Happy Christmas!

#

It happened so very slowly, and yet when it came it was all so horribly fast.

"Lucifer, I'm thinking of retiring."

He looked up, startled, from his preparation of single-malt lattes.

"Retiring? Detective, why would you ever stop now?"

Chloe laughed, and his stomach lurched with an awful twisting sensation, as he noticed that her laughter was tired, and came with deep-set creases at the corners of her eyes. When had they got there? That wasn't allowed.

"I haven't been a detective for a long time, Lucifer."

"What's a few decades here and there?" he asked, desperately, "You've got plenty more in you. Why stop the party? Plenty more criminals to punish."

"Lucifer." That tone forced him to look at her seriously, the way she wanted.

"I'm tired," she said slowly. "I'm getting old-

"Chloe!"

"No, Lucifer, listen. I'm sixty this year. It's time to let someone younger bear all this," she waved around her nicely decorated corner office - with Lucifer's whisky cupboard hiding behind the plant pot she'd insisted upon, for propriety's sake or some such nonsense, "I've been thinking about it. Trixie's getting serious with her man – "

"A right wastrel. We ought to go and put a stop to that. Why you let that slimeball touch –"

"I want to be closer to her Lucifer."

"But, but, what about me?" he cried.

"All these years and you still make everything about you," she said fondly. Lucifer was rather proud of that fond tone – she only ever talked to him with it. No one else got that. Not ex-husband one or two.

Good riddance to that bastard.

"You're my best friend," she said, and he supressed a flinch at being friend-zoned. That embarrassment would never fade. "I'd love for you to visit – you know you're always welcome. But I know you love Lux, and if you want to continue consulting, there are a lot of detectives who'd jump at the chance to have you."

She smirked in anticipation – but he couldn't muster the will or the wit to make the joke.

"You're my only detective," Lucifer told his latte quietly, which was now rather more alcohol and rather less coffee. Old. Retirement. Tired.

Tired was such a very dangerous word.

"Oh Luci –"

"No, Chloe," he interrupted quickly to head her off, "if you're to brave the perils of suburbia and domestic bliss, we must enter the breach together. It might be dangerous! Think of the TV – all those secrets, affairs, murders," he felt his spirits rise at the thought. "You'll need somebody to watch your back. I'll go with you."

"You're retiring too?" She asked sceptically – too used to his spur of the moment decisions to be shocked. Retirement would probably interest him for all of a week. "What about Lux – what about all of your…women."

"Oh I'm sure there'll be plenty of lonely housewives," Lucifer assured her cheerfully, "and you never know, you might finally admit to yourself that you want me and I'd hate to be a hundred miles away when that day comes."

"Lucifer. I'm sixty. You still sleep with eighteen year old girls – which is disgusting by the way, the age difference alone…"

"Experience," Lucifer waggled his eyebrows. "And really, eighteen or eighty, it hardly matters when you get to my age."

"I'd forgotten," Chloe drawled. "The Devil is a very old man. A dirty old man. Even if he has been dying his hair for decades and has had plastic surgery."

"I have not!" Lucifer said outraged. "I told you when we met – I'm immortal!"

"Yeah yeah, come along grandpa. Time to go."

#

Suburbia was… Hell.

There were garden parties and neighbourhood barbeques and nowhere near as many attractive housewives as television had led him to believe.

The filthy liars. Oh they would get what was coming to them when he got his hands on them.

There was Chloe though, so at least he got to keep her. Take that Douche the Second. (The First wasn't worth mentioning, but Lucifer had had a fabulous time personally escorting him Downstairs when the time had finally – finally- come.)

"Lucifer, does this strand look more white or more grey to you?" Chloe asked, peering into the mirror.

"Blonde," Lucifer said desperately. "It's most definitely blonde, my dear."

"I thought the Devil never lied."

"Blonde," Lucifer stated firmly, eyes adverted. If he didn't see it, then it wasn't a lie now was it?

"You are sweet," she murmured, and then tucked the strand back under her ridiculous looking hat contraption.

"Come along, we can't be late for the wedding."

"At least it would stop that piece of filth from marrying –

"No it wouldn't dear, but Trixie would be very upset with you. You're meant to walk her down the aisle after all."

Lucifer coughed awkwardly, "Yes, well," he huffed and adjusted his cuffs. "I suppose we should get a move on. The Devil is never late after all. Pip pip."

