Chapter Text
It begins, as most bad ideas do, with an argument between an angel and a demon.
Despite the late hour, Lux is still filled with revelers looking to fulfill their desires, whether they be another drink, a line of coke, or a shag in the utility closet. Maze sits at the bar, ignoring most of the party as she polishes the edge of her blade with the kind of focus most people reserve for a lover. Amenadiel, somehow managing to look holier-than-thou in a forest green hoodie, is nursing his usual crantini that might as well be a holy relic.
“You know what your problem is?” Maze drawls, twirling the blade between her fingers. “You think humans are better than they are.”
Amenadiel sighs. “I think they can be better than they are. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Maze.”
She scoffs. “Please. You’ve only been grounded on Earth for...what? A year or two at most? And you think you’re the expert on human behavior?”
“Maybe not an expert, but I have watched humanity grow from the time they were created. I’ve seen the good and the bad, and my opinion has changed since I—”
“Basically became one of them?” Maze smirks.
He sips his drink, ignoring her.
“Point is, you give them too much credit. All it takes is the right push and they’ll tumble headfirst into sin. Doesn’t even have to be a big push. Half a smile, a good drink, maybe a little violence—”
“Not everyone is like you, Maze.”
She grins. “Exactly. I’m better at it.”
“Well, you’re a demon so that goes without saying. My point is that humans were created with free will, as my father intended. Admittedly, not all their choices are...righteous, but in the end, they typically find their way.”
From across the room, at the piano, Lucifer plays a low chord, his ears picking up on the argument even from this distance. He’s been rather bored tonight, nothing and no one catching his eye, but perhaps he can still cause a bit of mischief between his sanctimonious brother and chaotic best fiend. Snatching his glass from the piano lid, he makes his way through the crowd until he reaches them.
“Honestly,” he says, lifting the glass to his lips, “the pair of you argue like an old married couple. Corruption, virtue—such limited concepts. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
Maze looks at him over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “Perspective, huh?”
“Indeed.” Lucifer leans against the bar, a new drink appearing at his elbow. “I mean, look around you, Maze. Lux is filled with temptation in every corner, and everyone here can be tempted with the proper...handling.”
“What you really mean is, by your handling.”
“Of course.”
Amenadiel turns on his stool, brow furrowed. “You really believe that, brother? That you can make anything sinful.”
Lucifer smirks slowly. “Well, I am the Devil, brother. Sin is rather my forte, wouldn’t you say? But yes, absolutely. I could turn this napkin into a vessel of temptation if so desired.” He plucks one from the bar, twirling it dramatically between his fingers. “Wouldn’t even be a challenge.”
Maze arches an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”
The smirk deepens. “You wish me to seduce a napkin? Even I have standards, Mazikeen.”
“Not a napkin.” She sets down her knife on the bartop, considering. “Someone pure. Someone who doesn’t fall for your charms.”
Even without naming names, they all know what—or rather, who—Maze is getting at. There is only one person in creation who fits that particular profile.
Amenadiel narrows his eyes. “Maze—”
She grins, wicked and delighted. “Decker.”
Lucifer goes still. Only for half a second, but Maze sees the faint stutter of breath, the flicker in his eyes.
His smirk returns, his mask restored, charm practically oozing from him. “Yes, because it isn’t as though I’ve been attempting to...proposition the Detective for years,” he says, reaching for his drink. “As you said, Maze, she doesn’t fall for my charms.”
“Then guess you’ll have to rely on whatever is left over.”
He scoffs. “You underestimate me, darling. The Detective loves a good challenge. What exactly are you suggesting?”
Maze taps her fingernails on the countertop, thinking. When the idea strikes, the only way to describe her smile is demonic. “Seven dates,” she announces. “One deadly sin for each. And Decker can’t know about it.”
“I don’t lie, Maze.”
“No, but you’re a master at half-truths and whatever. Supposedly, you can make anything tempting. Test the theory.”
Looking between the other two, Lucifer thinks about it for a moment, but the lure of a challenge is too much of a temptation for even him to pass up. “Very well. Seven dates, seven sins. Consider it an educational exercise in human behavior.”
Amenadiel eyes him. “Educational for whom?”
Lucifer ignores the question, finishing off his drink. “Well, I’m sure the patrons of Lux will be heartbroken to learn I shall be unavailable for the foreseeable, but one must prioritize science. Miss Lopez would be impressed.”
Maze’s grin widens. “Hold up. You don’t get to make a grand speech without stakes.”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Must we cheapen hypotheses with wagers?”
