To the Stars
By usuallysunny on ao3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Chloe Decker
Summary: “Maybe it was last night. Or the night before on the balcony, when you were up against the—” ...a missing scene
Warnings: !NSFW!
Notes: A missing scene from season six that the Lucifer writers robbed us of. We want balcony sex!! The lovely usuallysunny on ao3 has given us the scene we’ve all been asking for :)
Words: 2708
You can read below ⬇️ or read on ao3 (link above)
It doesn’t surprise her anymore, the heady way Lucifer looks at her.
He’s looked at her many different ways over the years.
When they first started working together, he looked at her like she was a puzzle for him to figure out, dark eyes curious and intrigued. As they turned from unlikely colleagues to even more unlikely friends, that look softened around the edges. She remained fascinating to him, just out of his reach, but as he memorised her coffee order, and added her favourite 90s playlist to his sound system, he became more interested in actually knowing her, what made her tick.
As they became closer still, brought together by a crazy professor and a poison that danced her on the edge of death, she began to see a spark that was more than lust in his eyes. Somewhere along the way, between the banter that set her teeth on edge, and all the cases to solve, he had grown to care for her. Desire still blazed behind his eyes, glittering mischievous and wild, and she still tried her hardest to fight it—but he stopped trying to sleep with her, and started trying to be with her. In all the ways that count.
In the uncomfortable year after Cain and before Eve, she started to hate the way he looked at her. She couldn’t see the care or affection anymore, muted by pain and betrayal. But the longing was still there, keeping her on a precipice, dangling a carrot, not allowing her to let go. It’s the most shameful thing in her life, what happened with Kinley. She remembers that night in the penthouse, when he’d asked her if she could accept him. She hadn’t been ready then, and remembering that look—dark eyes glistening wet with so much hurt—makes her feel a little sick.
Chloe hopes he never looks at her that way again.
There’s so much reverence in his eyes when he looks at her now. He can freely admit he loves her, it no longer lodges in his throat, tangled in excuses. He’s lost her too, felt her die in his arms, and died for her in return. He looks at her like she’s something sacred, something to hold onto, and while it no longer surprises her, the intensity of it still takes Chloe’s breath away.
Through it all, no matter the time or place, the look is always tinged with want. He’s Lucifer Morningstar, after-all, and desire is his playground.
The look he sends her now as he prowls towards her, bathed in the soft yellow hues of the elevator behind him, clenches heat in the pit of her belly.
Her mouth feels too dry as she walks backwards towards the balcony, feeling very much like prey. She wonder if she can be called such if she wants it so much. She wants him to devour her, to crawl inside her, to become one with her and never let go.
“I thought you wanted desert,” her voice sounds deeper, huskier, in her ears as he continues to close the gap between them.
That’s what he’d said at the restaurant anyway, carelessly tossing a few hundreds down as he insisted they’d finish their meal at home. She’d expected him to drop her off at the penthouse and slip down to the outrageous kitchen that covers the entirety of floor 42. Then he’d return with some brownies, or ice cream, and yes, they’d probably eat it off each other’s bodies, but that’s besides the point.
“I do,” he insists as she steps backwards onto the balcony, cool night air hitting her body. Almost immediately, she feels her nipples pebble under her dress, a faint tremor shivering over her skin.
His dark eyes, pupils already blown to black, drop to between her thighs.
Her breath catches, molten heat pooling in the pit of her belly when she realises what he means. So she is to be prey then, she thinks wryly, as he steps outside with her and backs her up against the balcony’s railing.
He leans in, surrounding her in a cloud of whiskey and smoke. His mouth skims her jaw, warm lips trailing to her ear.
“Hold on,” he orders in a silken purr, accentuating it with a soft bite on her earlobe. His mouth curves into a smirk at the shudder that races down her spine.
She does as she’s told, her slightly shaking hands travelling to grasp the railing either side of her.
He straightens, his hands trailing an electric path down her sides until he firmly grips her hips. Then he lifts her, planting her on the balcony’s edge.
“Lucifer!” she gasps, her stomach dropping as she takes in the bustling LA nightlife below.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got you,” he croons, “I’d never let you fall.”
She swallows, turning her head back to face him. She has a death grip on his shoulders, made tighter by Amenadiel’s rod hanging from a chain behind her bullet, and she looks into his eyes. They shine sincere, blown wide with desire and so much love, and she trusts him.
