The motel room is strangely quiet considering.
Dean's calmly but pointedly cleaning his guns and Castiel is out getting surprise!takeout. Which is Dean's way of encouraging his individualism. Sam's halfway through a book about water demons. Lucifer is currently the reason Dean is cleaning his guns. Because he's next to Sam, one arm is balanced lazily on the back of the couch. Casual enough to look accidental, but more than close enough that he can touch Sam if he wants to.
Sam suspects he just put it there to annoy Dean. Though Lucifer's fingers don't hesitate to stray up into Sam's hair even when his brother isn't looking.
Which is, God, a slow burn of sensation that Lucifer never pushes. Like he enjoys this, this temptation that's not sex but is so close to the promise of it that Sam's half-convinced he's trying to drive him mad. But it's almost like Lucifer can't stop touching him and if Sam's honest then he's missed that. He's missed that quiet, persistent, steady desire and he doesn't want to stop him, he wants it.
It's warm and it's his, for all the strangeness of where it comes from. For all that it's Lucifer, that it's Lucifer.
Sam can't help how much he wants, and he doesn't resist. Because he thinks maybe he loves him. Insane as that sounds, impossible as it sounds, considering where they started. And he knows damn well that they are falling so fast that if they don't just fuck soon then they might as well catch on fire and burn up.
Lucifer's hand tightens in one brief clench on the back of his neck and it occurs to Sam that he really should remember that Lucifer can do lots of neat angel tricks like reading his mind.
Which instantly leaves him wondering if he is, in some way, not playing fair by thinking things like this. By thinking things like this when he knows that Lucifer can hear him.
He clears his throat, sets his book down.
"Dean, you finished with the computer?"
"Yeah," Dean says roughly. So, Sam picks it up and takes it into the bedroom to charge it.
He's half straightening, when there's suddenly a warm hand on his jaw. Insistent but not forceful. Lucifer presses him back into the wall, knee making the table by the bed judder. And then Lucifer is kissing him. Slow and deep, one hand on his waist and one shifting in the back of his hair, dragging it the wrong way and making his skin tingle. Sam kisses him back, kisses him while he can, in the darkness of the room, before easing back, huffing amusement and frustrated laughter.
"You know he's going to come in here right?"
"He might find that difficult," Lucifer says smoothly, voice all darkness and honey.
Sam raises an eyebrow because he's fairly sure that Dean's already proven he's more than capable of going above and beyond in his quest to make absolutely sure that there's no inappropriate touching between them.
Lucifer tips Sam's head to the side, until he can see the motel clock.
The second hand isn't moving.
Sam can't help the surprised laughter.
"Your brother is many things," Lucifer tells him. "Though his abilities to move between time remain human."
"He's going to hate you for that," Sam points out with a laugh. But he can't help the way his hands have already slipped under the edge of Lucifer's shirt, pressing into the strange warmth of his skin.
He watches the way Lucifer's eyes half close, fingers flexing tight where they hold his waist.
"Why now?" Sam asks. He's honestly curious because Dean has been doing his non-subtle dance of over-protectiveness for nearly three weeks now. Sam had honestly worried that the apocalypse would restart through the sheer power of their mutual and terrible glaring contests.
"You were thinking about it," Lucifer says easily.
Sam laughs, and he's aware of exactly what he was thinking.
"You wanted me," Lucifer adds and the tone is low, approving and vaguely obscene.
Sam's pretty much useless to try any sort of protest against that.
"Yeah," he says roughly instead. "But that wasn't the first time I've thought about it." It's an easy admission. It's hard to not think about sometimes.
Lucifer gets his hands up under Sam's t-shirt, fingertips pressing heat into the skin.
"That wasn't all you were thinking," Lucifer says and this time his voice is quieter, less certain.
Sam sucks a breath when he remembers exactly what else he was thinking.
He wonders if that means something to an angel - to someone who used to be an angel. That he loves him. He wonders if it makes them different. If it takes their tentative slow burn of a flirtation into something...different.
"I can't read your mind," Sam says quietly, voice steady but tense.
"I chose you over the world, Sam," Lucifer reminds him, so close to his mouth he could open up and taste him. "How could you ever doubt that I love you."