Chloe snorted, but accepted his arm when he offered it, and off they went – to Church.

Voluntarily.

The thingshe did for this woman.

#

"A boytoy, Chloe? Well I can't fault your taste –"

"Lucifer?" Laughter. "Oh god no, we used to work together. Here, have you tried the wine?"

"Is that what we're calling it. Well, good on you! He looks like a fine young man."

#

"Lucifer? How old are you?"

"Eons," Lucifer replied, stretching over her chair to grab the bottle they were sharing.

"No, no seriously. I know you hate birthdays," she waved a hand vaguely, "but how old are you?"

"I'm older than the stars, detective. Why?"

"Because Maria was right – you do look like a very fine young man. I never noticed it before but – Lucifer, stop! What are you doing?!"

"You don't want to have sex?" He asked, pausing mid-motion.

"No!"

"But you just admitted I was attractive!" He despaired.

"You're features are very symmetrical." She glared. "But I was quoting someone, and I was rather focused on the young not the fine."

Lucifer sighed, put his belt back on, and redid the buttons of his shirt. Spoilsport.

"Spoilsport," he accused.

She sighed but kept up her expectant look.

"I've told you, Chloe. I'm the Devil."

"Fine, don't tell me," she rolled on the sun chair, turning her back to him.

"Chloe –" His heart clenched. She was so young, but she was so mortal – this was the end, wasn't it? Her tiny spark would soon snuff out – and he'd be alone, with all the breadth of eternity before him.

"Go away Lucifer."

She sounded so tired. Had her shoulders always been so narrow?

He left so he didn't have to watch anymore. He couldn't bare it.

#

Chloe stood, hands rubbing at her back as she finished unloading the dishwasher. Her birthday had been wonderful – but everything took so much of her energy these days. She was exhausted.

The door rang.

She checked the clock, late. She tapped the view-screen first, too many years as a cop reminding her that she was now in the vulnerable age group, even if she couldn't really believe it.

Lucifer stood outside – staggeringly drunk or high by the looks of it. He actually wavered on the spot.

She sighed, and opened the door, hands on hips.

"Lucifer, you're house is next door. Either next door since you had to buy them both."

"Nobody else was going to peek on you sunbathing," Lucifer defended himself, slurring his words.

"I'm flattered," she drawled moving aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him before he could embarrass her in front of the whole neighbourhood. Again.

"Now do you need help, did you forget your keys? I have the spares."

"Please don't die."

She stopped – and pushed the key drawer closed.

"I'm not dying, Lucifer, but you are very, very drunk. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen you as drunk as this, and I have seen a lot from you over the years. When did you start drinking? Yesterday?"

"You are dying," he replied petulantly. "Sixty-two! Barely another decade to go and then poof off to Father no doubt – the cruel bastard – where I can never go, unless I go to war with Him again."

Family drama by the sounds of it. Nothing ever did upset Lucifer like his father. She wished she could meet him if only to punch his teeth in for what he'd done to his son.

"No one is dying and no one is going to war. Is this a mid-life crisis for you? A bit late isn't it?"

He drew himself up proudly – and nearly fell over.

"I am never late," he declared to the banister.

She smiled – and reached for the camera.

When she'd secured blackmail for the following decade, ( that annoying voice in her head that sounded a lot like Lucifer very proud of her ruthlessness) she helped him to sit on the sofa, standing in front of him and sighing.

He leant into her stomach, and she let him, carefully stroking his black hair – still no grey in sight the lucky sod (she checked) - soothing him as she'd used to soothe Trixie after a nightmare.

"Please don't leave me," he begged her, voice muffled by her shirt.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised, wrapping her arms around him tightly. What on earth had happened to get him so upset? She'd have to get the details out of him later, or ring Maze. It'd been a while since they'd had one of their chats.

"You will though," he accused, "off to Heaven and I can't stop it. It will mean war and I don't want to."

She chuckled, he sounded so aggrieved too. He must be as drunk as a lord and no mistake.

"Better heaven than hell, surely?"

He drew back a little and looked up at her, eyes as wide and harmless as a foal. "Do you really mean that?"

She was dismayed – and astonished – to find tear tracks on his face.

