"Lucifer Morningstar," he says, extending his hand to introduce himself.
"Ah, yes," the new Lieutnant muses "I've heard about you. Last year we interrogated more than seventy of your lovers, so I'd rather not," he gestured vaguely to Lucifer's extended hand.
And Lucifer's sulking - mainly because he can't simply say that he always uses protection, because he doesn't, not always.
He's a supernatural being, he isn't in danger of ever infecting himself with an STD, so when a partner asks him for bareback, he's always happy to oblige - especially with those who can't get pregnant - and with those who can all it takes is a deep look into their eyes and they confess whether they just want to bed him because they want conceive a devilish heir or not.
So he just pulls his hand back and pouts silently that the best-looking human in the entire PD just slut-shamed him.
The fact that Pierce doesn't seem to like Dan either doesn't help in the very least.
They end up in a supply closet nonetheless.
Lucifer watches the Lieutnant slip on fucking medical gloves, saying, "You're sexually frustrated. For reasons you don't seem to understand Detective Decker isn't interested in you - I suppose it has to do with the circumstance that you've slept with half of LA - and it keeps you distracted. So I've decided to take matters into my own hands."
"Literally," the Devil murmured, chuckeling - delighted; appreciative.
Taking into consideration that the first part of chapter one took place in 03x01 and this chapter takes place in 03x13 lets just assume that they both decided to never speak of what happened in the supply closet ever again, being an one time thing and all.
(The reason why they pretend it never happened in this chapter absolutely isn't that the author kind of forgot about it while writing and is now too satisfied with the end result to change it.)
They've literally been fake-married for less than a day, and Chloe already expects them to share a bed.
The first thing Lucifer does before even getting ready for bed is handing Marcus an envelope.
His eyebrow climbs involuntarily inevitably closer to his hairline - he half-expects it to be a Congratulations, you are married to Lucifer Morningstar, the literal devil incarnate certificate. Instead, it's STD test results.
"I just wanted you to know I'm clean. I can still sleep on the couch if you want."
"No." Marcus shook his head. "What if the killer is homophobic, doesn't bother with sending threats this time and just breaks in to kill us? If they don't find us sleeping in the same bed it could blow our cover and they'd get away unnoticed. I'll be fine. Just... don't try anything, all right?"
Lucifer grinned, amused. "I think if I tried to kill you right now I'd also risk blowing our cover - or worse, having the Detective find out you're immortal."
"No, I mean... Don't try to hit on me or something. You've expressed your attraction to me in the past, and I don't want you to think you could demand I fulfill my marriage duties now or something like that."
Lucifer actually looks a little... hurt by that. "I actually thought you were straight, and I don't hit on straight guys. Also you never seemed interested, so... I won't try anything. I'm not a rapist, but if you don't trust me, I brought handcuffs..."
Marcus raises a sceptical eyebrow at him. "Without anything sexual in mind?"
Lucifer shrugged. "Well, not one hundred percent dirty thoughts free. I thought if I left kinky stuff laying about the house, the killer might judge us, call us out and try to kill us, too."
Marcus nodded because that weirdly made sense. "However, I'll be fine. I trust that you want to get to know me better over the course of this operation, and not piss me off."
"Or risk you having a panic attack."
He can't help but glare at him, his eyebrow inching even higher, impossibly close to his hairline.
With Lucifer, he can never quite tell whether the Devil is joking or not. He's that kind of guy who goes around sulking when people don't believe him when he tells them the truth about who he is.
"Hey, don't look at me like that, /darling/, do you really think I'd marry you without doing my research first? I'm a responsible husband. I know now that Obsessive Compulsive Disorder isn't just a desperate houswive loosing her shit when someone leaves breadcrumbs all over her carpet."
Somehow, it really helps that he doesn't say "OCD" like it's the title of Beyoncé's new single like most millenials do.
"Don't you dare, though," Marcus says.
"Leave breadcrumbs all over my carpet."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, dead serious, only to add second's later: "Wait, does that make you the wife?"