“Yes,” she says immediately. “Since when don’t you like betting on things?”
Which is a fair point. “Fine. State your terms, Mazikeen.”
“If you lose, if you can’t pull off all seven dates without Chloe knowing and make them revolve around a sin, I get Lux for a week.”
The composure on Lucifer's face falters as he imagines the absolute ruin of his club in the demon’s hands. “A week? Absolutely not.”
“All mine,” Maze continues, savoring every syllable. “No supervision, no rules. You walk away and let me run it the way it should be run.”
He crosses his arms. “You mean turning my carefully curated temple of indulgence into an MMA ring and tequila-fueled bloodbath?”
“Exactly.”
Amenadiel looks between them with an expression halfway between horror and resignation. “And if he wins?”
Lucifer licks his lips, his grin returning full force. “Ah, yes, the delightful part. Should I emerge victorious, and I will, you and our demonic friend here will personally clean Lux for a week after I’ve thrown the most debaucherous party to ever debauch.”
The angel actually pales. “Absolutely n—”
“Deal,” Maze says, already extending a hand to shake Lucifer's.
“Deal,” Lucifer agrees, pleased. He makes a gesture towards the nearest bartender, who immediately produces three shots of golden liquor. He holds one up as Maze snatches hers and Amenadiel reaches for the last more hesitantly. “To sin, and to science—both equally irresistible, but not nearly as much as me.”
They clink glasses. Maze downs the shot in a single swallow, while Amenadiel mutters something about damnation and disasters.
Meanwhile, Lucifer leans back against the bar, satisfaction rolling off him like cologne. The lights in the club seem to brighten momentarily—possibly in encouragement, possibly in warning—as he swirls his whiskey.
“Seven dates when you’ve never even been on one,” Maze says, smirking. “Sure she’ll even say yes?”
He hesitates for a beat, because no, he isn’t sure, not even a little. But he also isn’t about to let on about his uncertainty to a demon. “And why wouldn’t she? The Detective is all about a good mystery—and really, who could resist this particular enigma?” He runs a hand down his chest for emphasis.
“Uh. Chloe. Obviously.”
Amenadiel goes back to his crantini, huffing a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re going to make an absolute fool of yourself.”
“Don’t be absurd. I was born to make sin look splendid. Well, not born, per se, but same concept.”
“You’re mixing pride with delusion again.”
“Redundant distinction,” Lucifer says lightly.
The conversation dissolves into familiar bickering between beings who have known one another for eons. Maze lists potential sins like a shopping list—“Greed first, obviously. Always start greedy.” Amenadiel grumbles about celestial consequences and all the possible things that could go wrong. And Lucifer basks in his own brilliance—well, he wanted something interesting to happen tonight, and he got his wish.
As the night winds down and the laughter fades, a strange quiet falls. Maze and Amenadiel take their leave—she with a smirk and a warning to not chicken out, he with a sigh and eyeroll—leaving Lucifer to contemplate.
He wanders up to the penthouse, alone for once, pours another drink, and makes for the balcony. The night still hums faintly with the memory of the demon’s gleeful taunting and his brother’s exasperated sighs.
A wager.
His lips curve as he looks out over Los Angeles, though it isn’t quite a smile. “Seven dates, seven sins,” he murmurs to himself.
It had been amusing in the moment, of course it had. Maze always did know how to bait him, and Amenadiel never could resist looking scandalized. Perhaps he should have laughed it off, chosen some anonymous human to toy with, someone delightfully oblivious and disposable. But no. Her name had been spoken, and that...well, that changes everything.
Someone pure, Maze had said with that mischievous glint that bordered on torture.
Someone untouchable. Someone good.
Lucifer sets down his glass, flexing his fingers as if to shake off the thought. He tells himself it’s harmless—an intellectual pursuit, nothing more. A study of temptation and resistance. What could possibly go wrong with a little experiment? After all, it isn’t as though he’ll lie. He never does, and certainly not to her. That isn’t who he is, or who they are.
But then a memory rises from several months ago involving another wager with Mazikeen. At the time, Lucifer had simply been trying to distract the Detective, to get her out and have some fun. Her life was imploding with divorce proceedings and moving out of her mother’s house, and she seemed...upset. So he challenged Maze to get at least three drinks into her, which somehow ended up with Miss Lopez and Doctor Linda tagging along.
And it worked.
Right up until the moment Chloe realized her night of girl-powered fun originated from a bet. She was angry with both him and Maze, though he suspects it was more hurt than anything. Still, it all worked out well. Chloe gained three new friends and a roommate out of the deal—and she forgave Lucifer. Eventually.
