I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
As much as Lucifer can’t (or he says he can’t— he is the devil, and Chloe knows it’s an insane thought, but she’s sure that Lucifer has never lied to her) lie to Chloe, it kills her to lie to him as well.
“Wait!” she says, grabbing for the poisoned glass of wine Lucifer is raising to his mouth. “I—”
“You what?” Lucifer asks, looking concerned. “Detective, whatever it is, you can tell me anything.”
And with that, Chloe spills the whole story, her “vacation”, meeting Father Kinsley, the vial of poison she’d slipped into his drink. Lucifer stares at her for a long time, expression warring between betrayal, anger, and something soft and intense that she can’t quite decipher, before letting out a long sigh, seeming to come to some sort of realization.
“What is it?” Chloe asks.
“I want to hate you for killing me, but I don’t. I only hate that you’ve been keeping this from me. I think that…” He pauses. “If you tried to kill me, I would let you.” He admits. “Just…not with poison. That’d be a really boring way to die. Plus, it would absolutely ruin wine for me. Although, I suppose that wouldn’t matter, since I’d be dead—”
“Stop. Stop.” Chloe says, shaking her head. “You…you would let me kill you? Why?”
“I would let you do anything.” He says, simply, and God, Chloe knows she should believe it’s a lie, but the way he’s looking at her, it’s so earnest it seems to burn through her, settling inside her gut in a way that feels like truth.
Lucifer gets up and rummages through a cabinet, then, and pulls out a knife, handing it handle-first to her. Chloe watches, almost in a trance, as he unbuttons the first few buttons of his white shirt and guides her hand to hold the knife at his heart, the tip of it brushing against his bare skin and drawing a cut.
Chloe’s brows knit together in confusion as she watches a bead of blood drip down his chest. “Lucifer?”
“Yes, Detective?”
“How is it that you can walk away from a hail of bullets or a fiery explosion unharmed, but you’re bleeding now?”
His gaze is molten as he tells her, “It’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“I don’t know exactly why, but no one else can hurt me. You’re the only one, Chloe.”
Chloe looks down at the knife, remembering the time she shot him, his insistence that she wouldn’t hurt him. And other moments, when he jumped in front of a knife for her or was shot in the hand, or when he’s sitting next to her doing paperwork at her desk at the precinct and is surprised every time he gets a paper cut. He’s only vulnerable around her, just as she is vulnerable around him.
Chloe drops the knife to the floor and steps even closer to Lucifer, until their faces are inches apart. When she looks in his eyes she swears she feels some sort of magnetic pull, something that wants her to close those few inches, so she closes her eyes just for a moment to clear her head, leaning her forehead against his.
“What are you doing to me?” Lucifer murmurs. His breath ghosts over Chloe’s skin. The desire is still there, still lead-heavy and somehow feather-light at the same time. She knows without a doubt that if Lucifer asked her what she desired most in the world right now, her answer would be him.
Chloe opens her eyes, tilting her head up to meet his gaze again, and then presses her lips to Lucifer’s. Her desire is unleashed, electric; he kisses her like he could worship her. She wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him even closer, not wanting an inch of space between them, the knife on the floor long-forgotten.
Fill: set during s4e2, holy shit this got long
As much as Lucifer can’t (or he says he can’t— he is the devil, and Chloe knows it’s an insane thought, but she’s sure that Lucifer has never lied to her) lie to Chloe, it kills her to lie to him as well.
“Wait!” she says, grabbing for the poisoned glass of wine Lucifer is raising to his mouth. “I—”
“You what?” Lucifer asks, looking concerned. “Detective, whatever it is, you can tell me anything.”
And with that, Chloe spills the whole story, her “vacation”, meeting Father Kinsley, the vial of poison she’d slipped into his drink. Lucifer stares at her for a long time, expression warring between betrayal, anger, and something soft and intense that she can’t quite decipher, before letting out a long sigh, seeming to come to some sort of realization.
“What is it?” Chloe asks.
“I want to hate you for killing me, but I don’t. I only hate that you’ve been keeping this from me. I think that…” He pauses. “If you tried to kill me, I would let you.” He admits. “Just…not with poison. That’d be a really boring way to die. Plus, it would absolutely ruin wine for me. Although, I suppose that wouldn’t matter, since I’d be dead—”
“Stop. Stop.” Chloe says, shaking her head. “You…you would let me kill you? Why?”
“I would let you do anything.” He says, simply, and God, Chloe knows she should believe it’s a lie, but the way he’s looking at her, it’s so earnest it seems to burn through her, settling inside her gut in a way that feels like truth.
Lucifer gets up and rummages through a cabinet, then, and pulls out a knife, handing it handle-first to her. Chloe watches, almost in a trance, as he unbuttons the first few buttons of his white shirt and guides her hand to hold the knife at his heart, the tip of it brushing against his bare skin and drawing a cut.
Chloe’s brows knit together in confusion as she watches a bead of blood drip down his chest. “Lucifer?”
“Yes, Detective?”
“How is it that you can walk away from a hail of bullets or a fiery explosion unharmed, but you’re bleeding now?”
His gaze is molten as he tells her, “It’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“I don’t know exactly why, but no one else can hurt me. You’re the only one, Chloe.”
Chloe looks down at the knife, remembering the time she shot him, his insistence that she wouldn’t hurt him. And other moments, when he jumped in front of a knife for her or was shot in the hand, or when he’s sitting next to her doing paperwork at her desk at the precinct and is surprised every time he gets a paper cut. He’s only vulnerable around her, just as she is vulnerable around him.
Chloe drops the knife to the floor and steps even closer to Lucifer, until their faces are inches apart. When she looks in his eyes she swears she feels some sort of magnetic pull, something that wants her to close those few inches, so she closes her eyes just for a moment to clear her head, leaning her forehead against his.
“What are you doing to me?” Lucifer murmurs. His breath ghosts over Chloe’s skin. The desire is still there, still lead-heavy and somehow feather-light at the same time. She knows without a doubt that if Lucifer asked her what she desired most in the world right now, her answer would be him.
Chloe opens her eyes, tilting her head up to meet his gaze again, and then presses her lips to Lucifer’s. Her desire is unleashed, electric; he kisses her like he could worship her. She wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him even closer, not wanting an inch of space between them, the knife on the floor long-forgotten.