FIC: Fire is the Devil's Only Friend
Title: Fire is the Devil's Only Friend
Author: holydread
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,100
Spoilers: General season five.
Notes: Written for aeon_entwined who asked for "tattered wings, angst, and sexytiems." Fills prompt body dysmorphic disorder for my hc_bingo card.
Summary: Lucifer has given Sam Winchester the world but he is still holding himself back.
Massive white wings, elegant lines and curves, immaculate feathers.
Sometimes, Lucifer reflects as he pulls away from Sam and moves to sit at the edge of the bed, being able to see the human's innermost thoughts is not quite the advantage it seems.
Sam has been thinking more and more about wings lately, has been tracing the jut of shoulder blades on Lucifer's back and imaging what wings would look like on a human vessel. They lie together and Sam pictures feathers in his mind, sees Lucifer crowned in glory, adorned with light. And Lucifer could show him, indulge him, give him what he clearly craves. But he won't.
A sigh from behind him, the rustle of bedclothes. "What is it?"
He looks back at Sam, thinks that perhaps it was impolite to leave him flushed and short of breath. Lucifer raises one shoulder in careful emulation of a human gesture and gets up to pace.
He doesn't bother dressing again, this flesh and blood that holds him is nothing, nothing compared to what Sam has carefully refrained from asking for. But Lucifer struggles all the same, the desire to hide warring with the desire to give this one human soul everything he wants, everything he deserves.
"Hey," Sam calls to him gently, stretching and sitting up properly in the tangle of white sheets. "Lucifer, what is going on?"
Drawn to the warmth of Sam's body, to the incandescent light of his soul, Lucifer curls his fingers into his palm and moves back to their bed. He presses close against the human's side, runs fingertips over his skin, and turns enough to keep the splay of Sam's hands, the lines of his torso, in view. Lucifer cants his head and wonders - not for the first time - if it is possible to be drunk on Sam.
He is jolted out of his reverie by the touch of fingers against his jaw, light pressure begging for his attention. "Hey," Sam repeats in a whisper, "You keep slipping away from me."
And Lucifer laughs because that is not true, can never be true. Sam has become his center, the light he worships and orbits and fights for. And he prays - literally lifts his voice in prayer - that Sam will be satisfied with him, will not turn away from the tragedy of his true form.
"You want to see my wings," Lucifer murmurs, his tone not quite accusing.
There is surprised silence from Sam. The seconds tick by and then there is the feather light caress again at his shoulder blades, Sam's breath on his neck and his heat sinking into Lucifer's skin.
"I didn't know-" Sam starts, "I didn't know if you had any. Is it personal?"
Lucifer huffs a laugh and raises his eyes to look up at the human, head still bowed in contemplation.
"They are not what you think."
"So what are they?"
He smiles at the determination rolling off of Sam, how utterly sure he is that this will not surprise him, that nothing Angelic could be terrifying. But Lucifer is no longer that thing, that pure and holy being. He is sullied and twisted and his wings reflect that, tell the tale of his endless imprisonment.
"They are filthy," Lucifer murmurs at last, "Broken."
Sam's breathing doesn't change. He doesn't pull away and his mind is still full of calm curiosity. "Please, Lucifer," he whispers, fingertips pressed into the ridge of bone on his back.
Lucifer turns to face Sam properly, stares at him and sees right down to his soul. Sam's light pulses with interest, acceptance. It makes Lucifer want to give this to him, makes him simultaneously want to protect him from it. But his human's gaze does not waver and he finds himself shifting on the mattress, tucking his legs under him and bracing his hands on Sam's knees.
He doesn't uncase his wings slowly. Lucifer closes his eyes, tips his head back and releases his hold on his true form, allows his wings to explode outward from his vessel, snapping them high and open. It is not until the heavy weight of them registers, the familiar burnt smell filling his nostrils, that Lucifer spares a thought for how dangerous this was. If Sam had not been special, not his, this would certainly destroy him.
Lucifer opens his eyes slowly, fingers pushing into Sam's legs while he reassures himself that the human is perfectly fine.
Sam stares at him in silence and he readies himself to spit vitriol, to taunt and hurt.
And then Sam shifts, leans up on his knees and reaches out to touch him.
Instinctively, Lucifer twitches his wing away from the questing hand, glares at Sam for a long moment before slowly, cautiously moving his wing back into Sam's fingers.