This would be more...involved than a night of drinking. According to the set terms for the challenge, she can’t know about the wager or experiment, and while Lucifer is certain he can pull it off, what happens if she does find out?
Well, he’ll just have to ensure the dates themselves are genuine.
“It’s a silly wager. A challenge accepted is a challenge won,” he says aloud. The words sound hollow and defensive.
Lucifer downs the rest of his drink, watching the amber liquid fracture the light. His reflection in the glass tabletop looks too knowing, half-smirk, half-unease.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he tells it flatly.
The reflection doesn’t argue.
The next morning arrives with sunshine, blue skies, and burnt coffee. The Homicide bullpen is quieter than usual—most of the detectives are still buried in paperwork or out on cases.
Chloe sits at her desk, nursing her third cup of coffee, eyes flicking between a half-finished report and her computer screen. Her hair is still damp from a hurried shower, and there's a smudge of pen ink on the side of her hand. For once, there are no open cases, no devils, no chaos, just the faint illusion of normalcy.
Which, of course, is when Lucifer appears.
She probably should have known it wouldn’t last.
“Detective!”
She doesn’t even need to look up. The familiar voice carries over easily over the rustle of paper and chatter. But when she does glance up, her eyebrows rise. Lucifer is striding towards her desk in his usual immaculate suit with takeout coffee and a white bakery bag. That part is normal—or as normal as her partner gets. It’s the look in his eyes as he approaches that gets her attention. Even though he’s grinning like charm incarnate, there's a tightness to it, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’s nervous.
Lucifer is never nervous.
“Good morning,” she says slowly. “You’re...in an alarmingly good mood.”
His grin is both dazzling and infuriating. “Indeed I am.” He sets the coffee and bag down in front of her. “For you, Detective. Your usual coffee-adjacent swill and a lemon square.”
Suspicion immediately sets in. “What’s this for?”
“Must there be an occasion to show my favorite detective my appreciation?”
“I mean, there usually is,” she says, crossing her arms. “Either you want something or you did something, and you’re trying to butter me up.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffs. “I merely wished to do something nice for you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. What’s the catch?”
Lucifer blinks. “No catch, Detective.” Then he pauses, hesitating for a long moment. He glances around, then settles into his usual chair across from her desk, pulling it close and leaning even closer. “Although, there is something I would like to ask you.”
Chloe sighs. “There it is,” she mutters. “Okay, what is it?”
For a moment, he says nothing, and there’s that flash of possible nervousness in his eyes again. His fingers fly to his cufflinks, twisting them in agitation. Whatever this is, she doesn’t think it’s one of his games.
He takes a deep breath. “I wondered if you might like to...join me this evening,” he says quietly, barely meeting her gaze.
“Join you?” she repeats slowly. “For what?”
“Well, I thought perhaps a bit of dinner, wine, scintillating conversation,” he hurries on. “Just the two of us. No work, no Lux, no needy offspring or boring paperwork.”
She blinks, trying to find the angle and coming up empty. “Wait,” she says after a moment. “Are you...asking me on a date?”
Lucifer opens his mouth, closes it when nothing comes out, and clears his throat to try again. “I am, actually, yes. Don’t look so shocked. I’ve only been proposing it for the last two years.”
Stunned into silence, Chloe briefly wonders if she should explain that propositioning someone for sex and asking them on a date are two very different things. But she can’t seem to get the words out. Her eyes narrow. Now that she thinks about it, Lucifer hasn’t genuinely propositioned her in months, not since that whole marriage situation she tries not to think about. Since then, he’s kept her at arm’s length and their relationship strictly partners and friends.
Her suspicion strengthens. “This isn’t about a case or some favor?”
“No.”
“No new hedonistic experiments?”
“None whatsoever.”
“No hidden agenda?”
Lucifer tilts his head. Again, he hesitates. “Why would you expect hidden agendas, Detective? I simply thought you might enjoy an evening out away from bureaucratic nonsense and stress of the world. This is simply...us.”
That small pause before us should probably be a giveaway, but his expression is almost disarmingly earnest. Almost.
Chloe studies him for a long beat. She’s used to his charm, used to his deflections, used to the way he can twist truths into something else altogether. She’s also been burned by him more times than she can count, which makes her suspicion genuine rather than paranoia. As far as she knows, he’s never actually been on a date, and suddenly, he wants to take her on one? After spending months insisting they’re friends, yes, just friends!
