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Hide Your Fires

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At first, Castiel didn’t understand that, in his attempt to save others (to emulate Dean), he’d swung too far in the direction of acting without deliberation. He had very little objection to the witch’s death. She was likely to betray them at her earliest opportunity, even if Lucifer were on their side. He was confident that he too could open the Cage, though he fully understood why Lucifer would try to eliminate the chance of being returned there.

But Lucifer’s demeanor was not what he had expected when he said yes.

Now that your business with Hell is concluded, the Darkness remains, he reminded Lucifer from his own, smaller cage. (“Like being chained to a comet,” Jimmy had said. Castiel had been occupied by Leviathans, and by foreign Grace; Lucifer was not more painful than those things, but it was disquieting to be so unfree, and yet to watch the world move outside.)

Lucifer cracked his neck from side to side, stretching. But we’re just getting started, he said. Buckle up, little brother. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

When Lucifer moved them instantaneously across states, Castiel felt the lurching tug that Dean had reported from his own experience being transported. He did not appreciate feeling physical sensations from a body he didn’t control. The reconstructed body of Jimmy Novak had been wholly his for so long that Lucifer’s occupation felt like a severance from some part of himself, as when he’d been filled with foreign Grace. He was forcibly reminded that the body had once been only a container, and he the contained.

Why are we here? he demanded as Lucifer pressed the buzzer on the entrance to the Men of Letters’ redoubt. What do you need from the Winchesters?

He could feel the body’s nose wrinkle, as if in contemplation, then smooth out as the lock disengaged and someone in the bunker below broke the ward that kept angels out. It’s not so much a need as a want, little buddy. Maybe an itch in need of scratching.

Lucifer wouldn’t respond to Castiel’s further inquiries. Instead he exchanged hellos with Sam and Dean—Lucifer searched through his memories, and Castiel felt the tension in the body as Lucifer held back acidic commentary, in favor of the laconic approach the Winchesters had taught Castiel. They trooped to the kitchen, where Dean was cleaning up dinner, and where Lucifer refused the offered drink. You need to stop this pretense, Castiel said.

“You, uh, you still marked up from what Amara did?” Dean asked, radiating discomfort and, of course, guilt as he dried dishes.

Lucifer tilted his head. “Oh,” he said after a second, and pressed his hand to his chest. Angelic healing bubbled through his physical essence, complex proteins and enzymes constructed and demolished and rebuilt in less than an instant. “Not any more.”

Dean nodded as if something important had been established. “Good.”

“Dean,” Lucifer said. Dean stilled, his shoulders almost imperceptibly hunched. “We need to talk. On a personal matter.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up a considerable distance on his considerable forehead. “… And I’m just going to … do more research,” he said. Dean glared at Sam while Sam picked up his coffee cup and headed into the library.

“What?” Dean groused, after fidgeting under Lucifer’s gaze for a minute.

“You know that the coming battle may be fatal.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, must be Tuesday. C’mon, why’d you send Sam away?”

Lucifer rose from his seat at the kitchen table and approached Dean, who seemed to grow more tense with every step.

“We will confront the Darkness. And we will prevail.”

“Again, yeah,” Dean said, but his expression suggested that he was more nervous than the situation warranted. As if he understood something that Castiel still didn’t.

“Before we do …” Lucifer moved closer to Dean, so close that Dean was pressed back against the sink, blatantly violating Dean’s instructions about personal space even though Lucifer had access to Castiel’s knowledge.

Dean breathed in sharply; Castiel felt the air move over the body’s face. “Cas, what are you.” He checked himself, wringing the dishtowel in his hands, and swallowed.

“Please,” Lucifer said.

A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw. His eyes closed, his lashes delicate arcs over his freckled skin, and he shuddered once. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t wanna screw this up—”

“Dean,” Lucifer said again, almost cajoling, and Dean leaned down and kissed him.

No! Castiel’s rejection was so total that in all justice it should have broken Lucifer’s hold over him. The betrayal was profound, and he was shocked to find that some of his anger was for Dean, for not knowing that this was Lucifer’s doing, that Castiel would never—

Don’t blame me because you’re a wimp, Lucifer chided. And shhh, pay attention.

The worst of it was that he could feel every sensation. Dean kissed as if he needed to convince Castiel—Lucifer—that he was worthy. As if Sam were on trial for his life and Dean’s mouth had only the arguments of his kisses. Dean was bigger than Castiel’s mortal body but he yielded as if he were completely encompassed in its embrace.

