you how sorry I am, and how good we could be together, and how good you are.”
He shudders, face buried in her neck. She threads her fingers through his hair.
“Oh, you like that?” she notices, a smirk pulling at her lips, “you like being good for me?”
He nods, lips tracing her jaw.
“Just want to be good for you forever,” he mutters, “want to be good to you.”
She pulls back to cradle his face in her hands, giving his lips one more kiss.
“Forever it is,” she whispers, “Happy New Year, Lucifer.”
He smiles, warm and bright and real.
“I believe it’ll be the best one yet, Detective.”
She wraps her arms around his neck and holds on tight. They stay like that until the elevator doors chime open and Maze and Ella grin on the other side.
“I guess it’s fair to assume you made up?” Maze asks, a clear smile in her voice, while Ella just squeaks in excitement.
Chloe pulls away from Lucifer, a warmth spreading through her chest as his hand stays anchored on her waist.
“We did,” he confirms with a touch of pride.
Maze smiles warmly.
“I’m glad,” she says and then gestures a hand to the still thrumming dance-floor, “you coming out?”
Lucifer opens his mouth to reply, but Chloe answers for them.
“No,” she smirks, and then she hits one of the buttons on the now-working console, “we’re going up.”
The doors slide shut again and she turns to find a grin toying at Lucifer’s lips.
With a playful growl, his arm is around her waist and his lips are on hers again before she can say 2020.