eyemind | i'm a monster, baby; closed;

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i'm a monster, baby; closed;

WHO: Lucifer and Chloe
WHAT: Lucifer has a Devil Bod Incident, because it's been too long since his subconscious has fucked with him.
WHERE: Their cabin, thankfully.
WHEN: sometime during or after the holiday event
WARNINGS: Graphic descriptions of charred red flesh; nudity; possibly smut later. Just generally assume this thread is NSFW.

Little known fact: The Devil dreams. Always has done. (Though, he's never thought to ask any of his siblings if they also dream, or if he's somehow unique among the celestial family in that regard. Maybe they're all like that, or maybe he's always been just a little bit more human than the rest. Who knows?) Anyway, his dreams run the gamut, from the absurd, to the sexy (or the absurd-and-sexy), to the terrifying.

Tonight, he's dreaming of Hell.

He's had far worse dreams, objectively speaking. Mostly what this one amounts to, is unsettling. It's flashes, like a slideshow of memory, of his throne, of the way he'd had to cow the demons upon his return, the punishments he'd had to mete out to some of the more stubborn denizens who'd participated in the plot to kidnap baby Charlie and make themselves a new king. He'd enjoyed none of it, it had simply been necessary. His duty. Protecting his family, protecting his - Chloe - protecting humanity. And as he watches the slideshow, the echo of a voice in his mind, reminding him that he's shirking his duty now. That every moment stolen with Chloe, in this other universe, is a moment that Hell doesn't have a king. A moment where everything is vulnerable, and people could be in danger, and he's not even trying to get back there.

He blinks awake with an almost-shudder, and immediately realizes that something is very, very wrong. He can still taste ash in his mouth, and as he re-orients himself to where he is, his spine feels weird and misshapen, and - oh, shit.

He's in bed with Chloe, all wrapped around her, tangled up with her - a red, charred monstrosity, sharp claws and leathery wings. He tries not to panic, not to just scramble away from her in a rush, as that would both wake her, and likely injure her. It's not simply that he's got a leg slotted between hers, or that her hand is wrapped around one of his. It's that his sharp, jagged nails are a mere hairsbreadth away from the soft skin of her breasts, and one of the claws on his wings is tangled in a lock of her hair.

Think, Lucifer. Make this go away! Forgive yourself, forgive yourself, forgive yourself.

Nothing changes. He can only try, futilely, to slip out of her grasp, out of the bed, before she wakes and sees what she's been drooling on. Leg - out. The wing? He shifts again, reaching up to try and untangle her hair.

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It usually gets hot throughout the night, which she’s always assumed had to do with his body heat. Next to her, covering her, always there. Half the time, there was almost no need for sheets, though she preferred one simply for the sake of needing to ever cover up, if anyone felt the need to barge in. Now, even while she’s fast asleep, the sheet’s been pushed down to her hips leaving her half naked.

Why bother putting anything on, after getting down, dirty, and sweaty? Pointless, really, when it would happen again. Either in the middle of the night, the morning. Which had been the case with them.

Fast asleep or not, the movement pulls her slowly back to consciousness. A soft exhale, some shifting on her part, and her hand moves for him. Reaches because she wants his arm around her, wants to snuggle in close. What she touches is not smooth skin; it’s hot, hotter than it should be, and it’s … textured?

Chloe tightens her fingers around what she assumes is his arm, feels the uneven, rough texture under her palm. Blinks sleepily, blinks awake. Goes suddenly still at what’s facing her, eyes widening. The scream traps itself in her throat. Immediately, she goes to jerk away, that string of drool following to catch at her shoulder, only to then—

“Ow—!”

Is that— Why is her hair snagging on— oh, god—what in the hell is going on?

It's true, they've been rather going at it like bunnies - and why not? There's been no work, no celestial family drama, hardly any adult responsibilities to interrupt them, and Lucifer can't get enough of her, now that he's got her. She seems nearly as insatiable.