Lucifer knows what they look like. His wings are still massive, impossible in this human space, but they are not deserving of the awe in Sam's eyes. They were once brilliant, pure white and blinding with Heaven's favour. Now... now Lucifer's wings are tarnished, scorched and changed. They carry the taint of Hell, darkened and blemished.
Even so, Sam slips a hand onto his waist, moves his other hand carefully through the burnt outer feathers, brushing lightly over places where he is missing feathers completely. There are no clean lines in Lucifer's wingspan, the outline is ragged with damage, making a mockery of the Host.
"What happened?" Sam asks, his voice barely audible as he sweeps his fingers through the softer down at the base of Lucifer's wings.
Lucifer just smirks, raises his wings in a dismissive gesture. "Hell," he says softly.
Lucifer is rage and love, hate and gentleness all woven into one being, one Grace, one vessel, and he is not passive. He did not accept the burn of Hell meekly. Lucifer threw himself at the limits of his cage for millenia, destroyed his own wings and scorched his feathers, scorched his Grace in his attempts to escape. It is part of the reason he is so grateful, so attached, to Sam. Sam has saved him from more than just the loneliness of Hell.
"I love them," Sam declares, sliding the hand on Lucifer's waist up along his ribs and into his other wing, stroking along the patterns of his feathers. He hums his delight, shoves a little closer and murmurs surprise when the colour does not rub off, when the permanence of the damage becomes clear to him.
"They're beautiful," he continues firmly, stubbornly, and traces his fingers along the edge of Lucifer's wings, making him gasp and lean toward the human.
"They prove you survived down there," Sam tells him, "That you are stronger than Hell."
Lucifer is stunned into silence, reaching up to clutch at Sam's shoulders and hold on to him like a lifeline, wings bent toward him.
He takes a moment to collect himself, to allow the drag of Sam's fingers to soothe his anxiety, before he looks directly at him again. He spreads his wings under the human's hands and leans in to kiss him, holding Sam's chin still as he nips and pulls at his lips, draws him into his mouth and flicks his tongue against the answering heat of Sam.
That is all it takes for the hands in his feathers to stop feeling like comfort and start feeling pointed, dragging sighs from his throat and making his fingers dig just a little harder into Sam's muscles as he begins to return the touches, sliding his hands down the human's chest and abdomen.
Lucifer growls, bites along Sam's jawline and shifts toward him, pushing him back onto the pillows and climbing onto his lap.
Sam falls back, complains at the loss of Lucifer's wings but doesn't push as the Angel leans over him, wings angled sharply downward as he runs his palms down Sam's bare sides and sucks on the skin of his neck.
And now it is Sam's turn to throw his head back, to grasp at the arches of Lucifer's wings as his breathing turns erratic. Lucifer groans when the pulse under his lips begins to beat faster, as he feels his wings shudder in arousal, pressing his weight down on Sam.
It is not long before Sam is writhing below him, pupils blown and sweat dampening his hair.
"Lucifer," the human groans, clenching his hands in the long feathers of Lucifer's wings. He stretches his neck upward, captures the Angel's lips in another kiss.
Lucifer pulls the sheets completely away, grinds against the line of Sam's erection and pushes back into the kiss with bruising force. He bites and nips at Sam's lips until blood blossoms between them, making the human gasp before Lucifer licks it away.
He plants a hand on the centre of Sam's chest, pushes him back to recline against the pillows as he leans over them both, grabs the abandoned bottle on the night table and makes himself comfortable astride Sam.
Without a word, Lucifer pours the slick liquid onto his hand and wraps his fingers around Sam's cock, watching the darkened flesh slip into his fist, between his fingers. Sam seems incapable of being still, arching and wriggling beneath him, his eyes closed and split lips parted.
Lucifer smiles, tightens his hand, and leans over to place a series of possessive bites along Sam's collarbone. He presses his teeth hard into the skin, not stopping until he has left a clear mark, sliding his tongue briefly over the hurt before moving on. Sam gasps at each touch, his hands now holding Lucifer's waist, digging in.
At last, Lucifer sits back, braces himself over Sam and steadies his cock, presses down until he takes Sam into himself, spine arched at the burn and stretch of it. Sam whimpers below him, palms moving smooth over Lucifer's thighs.