"Lucifer!" she sat down next to him and pulled him closer, "What's wrong? There's no need to cry, I'm here. Whatever it is, it'll be OK."

He sobbed into her arms and bewildered, she could do nothing but keep him there – not difficult as he'd suddenly developed octopus syndrome and wouldn't let her go.

She shouldn't have made a joke about religion. Atheism was a rising power, but she knew Lucifer's family had been pretty old school – and he'd named himself Lucifer – that said it all, didn't it?

"Heaven for the real estate, Hell for the company?" she tried desperately. "Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven?"

"Yes," he sniffled, "It is better. I knew you'd choose me."

Huh. Linda had been right, working within his metaphors helped, like suddenly they were reading from the same score.

God he was insensible. She didn't know what to do. Lucifer was never vulnerable – not like this. He never spoke of his family – what was she supposed to say? The man was as drunk as she'd ever seen him.

"Please don't leave me," he said again, staring right into her eyes. She realised then that in her attempts to comfort him, she'd pulled him half over her on the sofa, and they were now face to face.

What made her do it – she'd never know.

She kissed him.

There were vague thoughts about actions working where words had failed – but she still kissed him. She just wanted to comfort, to prove to him somehow that he wasn't alone. That he was dear to her. He had to know it, after decades of friendship, but Lucifer had been so badly abused that the only emotions he was comfortable with were lust and desire. Maybe it was time she spoke his language.

Just one kiss – he'd understand then.

Except, he kissed back and suddenly it was all systems go, full steam ahead, and enter hyperspace. Stars were exploding, volcanoes' erupting, the earth shaking.

He tried to pull back but she wouldn't let him go, not after that. She took his mouth – invaded and conquered, planting her flag. Hers. He was hers. Not those transient young things that came and went, moths to his flame. No, he'd picked her and by God she was putting her foot down.

He got with the program very fucking quickly after that.

They separated, and for a long moment, it could have stopped there. They could have backed off, laughed, had a cup of tea and Lucifer would have woken up on her sofa in the morning, she'd have made him breakfast, he'd have teased her about domestic bliss – and then he would have gone home, status quo intact.

It could have, but it didn't.

Fuck her sideways, Chloe thought. Holy Hell it was only a kiss but if the rest of it was anything like that…suddenly, she couldn't blame those girls. They'd been right all along.

Moths to the flame, maybe, but she was going to fucking sprint into the wildfire and cackle the whole way.

If the kiss was that good, she thought, panting, the sex was going to be incredible.

The world froze.

Sex?

Had she really just gone and considered sex with Lucifer?

Lucifer?

Her oldest and dearest friend? Her friend who'd just had another vicious fight with his bastard of a father? Her friend who was drunk? Vulnerable? Who'd come to her for help and comfort?

No. She couldn't do it. She wasn't going to take advantage. She was not that sort of woman.

"Don't stop."

She blinked. Lucifer was Looking at her again, looking with a capital L because there were no words to describe that whirlpool of emotion and pain she saw in his eyes, swirling and burning and raging.

He needed her.

Maybe she was lonely, maybe she needed the release, maybe she just couldn't bear to reject Lucifer again, not when he already in such a state.

He'd never needed her before.

She grabbed him by the back of his designer jacket and hauled him down to her mouth again for another soul scorching kiss.

Chloe had never felt so alive.

Incredibly, he retreated this time – impossibly strong as always – and she groaned a vehement protest. Now he was saying no after she'd made up her mind to say yes? His jacket tore clean in half from her efforts to hold him.

"Can I?" he breathed over her lips, pupils dilated so wide he looked crazed. Oh, he wasn't saying no. He wasn't saying no at all. "Please can I have you – just this once? Chloe, I'll be so good to you. Nothing has to change, just like you want and I'll never even talk about this again, just please."

"Yes," she whispered before she could think, her mind a battlefield of chaos, "But Lucifer, you're drunk, I don't want to hurt you – "

"You can hurt me any way you like," he promised darkly, biting at her neck and oh dear god, she clenched her thighs around his hips, clawing his shirt from his back, feeling his scars beneath her fingertips as her hands took their rightful place over his shoulder blades, shreds of silk falling like snow.

"You're mine," Chloe told him, sucking at his earlobe. He gasped, and fumbled at his belt – her skirt, shucking it up over her hips, knickers rolled down and there was no time for embarrassment or hesitation, just the sweet slide of skin on skin and that first thrust that joined them together made her stifle a cry into his shoulder.