Well, Lucifer said after a time. At least that explains something about how this monkey got you and Sam to break the world for him.

Castiel could do no more than snarl, reduced to worse than what Rowena had made of him with her spell.

Some time later, Dean leaned back and broke the seal of their mouths. His lips were reddened, swollen. “Let’s, uh, take this to my room,” he said, gravel-rough.

“Yes,” Lucifer said, and only Castiel could hear the mocking echo of his own submission.

Castiel remembered sending Dean, all unwilling, to torture Alastair. How Dean’s body had been violated then, for Castiel, because Castiel had agreed with Uriel about the necessity of fighting a greater evil. His yes then and his yes now had been tragically misguided, and Dean was the victim of both.

Hmm, not sure I’m flattered by the comparison, but it’s cute to hear you squirm.

Minutes later, Lucifer stood in Dean’s room, a worm eating its way through the secret heart of a flower, and watched as Dean undressed for him.

This is wrong, Castiel told Lucifer. This is unworthy.

Worthy’s not a big worry of mine since Dad sent me to Hell. I’m more a big picture guy. Not to mention an ass man. You do have to admit: he got the booty.

Dean was flushed all the way down his chest, his arms twitching with the desire to cover himself against Castiel’s scrutiny, but Lucifer smiled at him, mild and approving, and began to remove the body’s clothing. The trenchcoat puddled on the floor, then the tie and shirt. Lucifer toed off the shoes, ignoring the shoelaces. Castiel had a moment of hope that Dean would know that Castiel would never have been so casual. But Dean had never before seen Castiel dress or undress, and Dean’s eyes were in any event fixed on the body’s face. As if he were seeing the end of the world, or its creation.

A brush of Lucifer’s consciousness across Castiel’s, like a finger rifling the pages of an ancient text. “Do you want to be the pizzaman or the babysitter?”

Castiel had heard the screams of the damned in Hell. He had never thought he’d scream like them, hopelessly unheard.

Dean grinned shyly, reassured, and moved towards Lucifer. “’m not picky.”

That’s for sure! Lucifer’s glee was deliberately provocative, but Castiel couldn’t suppress his rage. “Will you let me … be inside you?”

Dean’s breath caught, then resumed at a faster pace. “Yeah,” he said, with a sincerity that made Castiel rage inertly. The body should have wept, to be so trusted. Castiel should have been worthy of such trust, but he’d brought them to this place.

“You, uh, you know how this works?”

“Show me,” Lucifer said.

Dean moved to the nighttable beside his bed and retrieved a tube from inside its drawer. “I’m gonna get myself ready.” He knelt and reached behind himself, fingers glistening. “This is—I like this way best,” he said, a confession Castiel couldn’t hope to deserve. “But … talk to me, okay? So I know it’s you.”

Once again, that needle-prick of Lucifer’s curiosity dancing through his memories of Dean. “Who else would it be?” Lucifer said, with the right degree of puzzlement to mimic Castiel exactly.

Dean snorted, then gasped as he moved his fingers inside himself.

“Use the lube on your dick. Been a while for me,” he admitted, as if embarrassed that anything sexual could be unfamiliar to him.

Lucifer complied—the sensation both pleasurable and horrifying—then positioned the body between Dean’s legs as Dean withdrew his fingers. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” Dean said, his head bowed, bracing himself with both hands.

Castiel felt the press of the head of the body’s penis against Dean’s soft, slicked flesh, still resistant enough that he wouldn’t have been certain enough to proceed, if he’d been in control. The heat of Dean’s body against the thin, sensitive skin was nearly overwhelming. So was the feel of Dean’s sweat-slick back against the hand Lucifer put there, bracing as he pushed forward.

“Cas—” Dean said as Lucifer breached him.

“Yes,” Lucifer hissed, sharing the enjoyment with Castiel. “Dean.” He pressed in slowly, inexorably, drawing Castiel with him into that tight grip.

You should thank me. You’d never have had the balls to do this without me.

Castiel’s wordless yowl of rage translated, in the physical world, to Lucifer’s moan of satisfaction.

“Did you do this with Crowley?” Lucifer demanded, plucking the question from Castiel’s consciousness as he set up a rhythm that snapped the body’s hips against Dean’s yielding flesh.

“No,” Dean gasped. “He wanted—I never let ‘im.”

Lucifer let the victorious satisfaction Castiel felt, even now, turn into the clench of the body’s fingers against Dean’s skin. He tugged at Dean’s hips, and the thrill that went through the body was, in its way, better than the rush of Grace returned.