“Yeah, you too,” she says softly, her words taking on a deeper meaning.
He smiles, genuine and momentarily devoid of seduction, before he leans in to let his lips brush against hers. She sighs, her heart stuttering in her chest. They’ve kissed hundreds of times now—from passionate, tangling tongues to a simple peck goodnight—and every time feels like the first.
Her hands travel from his shoulders to his face, feeling the rasp of his neatly trimmed beard under her palms. His own hands fit at her waist, holding her securely as he finally kisses her properly. His lips are warm and firm as they glide over hers, his tongue slick and probing as he runs it over her bottom lip. He swallows the moan she doesn’t mean to make as she opens her mouth and their tongues connect.
Every slide of his tongue against hers sends a spark of heat between her thighs. She shifts on the balcony’s edge, needing to rub them together, to relieve the ache. Her fingers dance to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft curls there. He hums in pleasure, the sound vibrating against her lips and intensifying the ache in her core.
He tugs her closer, stepping between her thighs as she spreads them wider. With one hand on the small of her back, he pushes her into him, letting her feel the evidence of his desire. She breaks away from his mouth with a moan, tipping her head back as she rolls her hips against his thick erection.
He kisses her cheek, her jaw, her neck, down to the hollow of her throat.
When he drags his mouth back to her ear, she’s breathless, and he’s panting, and he sounds utterly wrecked as he murmurs, “I want to taste you.”
A shiver that has nothing to do with the cool LA air passes through her.
“Please,” she whispers.
“I’m so glad you wore a dress,” he can’t help but quip as he slowly sinks to the floor, crooning his next words behind her knee, “now we just need to work on those crotchless panties, hmm?”
Chloe smirks, rolling her eyes to the sky.
“Not happening, Lucifer.”
“A devil can dream,” he sighs, and slowly draws her panties, crotch and all, down her legs.
She shivers again when her pussy is exposed to the night air.
“Always so wet for me,” he murmurs, as though he’s talking more to himself than to her, and skims his nose along the crease where her thigh meets her groin.
“Yes,” she whispers, her fingers tightening around the railing, “for you. Only for you.”
He gives a pleased little hum, one hand coming up to bunch the fabric of her dress in a fist of silk at her back. He holds it there, and holds her steady, as two fingers of the other hand swipe over her slit. She gasps at the first contact, her breath catching in her throat.
She’s close to begging again when he finally slides his tongue over her. Her hips arch towards him, her toes curling into cool glass, her fingers gripping the railing so tight, she’s sure she can hear the whine of bending metal.
He doesn’t seem to mind, focused on the task at hand as his talented mouth wrings out her pleasure. The sounds he makes as he eats her out border on obscene, thick growls and low groans and hot sucks as he focuses his attention on her clit. Her thighs tremble around his head and she glances down. She catches a shock of black curls against tanned thighs and she dares to lift a hand from the railing to tangle in his hair.
Over the past few months, she’s come to learn what he likes, so she’s not surprised when she tugs at his curls and he growls into her cunt, spurred on by the sting of half-pleasure, half-pain. His tongue rolls over her, hot and slippery slick, and her moan is almost a sob by the time he slips two fingers inside her.
He pumps them languidly, crooking them in a come-hither motion as his mouth returns to her clit. He takes the hard little nub between his lips and sucks hard. She cries out, cloaked by the privacy of being hundreds of feet in the air. She wonders if she’d care if she wasn’t. It’s difficult to see clearly when he’s making her eyes roll.
“Lucifer,” she sobs his name like a prayer, the only religion she clings to, as she feels herself approaching the edge, “please… I’m gonna—”
Desire strangles her throat. He hums, fucking her faster with his fingers as he licks at her.
“That’s it, baby,” he purrs, the pet-name one he only uses during sex, “come for me.”
She faintly registers the snap of his wings as she does.
Her orgasm rushes through her, exploding with a force that makes her arch her back a little too far. She sways for just a moment, not even long enough to panic, before there’s a flash of brilliant white and one of his wings is behind her, catching her as she rides the wave. The feathers tickle at her, intensifying the sensation, as he growls into her heat.
She shudders, her body shaking in the afterglow, and he laps at her lazily until she has to push him away through oversensitivity.
His wings are still surrounding her, casually cradling and caressing her, as she comes back down to earth.