But suddenly that all sort of comes crashing down - the truth that he's been pushing away, the latent guilt of shirking his responsibilities (and what the Hell, since when has that bothered him in the slightest? The Detective really is rubbing off on him in more ways than one).

"Hold still," he says immediately when he feels her stir, when he feels that tug as she tries to shift. Thankfully, his voice is normal, albeit a bit rough from sleep - but it's also laced with apology, with shame. "I'm sorry, I'm going to fix this," he babbles, reaching up with those horrible fingers to unsnare her from him. He clearly doesn't just mean fix her hair. The guilt compounds on itself, the knowledge that she should never have to wake up to this, she deserves so much better than a monster in her bed, gripping her with these claws like he has any right to her.

Finally he gets her hair free, and he's immediately starting to pull away from her - he has no particular plan, except to get out of here so she doesn't have to look at him like this.

“No, it’s—” she begins, but then she’s wincing with the way her hair’s caught up, head tilting to ease the pressure on her scalp. “It’s okay, I’m—”

Chloe doesn’t know if she should also reach to help, fingers brushing his in a brief touch, stilling once he’s worked out the tangle. Suddenly, the bed shifts as his weight moves. And while she’s leaning back, it isn’t out of fear, not like before. She’s trying to get a good look at him—at all of him.

“Lucifer—” Sheet bunched over her lap, it falls away when she’s quickly moving up onto her knees to reach for him. To stop him. To keep him on the bed with her. “It’s okay! It’s okay.”

Clawed hands or not, Chloe’s reaching out to try and snag one, more awake than ever now, concerned by this unexpected change he’s gone through overnight. “Hey … I’m here. I’m here.”

He expects her to recoil - why wouldn’t she? If he could, he’d be recoiling from himself in this state. He’s all roughness and sharp claws and spines and everything repulsive to anyone with eyes.

But instead, she reaches for him. She does? He freezes in surprise when her hand seeks his, familiar touch against his rough, cracked skin. He’s sort of awkwardly half off the bed, wings hanging at odd angles.

“Why?” he croaks out, the first thing that comes to his mind. She said I’m still here and he can only think but why.

She frowns up at him, fingers tightening on his hand. “Why not?”

Shuffling closer on her knees, naked on the bed and uncaring to the state of her undress, Chloe doesn’t take her eyes off of him. She remembers his reaction the last time she’d had to force herself to look away, unable to take in this side of him then.

“I’m not scared, Lucifer. We’re going to figure this out, together. You don’t have to hide yourself away.”

She’s not scared. He looks at her, really looks at her, and it seems she’s telling the truth. She looks concerned, certainly. Concerned for him. But not frightened for herself.

She should be, that dark part of his mind whispers.

“I could hurt you,” he says, because he can’t - doesn’t want to - articulate the reality of this, the way his mind so easily falls into spirals of you don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve her. He could hurt her. So many claws.

“What if I don’t want you to see this?”

“Not intentionally,” she answers, because she knows he would never do that. “It doesn’t matter what form you take, Lucifer, I know you aren’t going to hurt me. We’re going to be okay.”

Here, Chloe frowns. She shakes her head. “What if our roles were reversed, what would you say to me if I’d said that to you?”

Lucifer shakes his head, emphatically. Even his horrible, bat-like wings twitch almost defensively at the thought. "That would never happen because you're not a - a monster, and you never could be," he says, almost anguished. That's the point, isn't it? That he's a monster, and she is so, so much better.

“Let’s try that again: Tell me, what would you say to me if I’d said that to you?” Her hand squeezes at his, patient as ever. “Our roles are reversed, what if I don’t want you to see this?”

Lucifer closes his eyes, takes a breath. What if she said that to him? How would he respond? There's only one way he could ever respond to her, saying something like that to him.

"There's nothing about you that I wouldn't want to see," he says after only a brief moment. "Even - even your atrocious snoring and your terrible taste in music. But you don't -"

“—but nothing,” she cuts in, brows raising, tone leaving no room for an argument. “Lucifer, there’s your answer. What you would say to me is exactly what I’m going to say to you: there’s nothing about you that I wouldn’t want to see.”