Lucifer waits until he is completely seated, until the pain passes and hard realness of Sam begins to make him desperate. When he surrounds Sam like this, encompasses him completely, everything else fades away. He snaps his wings out to their full width and forgets that they tarnished, forgets that he could be anything but perfect with the way that Sam is looking at him.
He sets a hard pace, drives himself onto Sam's length, breath catching every time he manages to nudge his prostate. Sam is reduced incoherent noises, trying to thrust his hips upward in counterpoint and get his hands back in Lucifer's wings at the same time. It would make Lucifer smile, to see his human driven so helplessly by desire and pleasure, if only he could concentrate for more than a moment at a time.
The solid presence of Sam inside him, the complete acceptance of his wings, before long these things overwhelm Lucifer and he strokes his own erection in a frantic rhythm, his wings shaking and rustling as his he arches up and gives in to his climax. Lucifer keens in a purely Angelic pitch - the sound more like thunder than anything human - and slumps over Sam as he paints the human's chest with his release.
By the time Lucifer feels in control of his limbs again Sam is shuddering below him, rocking through his own orgasm. Lucifer strokes his sides and arms, sweeps his thumb over the fresh bruises on his collarbone and bends his wings to brush against Sam's skin, soothing him and taking pride in the force of Sam's release.
When Sam's breathing returns to normal, Lucifer offers him a small smile. They fall together - Lucifer stifling a gasp as Sam leaves his body - to curl on their sides with Lucifer's wings folded on his back. Sam presses close, tucks his head under Lucifer's chin and slides an arm around his waist. Lucifer frowns and carefully - gently - unfolds a wing and lays it over Sam like a blanket, curling the limb around his shoulders and allowing the appendage to cover him completely.
"Thank you," Sam murmurs tiredly, not flinching away from the sullied feathers.
Lucifer stares at him. He has to reach out and redraw the lines and curves of Sam's face with his fingers to assure himself that this is real. That Sam is really his, was made to be his, will accept all of him.
He laughs at himself and tightens his wing around Sam. Lucifer is more determined to keep him now than ever, willing to face down the legions of Hell and the garrisons of Heaven. Willing to ally with the armies of man. Because they were made for one another. Because Sam sees him and does not turn away.
"No," he whispers into Sam's hair, "thank you."
Author: holydread
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,100
Spoilers: General season five.
Notes: Written for aeon_entwined who asked for "tattered wings, angst, and sexytiems." Fills prompt body dysmorphic disorder for my hc_bingo card.
Summary: Lucifer has given Sam Winchester the world but he is still holding himself back.
Massive white wings, elegant lines and curves, immaculate feathers.
Sometimes, Lucifer reflects as he pulls away from Sam and moves to sit at the edge of the bed, being able to see the human's innermost thoughts is not quite the advantage it seems.
Sam has been thinking more and more about wings lately, has been tracing the jut of shoulder blades on Lucifer's back and imaging what wings would look like on a human vessel. They lie together and Sam pictures feathers in his mind, sees Lucifer crowned in glory, adorned with light. And Lucifer could show him, indulge him, give him what he clearly craves. But he won't.
A sigh from behind him, the rustle of bedclothes. "What is it?"
He looks back at Sam, thinks that perhaps it was impolite to leave him flushed and short of breath. Lucifer raises one shoulder in careful emulation of a human gesture and gets up to pace.
He doesn't bother dressing again, this flesh and blood that holds him is nothing, nothing compared to what Sam has carefully refrained from asking for. But Lucifer struggles all the same, the desire to hide warring with the desire to give this one human soul everything he wants, everything he deserves.
"Hey," Sam calls to him gently, stretching and sitting up properly in the tangle of white sheets. "Lucifer, what is going on?"
Drawn to the warmth of Sam's body, to the incandescent light of his soul, Lucifer curls his fingers into his palm and moves back to their bed. He presses close against the human's side, runs fingertips over his skin, and turns enough to keep the splay of Sam's hands, the lines of his torso, in view. Lucifer cants his head and wonders - not for the first time - if it is possible to be drunk on Sam.
He is jolted out of his reverie by the touch of fingers against his jaw, light pressure begging for his attention. "Hey," Sam repeats in a whisper, "You keep slipping away from me."
And Lucifer laughs because that is not true, can never be true. Sam has become his center, the light he worships and orbits and fights for. And he prays - literally lifts his voice in prayer - that Sam will be satisfied with him, will not turn away from the tragedy of his true form.
