annundriel: ([es] Meet Me in Montauk)
[personal profile] annundriel
Sam/Lucifer, Sam/Jessifer
Set early in season five.
Saying yes would be so easy.

Many thanks to [ profile] cautionzombies and [ profile] obstinatrix for betaing and cheering me on. Thank you, lovelies. ♥♥

There's a warm body pressed against him when Sam wakes up, arm tucked around his waist, knees crooked behind his. Rhythmic breathing sweeps the back of his neck and Sam sighs, settles back into the comforting heat, sinking down into the pillows. He likes it best here, in the quiet moments between wake and sleep, when he can lie with Jess and not worry yet about homework or class or--

The hand curled around his hip moves lower, fingers a gentle tease at the waistband of his boxers. He huffs a laugh and pushes forward into the hand, encouraging. The breath on his neck stutters, and he can see Jess' smile in his mind, the sneaky, satisfied one.

His cock twitches, but he doesn't reach for her. Doesn't say anything. He wants to see what she'll do, waits for her to--

Fingers slip beneath the elastic of his boxers, firm now against the hot skin low on his stomach. Sam can't help the little catch of noise that escapes, the way his muscles twitch. Biting his lip he holds still, waits for her to reach her destination.

They wrap around his cock easily, palm cradling. The perfect fit. He groans when her thumb circles the head and pushes into it, wants to feel her stroking him, wants to feel that hot hand--

"Yes," he groans. "Yes, that's--"

"Sam," a voice whispers in his ear, rough and soft. It chills and ignites him and Sam doesn't know what to do because the hand on his cock is too large and the voice in his ear is too male and this isn't...this isn't...

"I've been waiting for you to say yes, Sam."

"No," Sam says, the single syllable catching in his throat. He repeats it, trying for clarity, to make himself heard, but he isn't trying to get away or move at all. It's warm where he is, and comfortable. Weirdly, perversely safe, despite the way his heart rate has kicked up a notch. But that may be the way Lucifer's hand keeps moving, the way his lips trace the curve of Sam's neck.

"No?" Lucifer asks. "What's wrong, Sam? You seemed to like this fine when I was--" his voice sweeps higher, sweeter, and Sam's muscles clench "--her. I could be her. For you. If that's what you wanted, if that's--"

"No," Sam gasps, hand wrapping around Lucifer's wrist. "No, not her. I don't want--"

"Good." Lucifer's voice sends a thrill racing along Sam's spine and out into his limbs. He feels like he's on fire, burning up from the inside out. He and Dean have never investigated spontaneous combustion, but he can't help but think that this must be how it starts. With the devil in your bed.

Lucifer strokes him slowly, fingers firm, knowing. Sam wonders if this is the first time Lucifer has been in his bed or if it's just the most recent. If all of the other dreams where Jess has pressed herself against him, lowered herself on him, opened underneath him like ripe fruit ready to be plucked...Were those Jess or were they Lucifer?

Sam squirms on his side, pushing back into Lucifer, forward into his hand. It should worry him more that right now he doesn't care, but it doesn't. All he wants is more. Of this or that or anything because he finally, finally feels something that isn't pain and loss and an ever-gnawing hunger for the way things might have been and never can be. He wants Jess and Mom and Dad and Dean and Stanford and that life that's never going to be his but could be...could be...

"Sam," Lucifer purrs in his ear, hand stroking faster. "You deserve a little happiness. Say yes, Sam. Let me make you happy."

Sam's blood heats and his cock throbs and it would be so simple, it would be so easy to push back into Lucifer, to open up. To say yes, a breathless syllable of consent slipping from between his lips.

He bites his lip and clutches Lucifer's wrist. Hangs on as Lucifer works him toward the edge, his one hand better than anything Sam has felt in a very long time.

"No," Sam gasps as his muscles start to clench. "No, I don't--I can't--"

Lucifer ignores him. Of course, Lucifer ignores him. Flexes his fingers around Sam’s cock, thumbs at the head, spreading precome. Jerks Sam off until his hips are twitching and his hands are grasping and his breath comes in a rush, Sam’s heart cracking in his chest as his muscles tighten and he comes with a groan. Or maybe it's a sob, long and drawn out. He doesn't know what he wants anymore, who he is. Maybe he never did.

Lucifer chuckles behind him, breath puffing against the back of Sam’s neck. “You can, Sam,” he purrs, hand gentling. “You will.”

I won’t, Sam wants to say. Never, not to you. But the words are caught in his throat, stuck with the air he wants to exhale and can’t even though it’s no use to him now, everything good used up. He’s failing, falling, Lucifer hard and insistent and everywhere, everywhere. There when Sam closes his eyes and when he opens them. In every face and line of shoulder and curve of fingers. Lucifer is hunting him, waiting for Sam’s walls to tumble down, waiting for that moment where Sam gives up, gives in. Says yes.

It can’t happen. It can’t and it won’t and Sam can believe it save for the conviction in Lucifer’s hushed tones when he presses his lips to the shell of Sam’s ear and whispers, It will, leading Sam by touch alone into a place that looks like Hell but feels like Eden.

Sam isn’t sure what he deserves anymore, Heaven or Hell, this life or the next. He thinks he read something once--research or one of his classes--about making a Hell of Heaven, a Heaven of Hell. Hell is where you are, where Lucifer is and Lucifer is here, pressed against Sam like a lover, as close as Sam’s own skin, seeking entrance but not begging it. Never begging. That’s Sam’s job, Sam’s place to pant please, to cover Lucifer’s hand with his own and...and...

And what? Push Lucifer away? Pull him close? Sam doesn’t demand that Lucifer stop and leave, let him have his memories in the dark, tainted though they now are by Lucifer’s presence. Somehow, Sam still wants them. They aren’t ruined. Sam isn’t ruined, not yet. Not by Lucifer and not by this.
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annundriel: (Default)

February 2013


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