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The morning after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t.
- Part 2 of Unexpected
In which Sam gets answers for two big questions but really doesn’t want them for some others, Lucifer is an old fart, and someone has been snooping.
Sam’s never been one to question his masculinity or sexuality; he leaves that to Dean. Others’ assumptions pose him no threat. The doubt curling through his gut and congealing into self-loathing has little to do with the fact that Lucifer’s wearing the skin of another man. That isn’t what makes this so wrong.
It’s the fact that he’s letting it happen.
It’s the fact that some part of him looks forward to it happening again.
That’s it, isn’t it?
- Part 1 of Bedroom Hymns
In which Sam chooses his words carefully, and a shoe drops.
Another night there are lips pressing into his skin like brands and a grip on his hip that’s like granite, like steel. ”You need me, Sam,” the angel growls, and Sam agrees with reedy whimpers and arching spine. The grasp gentles immediately, thumb stroking the arch of his bones, and hours pass in the dream this way. This is Lucifer, he’s learning: all dominance and dominion and demand until he gets what he wants. This is Sam, too, he’d rather not admit: something in him sings at the Adversary’s touch and begs completion.
- Part 2 of Bedroom Hymns