"You want to see my wings," Lucifer murmurs, his tone not quite accusing.
There is surprised silence from Sam. The seconds tick by and then there is the feather light caress again at his shoulder blades, Sam's breath on his neck and his heat sinking into Lucifer's skin.
"I didn't know-" Sam starts, "I didn't know if you had any. Is it personal?"
Lucifer huffs a laugh and raises his eyes to look up at the human, head still bowed in contemplation.
"They are not what you think."
"So what are they?"
He smiles at the determination rolling off of Sam, how utterly sure he is that this will not surprise him, that nothing Angelic could be terrifying. But Lucifer is no longer that thing, that pure and holy being. He is sullied and twisted and his wings reflect that, tell the tale of his endless imprisonment.
"They are filthy," Lucifer murmurs at last, "Broken."
Sam's breathing doesn't change. He doesn't pull away and his mind is still full of calm curiosity. "Please, Lucifer," he whispers, fingertips pressed into the ridge of bone on his back.
Lucifer turns to face Sam properly, stares at him and sees right down to his soul. Sam's light pulses with interest, acceptance. It makes Lucifer want to give this to him, makes him simultaneously want to protect him from it. But his human's gaze does not waver and he finds himself shifting on the mattress, tucking his legs under him and bracing his hands on Sam's knees.
He doesn't uncase his wings slowly. Lucifer closes his eyes, tips his head back and releases his hold on his true form, allows his wings to explode outward from his vessel, snapping them high and open. It is not until the heavy weight of them registers, the familiar burnt smell filling his nostrils, that Lucifer spares a thought for how dangerous this was. If Sam had not been special, not his, this would certainly destroy him.
Lucifer opens his eyes slowly, fingers pushing into Sam's legs while he reassures himself that the human is perfectly fine.
Sam stares at him in silence and he readies himself to spit vitriol, to taunt and hurt.
And then Sam shifts, leans up on his knees and reaches out to touch him.
Instinctively, Lucifer twitches his wing away from the questing hand, glares at Sam for a long moment before slowly, cautiously moving his wing back into Sam's fingers.
Lucifer knows what they look like. His wings are still massive, impossible in this human space, but they are not deserving of the awe in Sam's eyes. They were once brilliant, pure white and blinding with Heaven's favour. Now... now Lucifer's wings are tarnished, scorched and changed. They carry the taint of Hell, darkened and blemished.
Even so, Sam slips a hand onto his waist, moves his other hand carefully through the burnt outer feathers, brushing lightly over places where he is missing feathers completely. There are no clean lines in Lucifer's wingspan, the outline is ragged with damage, making a mockery of the Host.
"What happened?" Sam asks, his voice barely audible as he sweeps his fingers through the softer down at the base of Lucifer's wings.
Lucifer just smirks, raises his wings in a dismissive gesture. "Hell," he says softly.
Lucifer is rage and love, hate and gentleness all woven into one being, one Grace, one vessel, and he is not passive. He did not accept the burn of Hell meekly. Lucifer threw himself at the limits of his cage for millenia, destroyed his own wings and scorched his feathers, scorched his Grace in his attempts to escape. It is part of the reason he is so grateful, so attached, to Sam. Sam has saved him from more than just the loneliness of Hell.
"I love them," Sam declares, sliding the hand on Lucifer's waist up along his ribs and into his other wing, stroking along the patterns of his feathers. He hums his delight, shoves a little closer and murmurs surprise when the colour does not rub off, when the permanence of the damage becomes clear to him.
"They're beautiful," he continues firmly, stubbornly, and traces his fingers along the edge of Lucifer's wings, making him gasp and lean toward the human.
"They prove you survived down there," Sam tells him, "That you are stronger than Hell."
Lucifer is stunned into silence, reaching up to clutch at Sam's shoulders and hold on to him like a lifeline, wings bent toward him.
He takes a moment to collect himself, to allow the drag of Sam's fingers to soothe his anxiety, before he looks directly at him again. He spreads his wings under the human's hands and leans in to kiss him, holding Sam's chin still as he nips and pulls at his lips, draws him into his mouth and flicks his tongue against the answering heat of Sam.
That is all it takes for the hands in his feathers to stop feeling like comfort and start feeling pointed, dragging sighs from his throat and making his fingers dig just a little harder into Sam's muscles as he begins to return the touches, sliding his hands down the human's chest and abdomen.