But all she sees when she looks at him is...Lucifer. There's no glint of mischief in his eyes or even a hint of flirtation, and...yes, he is nervous. He wants her to say yes to this. What’s more, despite all they’ve been through, she wants to say yes.
The longer she’s quiet the more dejection edges into his expression.
She opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again.
Which, naturally, is when Ella makes her presence known.
Apparently, she’s been lingering at the side of the room, watching the interaction the whole time. Chloe should have noticed, but her focus has been on Lucifer.
“Oh my gosh, finally,” Ella says, with a more hopeful expression than the man waiting for an answer. “Decker, please tell me you’re saying yes. You’re saying yes, right? This Deckerstar ship needs to sail, the tension has been killing me.”
“Ella,” Chloe hisses, her cheeks warming.
Lucifer smiles, delighted. “See, Detective? Even our resident forensics nerd believes in destiny.”
“Destiny’s a stretch,” Ella says cheerfully, “but this is like, long overdue. Like years.”
Without looking up from his desk, Dan mutters, “Mark my words, this’ll end in flames.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Daniel,” Lucifer replies without missing a beat.
“I’m not jealous, I just like to not burn.”
“Tragic,” Lucifer sighs. “You’d look marvelous in ashes.”
“Okay,” Chloe cuts in, exasperated. “That’s enough. Everyone back to work.”
A flurry of chuckles runs around the bullpen before they all slowly go back to their jobs, but Chloe’s heart hasn’t quite settled. Lucifer is still watching her, waiting, patient in a way that makes her even more suspicious. Under the mask, though, his anxiety is growing.
He’s hiding it, but Chloe knows him too well now. The fidgeting, the way his gaze flicks away, then back to her. The faint tension in his shoulders that isn’t usually there.
That more than anything disarms her. It makes him look not like the devilish nightclub-owning playboy, but like a man whose whole world hinges on her answer.
“Okay,” she says finally, keeping her tone deliberately casual. “Dinner. I’d...I’d like that.”
Lucifer's face lights up, and she swears the room grows brighter for a moment. “You...really?” He clears his throat. “I mean, splendid! I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something...” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Sinful.”
Chloe rolls her eyes but can’t stop the laugh that escapes.
“Well,” he says, clapping his hands together. “I’ve preparations to make. Until this evening, Detective.”
For once, she doesn’t complain about him ditching work early. If he stays, she’ll just get distracted from paperwork, and it isn’t like he’d help with it anyway. He turns to leave, an extra little spring in his step on his way up the stairs. Chloe watches him go, shaking her head, still half-convinced he’s up to something.
But when he reaches the elevator, she catches a flicker of uncertainty that he quickly masks behind his usual smirk.
Her eyebrows furrow as she realizes what she just agreed to—a date, with Lucifer. How many times has she told herself no more when it comes to him? No more getting her hopes up only for them to be dashed. No more letting herself fall. Yet all it took was one earnest look and a hint of anxiety, and she’s falling again.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she mutters to herself, going back to paperwork. “It’s just dinner. Maybe this time will be different.”
So why won’t her gut stop churning?
Once preparations have been made, silence falls on the penthouse.
Lucifer pours himself a measure of whiskey, the good kind, the kind meant for triumph or heartbreak. He glances at the clock—five hours until he picks up the Detective for their date. Plenty of time to get ready.
“Just a harmless wager,” he murmurs. “An innocent social experiment.”
The words float through the air, dissolving before he can convince even himself.
He looks out over Los Angeles, mentally sorting through the evening’s plans again to ensure he has every detail perfect. For...science, of course.
What he doesn’t understand is that he should be thrilled. This is the sort of debauchery that once made him laugh. Basing dates on mortal sins he always considered ridiculous. But with the first date challenge quickly approaching, all he feels is this persistent ache in his chest.
This challenge has risk.
And worse, it’s Chloe.
He imagines her reaction if she ever finds out—those blue eyes narrowing, the disappointment or far more damaging, the hurt.
She’d think he’d lied. That he’s using her to fulfill a ridiculous wager with Mazikeen.
Which...he is, isn’t he?
Really, though, the only part of this that isn’t real is that it originated from a bet. The dates themselves will be genuine, he will be genuine. He enjoys Chloe’s company, and for some reason he still can’t comprehend, she seems to enjoy his.
Two people doing what humans all over the world do every day. Never mind the fact that he is far from human.
He sets the glass down, gaze catching on his reflection in the windowpane. The city’s light splits his image in two: one side illuminated, the other half in shadow. The Devil and the man.
He stares for a long time. “What could possibly go wrong?” he murmurs, raising the glass in a hollow toast.