"Finally," Lucifer breathed, tongue worshipping her breasts – and when had her top come undone – "Chloe, you're perfect. So perfect for me."

"Oh my," she retained just enough sense not to use the G word, "Devil, that's good – Lucifer there, come on, I need – "

She wasn't an easy woman to please, but somehow, with Lucifer, it was good. He had his fingers right where she needed them, his mouth memorising the arch of her neck in-between husky promises of eternity.

All she had to do was hold on for the ride and she was golden.

When it was over, she lay panting, weakly on his chest, feeling sore to the bone. There'd been no foreplay, no teasing – none of the elaborate games she'd heard so much about but it had been just what she needed.

"Chloe?"

She looked into his eyes – still burning fiercely with passion – and felt the fire rise again at the question she saw there.

"Yes," she told him, and pushed him backwards. He went easily – for once – and she climbed on top, unsurprised to find him recovered despite how inhuman that was. She lifted herself up and sank down on him. "Yes."

"Detective."

She rode him hard, glorying in the slip and slide, the feel of his hands at her hips, supporting not controlling. Finally, finally.

She clawed his chest just to see her mark upon him. She leaned down to bite at his neck. Let him hide that in the morning.

No, there would be no thoughts of the morning – not here and not now.

He knifed upwards, legs spread wide beneath her thighs for balance – and his mouth was back at her breasts. She groaned, and arched her back, pushing them up to his lips and throwing her head back in pleasure – smirking at the ceiling.

She'd known he would adore her breasts.

He was good at it too.

Desire crackled and sparkled at his touch. He sucked, he bit, he rolled – tongue and teeth, mouth and fingers - and it was beyond anything she'd ever known. He matched his movements – as above so below – and it took her less than a minute to topple over the edge again.

Lucifer did not stop there.

When orgasm stripped her thighs of strength, he caught her and twisted them both around, never leaving her body.

"Oh no, my dear Chloe," he purred – and where on earth had his drunken slurring and stupor vanished to? "No, if I only get the one night then I'm having every. Last. Second. Of. It." Every syllable was pounded into her body as if he could force the words into her mind with every thrust as if that would make them true.

He still doubted her?

"Promises, promises," Chloe gasped around the aftershocks of her pleasure. "Come on Lucifer, put your back into it."

He growled – which was sort of hilarious actually – and obeyed.

His arms braced over her, he rolled his hips and – oh my. That was rather, oh yep, that would do it alright, fuck fuck fuck but the man could fuck.

"Oh I know," Lucifer preened.

Had she said that aloud?

She couldn't tell – so she kissed him to shut herself up.

He fucked her through orgasm number two, which led right on to orgasm number three and this time she retained enough savagery to drag him down to bliss with her.

She clenched about him – finally finding a use for all those pelvic exercises – and he whimpered above her.

"Chloe," he groaned, "So tight, come on, loosen a little darling or I can't move."

"Move," she ordered, ruthless, and he tried, bless him.

She howled in victory as he shuddered above her for an endless age and collapsed into her arms, face planted into her breasts because the man was relentless.

She writhed around him as the wave passed and he kept shivering inside her with the sensitivity, making little whimpering cries that she revelled in. Could an eighteen year old girl do that? He tried to pull out then but she wasn't having it.

"You promised me all night," she crooned, feeling utterly wild and free and gloriously alive. "I thought we had a deal."

He muttered something into her breasts – then pinched her below and oh fuck that hurt. Except it sort of didn't too, in fact, she could really just about go for another and – Lucifer was rising, inside as well – and it was onto the next round. With gusto.

They made wild insane love for hours and it wasn't enough. Every ecstasy they reached only fed their hunger for more and Chloe couldn't recognise herself.

There was no hesitation, no embarrassment, no doubt just more more more and it was so liberating. Walking heroin, Lucifer had once said. Addictive.

She believed it.

Eventually they stopped. The sheets had become a swamp and Chloe had no choice but to push Lucifer off or she was going to fester.

"We haven't finished," Lucifer swore.

"Good," Chloe spat. "Shower. Now."

She tumbled out of bed and onto the floor, legs a forgotten dream. Lucifer had to carry her into the shower – the smug prick.