She moves then to sit on the edge of the bed, sheet still half draped over her lap, a leg hanging, her head tipping back to look at him. “No one is perfect. Absolutely no one, no matter what. When you love someone, you want to know everything about them; the good, the bad, the ugly, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Lucifer opens his eyes again, and looks at her. Chloe is both beautiful, and fragile-looking, naked as she is, and in comparison with his misshapen horrible-ness. She's still got her hand on his, and he tries to give it a squeeze, but stops himself, because his hand is all jagged and rough and he doesn't want to scratch her up.

"I don't deserve it," he says quietly.

“Don’t deserve what?” she asks, just as quiet, thumb stroking the side of his hand.

"This," Lucifer grits out, almost against his will. "You."

“You deserve happiness, Lucifer. Just the same as everyone else. You deserve to be loved. Taken care of.”

He sags a little, kneeling on the bed next to her. Her hand on his keeps him rooted, keeps him from just bolting, even as exposed as he feels. The spiny wings, the claws, the charred flesh, he can't look at himself, and he can't look at her, so he studies the far wall behind her.

"How can you look at me like this and still believe that?" he mutters, so uncertain.

“Because I know. I know the real you.”

Now that he’s moved closer, within reach, her other hand reaches to brush over his jaw. Feel over the textured skin; for the first time, touching him in this way, slow and curious, hesitant in case he needs to pull away and is uncomfortable. She tilts her head, eyes lowered to where her fingers touch, thumb following the dipping line in his chin underneath his bottom lip.

“Do you really think this changes who you are, to me? How I feel?”

He doesn't pull away. He can't, not when her touches are so gentle, when he can barely breathe with the guilt and the ache of want inside him. He wants to believe her. He wants what she's offering so much. He never knew how he wanted it, until he met her, until she offered it.

He still can't look at her, though.

"No," he finally says, almost shocked at himself. "No, I suppose - it doesn't? Change how you feel."

He remembers her smile, when he cowed the demons. When he sent them all back to Hell. She'd looked... proud. Of him.

“No, it doesn’t,” soft agreement. “It wouldn’t. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere. But… seeing as you’re refusing to look at me, does it change anything for you?”

"Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you," Lucifer says immediately, his eyes snapping back to hers. "Nothing."

Vibrant red eyes meet hers so suddenly that she finds herself drawing in a soft, swift breath. Her hand stays at his jaw, however, her touch never wavering.

“What if I… turned into a bad person? Did terrible things?”

Edited 2022-02-07 00:51 (UTC)

"You wouldn't," Lucifer says. "That could never happen."

“But you don’t know that.”

"Yes I do," Lucifer says immediately, and earnestly. "Because I know you, Chloe. You could never be a monster. Not a monstrous bone in your body."

He glances down at himself, his mouth twisting in a grimace. "I would know."

“Actually, some mornings, my knees feel like they’re eighty. That’s pretty monstrous to me.”

He’s looking down and her hand at his cheek is pressing gently, encouraging him to look back up to her. “And you are not a monster.” That hand slips down to his chest, touches over his heart. “I would know.”

Lucifer breathes what might almost be a laugh at her comment about her knees. Under other circumstances, he'd find a way to make that dirty. But he can't just yet.

Almost hesitantly, he covers her hand on his chest with his own, clawed one. Still a little afraid of actively touching her, but - wanting to.

"But I'm here," he says quietly. "With you. Being... happy. And not even trying to get back to where I should be." Ruling Hell. Keeping the demons in check, and humanity safe.

“And that makes you a monster?” She stares at him, completely taken aback by this confession. “No.” Now she shakes her head, fingers digging in at his chest. “No, absolutely not. I don’t believe that, and neither should you.”

Chloe presses hard, then, as if to give a small shove. “Your happiness is just as important as anyone else’s. No one should be punished for being happy, not you, not me.”