He rises to his feet, brushing off his expensive Armani and adjusting his cuffs. She feels a heat rise in her cheeks at the sight of his lower face, his mouth and chin glistening with her juices. She watches him shamelessly lick his lips, his eyes black.
“God,” she breathes, still shaking.
“Not quite yet,” he smirks, before he arches a brow and asks, “good?”
She laughs, a blissed out smile curving on her lips.
“You don’t need me to stroke your ego,” she says as she reaches for his belt, not waiting for him to undoubtedly reply with a quip about stroking something else.
She slides down from the railing on trembling legs, fingers working on his buckle. Her hair billows as he shrugs his shoulders and furls his wings. The silence is deafening, the air pulsing hot and heavy between them, as she draws his belt from the loops and drops it onto the floor with a clink.
Fresh desire sparks between her legs when he kisses her and she tastes herself on his lips, tangy and tart. She breaks away to kiss his neck, taking in his masculine scent, all scotch and smoke and expensive cologne that clings to his throat. He groans, fingers flexing at her waist. With all his strength and power, she loves making him moan for her.
They kiss again as she pushes his jacket off his shoulders, uncaring as it floats to the floor in a pool of expensive Armani. She works on his buttons next, trying to keep her fingers from shaking, but he’s never exactly been the most patient of men. He’s loud, and unapologetic, and what he wants, he takes.
And what he wants right now is to be buried inside her.
So he leaves his shirt and her dress on, and he only bothers to pull his hard length out of his slacks. She barely has time to register him giving it a few pumps before he’s turning her around and bending her over the railing.
Clearly he’s in a dominant mood tonight, and it turns her on, her thighs turning slick again. His hands are a little rougher, a little less careful, now he knows she has Amenadiel’s necklace. She feels its power rush through her, heady and addictive. She pushes back, pushing her ass into his groin and grinding against his rigid length.
He mutters a curse into her hair. She grabs onto the balcony railing as he prepares her with his fingers again, and then she feels the head of his cock push against her dripping entrance.
“Please,” she begs, breathed into the cool night air.
“Please what, darling?”
Bastard, she thinks, but she says—
“Please fuck me.”
He breaches her, sliding his cock inside. They both groan at the contact, quickly fitting into a steady rhythm. She meets him thrust for thrust, feeling him withdraw almost entirely before he pushes back in. One hand holds her hip, angling her for his thrusts, while the other comes to lay on top of hers, entwined fingers curling over the balcony.
“You like that, Chloe?” he purrs, her name dripping from his lips like sin as his hips snap behind her, “you like being fucked out here in the open?”
She moans, slightly surprised at how his words turn her on. She knows he’s vastly experienced, has probably had sex in every position, invented most of them, and he’s probably a master at dirty talk—but for her, it’s all very new.
“Yes,” she confirms breathily, hooded eyes focused on the twinkling lights of the city below, “yes, Lucifer. Right there.”
He hums his approval, both hands flying to her hips. It falls silent save for her pants and his grunts, and when he slaps her ass, the sound of flesh on flesh pierces the air.
“Fuck,” the moan glides out of her without her permission, “again.”
He obeys as he gives her another smack, a thick sound rolling from his chest—half a moan, half a delighted chuckle. She imagines the red imprint his hand will leave behind and clenches around his length.
His thrusts turn long and deep, the angle hitting the perfect spot inside her. Her breath hitches as he slips a hand up to her throat, pulling her up, back against his chest. Her fingers remain curled around the railing, her head rolling against his shoulder.
He keeps a loose grip around her neck and turns her face to kiss him. Her lips tremble against his as she feels that coil inside her snap again, her orgasm rushing over her. Her tightening cunt milks his own orgasm from him and she feels his cock jerk and pulse as he comes, moaning into her mouth. He fucks her in shallow thrusts as they come back down, some of his cum sliding down her inner thigh as he pulls out.
“I love you,” he murmurs after a moment, just because he can. Just because it’s easy now.
She smiles and kisses his lips, “I love you too.”
Then she glances upwards, and thinks of the strange angel who had flown into her life a few days before.
Maybe this is how we made her, she wonders absently, another lightbringer created under the stars he put in the sky.
Two days later, when Rory and Lucifer meet again, something rare and fragile blossoming between them, Lucifer recalls, “maybe it was last night. Or the night before on the balcony, when you were up against the—”
And like a feeling stuck deep in her chest, Chloe just knows it was.