Lucifer growls, bites along Sam's jawline and shifts toward him, pushing him back onto the pillows and climbing onto his lap.
Sam falls back, complains at the loss of Lucifer's wings but doesn't push as the Angel leans over him, wings angled sharply downward as he runs his palms down Sam's bare sides and sucks on the skin of his neck.
And now it is Sam's turn to throw his head back, to grasp at the arches of Lucifer's wings as his breathing turns erratic. Lucifer groans when the pulse under his lips begins to beat faster, as he feels his wings shudder in arousal, pressing his weight down on Sam.
It is not long before Sam is writhing below him, pupils blown and sweat dampening his hair.
"Lucifer," the human groans, clenching his hands in the long feathers of Lucifer's wings. He stretches his neck upward, captures the Angel's lips in another kiss.
Lucifer pulls the sheets completely away, grinds against the line of Sam's erection and pushes back into the kiss with bruising force. He bites and nips at Sam's lips until blood blossoms between them, making the human gasp before Lucifer licks it away.
He plants a hand on the centre of Sam's chest, pushes him back to recline against the pillows as he leans over them both, grabs the abandoned bottle on the night table and makes himself comfortable astride Sam.
Without a word, Lucifer pours the slick liquid onto his hand and wraps his fingers around Sam's cock, watching the darkened flesh slip into his fist, between his fingers. Sam seems incapable of being still, arching and wriggling beneath him, his eyes closed and split lips parted.
Lucifer smiles, tightens his hand, and leans over to place a series of possessive bites along Sam's collarbone. He presses his teeth hard into the skin, not stopping until he has left a clear mark, sliding his tongue briefly over the hurt before moving on. Sam gasps at each touch, his hands now holding Lucifer's waist, digging in.
At last, Lucifer sits back, braces himself over Sam and steadies his cock, presses down until he takes Sam into himself, spine arched at the burn and stretch of it. Sam whimpers below him, palms moving smooth over Lucifer's thighs.
Lucifer waits until he is completely seated, until the pain passes and hard realness of Sam begins to make him desperate. When he surrounds Sam like this, encompasses him completely, everything else fades away. He snaps his wings out to their full width and forgets that they tarnished, forgets that he could be anything but perfect with the way that Sam is looking at him.
He sets a hard pace, drives himself onto Sam's length, breath catching every time he manages to nudge his prostate. Sam is reduced incoherent noises, trying to thrust his hips upward in counterpoint and get his hands back in Lucifer's wings at the same time. It would make Lucifer smile, to see his human driven so helplessly by desire and pleasure, if only he could concentrate for more than a moment at a time.
The solid presence of Sam inside him, the complete acceptance of his wings, before long these things overwhelm Lucifer and he strokes his own erection in a frantic rhythm, his wings shaking and rustling as his he arches up and gives in to his climax. Lucifer keens in a purely Angelic pitch - the sound more like thunder than anything human - and slumps over Sam as he paints the human's chest with his release.
By the time Lucifer feels in control of his limbs again Sam is shuddering below him, rocking through his own orgasm. Lucifer strokes his sides and arms, sweeps his thumb over the fresh bruises on his collarbone and bends his wings to brush against Sam's skin, soothing him and taking pride in the force of Sam's release.
When Sam's breathing returns to normal, Lucifer offers him a small smile. They fall together - Lucifer stifling a gasp as Sam leaves his body - to curl on their sides with Lucifer's wings folded on his back. Sam presses close, tucks his head under Lucifer's chin and slides an arm around his waist. Lucifer frowns and carefully - gently - unfolds a wing and lays it over Sam like a blanket, curling the limb around his shoulders and allowing the appendage to cover him completely.
"Thank you," Sam murmurs tiredly, not flinching away from the sullied feathers.
Lucifer stares at him. He has to reach out and redraw the lines and curves of Sam's face with his fingers to assure himself that this is real. That Sam is really his, was made to be his, will accept all of him.
He laughs at himself and tightens his wing around Sam. Lucifer is more determined to keep him now than ever, willing to face down the legions of Hell and the garrisons of Heaven. Willing to ally with the armies of man. Because they were made for one another. Because Sam sees him and does not turn away.
"No," he whispers into Sam's hair, "thank you."