She shoves him, and he sits back, his wings spreading out behind him. He's sort of half-reclined, almost, on the bed, and now he has to look up at her.

"Is my happiness more important than keeping people safe?" he asks.

That’s not a question she wants to answer, and yet she knows why he’d ask it. Ensuring the safety of others, that was her job. Putting others before herself, that was her job.

“That’s not fair,” she begins, shifting on her knees, moving to slowly slide onto his lap, feeling the rough skin against the insides of her thighs, “and you know it.”

"Isn't it?" Lucifer frowns, touching her waist, uncertain what's happening here all of a sudden. "You know why I left - I - what - what are you doing?"

“Both things are equally important, I —” And then she stops at his question, still standing on her knees. What was she doing? That’s a damn good question.

Chloe, however, makes no move to climb off. Eye contact breaking away, her gaze lowers down the length of his torso — all the way down.

“Is this… not okay?” A hand reaches, braces against his shoulder. If he’d prefer her to not be on top of him, she can move off. They can get dressed to talk, whatever is more comfortable for him.

Lucifer huffs a breath, also glancing down at himself. He's still definitely got all the parts. If anything, he's even a little bigger in this form.

"Are you okay?" he asks, because she's as beautiful and tempting and perfect as she always is - she has to know how his body is likely to react to her straddling him, being so close. He always reacts when she does this.

“I’m okay. Better, now,” admits softly, hand relaxing at his shoulder. She offers a small smile as she goes on to explain, “I’m not afraid of you, like this, you… know that. I only reacted how I did waking up because, well, neither of us was expecting this—I’m sorry.”

Chloe can definitely make out the difference in size, even in the semi dark of their room. She can feel it with how she’s kneeling over him, the stretch of her legs.

She wets her lips. “We can… we can figure this out. There has to be a reason for it.”

"There's not being afraid, and then there's...well." He glances down at himself again, clears his throat. It's not like he'd ever ask her to even touch him like this, let alone straddle him. Let alone get so close to such rough, ridged skin.

"It's... it's just my guilt. I have to do what you said, right? Forgive myself. Try to."

“Well, nothing,” a firm answer that’s followed with a little huff. This has happened, is happening now, and they’ll work through it together. Like always.

“Right, yes.” Chloe nods. “You need to forgive yourself, and you shouldn’t feel guilty for being stuck here or for being happy; this is out of our hands, Lucifer. Neither of us can get home.” Though, neither of them is trying particularly hard to make it happen…

"I'm not even trying to get back," Lucifer murmurs. "I should be. I know I should be. I just... I'm not ready, yet."

But clearly he feels guilty enough about it that he's like this again. His hands slide around her middle, almost hesitantly, up her spine, that rough, hot skin brushing her smooth, pale, cooler.

“Neither am I,” she softly admits in agreement, eyes lowering. Does she feel bad herself? Absolutely. She shouldn’t be here on some ship in space in another dimension or wherever it is that they’ve found themselves months ago.

Christ, has it already been months?

“But I know it’s… harder for you.” Being in Hell and all that.

Leaning down until her forehead can rest against his, just as hesitant as him in case he flinches away or doesn’t want her too close, the pass of his hands up along her back draws a quiet catch in her breath. Hot, textured; this is new for them in a way that it’s almost like her first time all over again with him.

Chloe closes her eyes, goosebumps rising up over her arms and breasts, nipples tightening.

Lucifer studies her, not pulling away. How could he? All he wants is to be close to her. Even if he shouldn't.

"I never stopped thinking about you," he says, his voice low and rough. "I've always been so alone there, and it's somehow worse this time. Being apart from you."

His gaze falls to her breasts, the way she sucks in that breath, the way her nipples are turning to tight little peaks. Normally, that would be his cue to suck on them, to slide his hands to her ass, but he's very uncertain. No one has ever been this close to him, in this form. Not once, not ever. What does she want? Can he even make her feel good like this?

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i'm a monster, baby; closed;

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Crrrawwwlllinngggg innnnn myyyy sskkiiiinnnnn

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