"Oh like you're any better," she hissed, scratching one of the many bruises she'd given him. Lucifer shivered from head to toe – looked at her just once – and then her back was shoved against the beatifically cold tiles and he was kissing her.

God they were filthy and she didn't care. She kissed him back just as fiercely, stealing as much breath from his lungs as she could – and then put a hand on his shoulder and pushed that glorious mouth of his down.

"You look divine on your knees," Chloe moaned, satisfied that he was tamed at last, and that was the last full sentence she spoke for an entire hour.

"I'm always divine," he returned, nipping at her thigh, "I am an archangel you know."

"Yeah yeah," she groused, "stairway to heaven etc etc etc, just get on with it."

His tongue – dear heaven – she could write a book about the miracle of his tongue.

He only stopped because the hot water had run out and she was shivering out of cold, not a stupor of hedonistic glory.

They dried on the sheets of the guest bedroom as Lucifer held her thighs apart with that impossible strength and finished what he started. No amount of her moaning or clawing his hair or the sheets could get him to hurry it up and let her come already.

She locked her thighs about his neck and twisted, heaving with all her strength to get him closer – but he ignored it all. She unclenched her hand from the fistful of sheets, only now feeling the ache in her knuckles from the grip, and slid her hand down to help him out. He grabbed her hand without looking up.

No cheating, his eyes told her playfully.

When she did manage to come, trembling with rapture and frenzied exhaustion – he slid up her body and dove inside her again.

Dawn light slowly lit the bedroom, crawling across the wall – and they were still going strong. It was like the dam had broken and decades of pent up desire had to be felt right here, right now – except it wasn't, because Chloe hadn't felt a shadow of desire after their second maybe-go at a relationship had failed.

But now, oh now. She raked his back. Licked the sweat from his chest. Bit his nipples and clawed like a wild thing at the sheets – the walls – his thighs and their ever-steady rhythm.

By the time her alarm rang, she didnt have the strength to lift her arm to turn it off.

They lay side by side, wrecked in absolute silence, just listening to the buzz-buzz-buzz.

"One night, I said," Chloe murmured, eventually, when the second alarm had come and gone.

Lucifer reached over her and smashed the clock against the wall. Mmm, the muscles in his arms rippled when he did that…. how did he still have muscles?

"The nights isn't over yet," Lucifer declared, looking at her with such promise that she did not object.

"No, it isn't," she decided, and dragged him back over her.

#

He cooked her an enormous breakfast at three o'clock in the afternoon when they both had to admit that their night was over.

She'd just eaten a strawberry when Lucifer groaned. She paused, looked at him, realised where his eyes were, and dropped the green stem.

"I didn't mean – "

"Too late," Lucifer declared, and stood. He stalked around the table to her, and she could only laugh – and reach for another strawberry. When he pushed her up onto the old oak table, clearing the way with a sweep of his arm and shattered crockery, she reached for his belt.

#

By evening she was too weak to stand. Lucifer carried her into the bath, and got in behind her, ruthlessly pleasuring her to another peak under the water before he would even consider helping her with the sweaty mess of her hair.

"You know, I distinctly remember one of your women telling me that you could hold your breath for ages under the water."

She raised an eyebrow. Lucifer grinned, twisted them about, and settled in between her legs.

#

Around dinnertime, Chloe's body physically could not take another moment and betrayed her by passing out.

She slept like the dead for fourteen hours and woke feeling like she'd aged thirty years and was high on caffeine besides.

Lucifer was gone.

She knew it before she even opened her eyes – the coldness of the air telling her all she needed to know.

She groaned.

This was exactly what she had feared all along, but she surprised herself by not regretting it. It had been fantastic. He'd been exquisite. They'd been phenomenal. There was nothing to regret.

Besides, they'd had a deal by Lucifer's standards. One night, and nothing had to change; he'd never talk about it again. She wasn't young enough to believe nothing would change, but she did believe their friendship would be as strong as ever.

She trusted him.

Chloe glanced over – and saw that Lucifer had left her a glass of water, a couple of pills and a sandwich on the bedside table. Next to them, was an elegant vase she'd never seen before full of at least a dozen blood red roses.

She downed the pills without looking at them, washed them down with the water and ate every crumb before going back to sleep, smiling.

#

She didn't see Lucifer again for fifteen years.