See, isn’t this more fun than torture?

Dean was panting underneath him, so solid, his thighs against Castiel’s body like cedars, his skin petal-soft and sweat-dewed.

“Is that good?” Lucifer asked.

Dean shuddered, clenching around him. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. His warrior’s shoulders trembled; he was braced on one hand, his other wrapped around his own penis—no, Dean would never use that word. Dean had a cock, stiff and proud, and Castiel yearned to touch it but it was Lucifer who took his fingers and wrapped them around Dean’s own, finding Dean’s rhythm and then hurrying him up.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, and his orgasm rippled through his body like a tide, pulling Lucifer and Castiel with him. The body jolted with pleasure. Castiel forgot to fight Lucifer’s hold. Human pleasure was nothing like angelic existence, an earthly vibration that argued perhaps more strongly than free will for the value of such fragile and vexatious creations. Warmth permeated him, and all the love for Dean he found so difficult to express was here with them.

Feeling Lucifer’s satisfaction beside his own was like being whipped with lightning.

Lucifer shifted his hands on Dean’s hips, bearing him down flat onto the bed. Lucifer continued to thrust despite the new sensitivity of his cock, which was still held tight in Dean’s body.

“Uh, Cas,” Dean began, muffled in the pillow, “might need a little break here—”

Dean’s wrists flew out, pinned with invisible power. Lucifer pressed him flat to the bed. Dean wasn’t panicking, not yet, more irritated with Castiel’s continued presence in his body.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer said insincerely, no longer mimicking Castiel, “Castiel’s not home now.”

Dean jolted, or tried to, held in place by Lucifer’s will. “What the—”

“You’ll never guess what your angel said to me that last moment in the Cage. Here’s a hint: one less letter than love, one more than no.”

“Lucifer?” Dean said, dawning horror in his voice.

“Well, you weren’t doing anything to fight the Darkness, so your angel here decided that he needed to step up.”

Dean’s body had gone stiff beneath him, every muscle clenched. Appallingly, that just increased the intensity of the physical sensations. Castiel felt the body’s cock begin to fill again as Lucifer kept up his steady motions. “Stay away from Sam!” Dean ordered.

Lucifer laughed, throwing his head back in a way even Castiel knew was theatrically exaggerated. “Oh, Dean. So predictable. You’ve got an angel’s cock up your ass, you couldn’t even tell that your best friend and most unrequited love wasn’t in charge, and still it’s just Sam, Sam, Sam.”

“If you hurt either of them—” Dean growled, wrenching his wrists in their Grace-charged bonds, unwittingly pressing Lucifer further into him in his struggles.

Lucifer closed his eyes and made what was nearly a purr. “Oooh, do that again, that feels nice.” He wasn’t lying. Castiel wanted to vomit, and he wanted to save Dean, and he felt the stirrings of the body as it reacted to the way Dean squeezed around him, sharp shocks of pleasure better than any victory he’d achieved as part of the Host.

Lucifer’s hands wandered over Dean’s back, his shoulders, his biceps. “It was never any mystery to me what Michael saw in you—it is a beautiful body, no one could deny that. And given its purpose, the weakness of the human soul inside hardly mattered. It even helped. You only made me wait thirty years for the first seal to break.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s flinches with every touch and jab, the physical almost as bad as the verbal. He raged to refute Lucifer’s sly denigrating words, but he was only a mute witness.

Abruptly, Lucifer pulled back, leaving Dean’s body with an unpleasant tug that made Dean grunt with pain. “But I’m doing all the work here, and I don’t think that’s right.” He rolled over until he was sitting on the side of the bed, Dean still tense and unmoving under his control. “I think that if you really want to keep Sam safe, you should blow me.”

Dean turned his head, grimacing as if the motion hurt, and met the body’s eyes for a second before he wrenched his gaze away, staring at the body’s shoulder. “Fuck off.”

Lucifer dipped his chin and Dean was flipped over, onto his back. His belly was smeared with his own release. His hands moved in an attempt to cover his nakedness, but Lucifer’s control kept them at his sides.

“You forget, Dean, I’ve been in Sam’s noggin too. I know it won’t be the first time you’ve been on your knees for his sake.”

Dean blinked like he’d been backhanded. Lucifer smiled. “Of course he knew how you paid the rent. Sammy’s a smart boy, always was. He even thought about it himself, when he needed cash at college, given how his family cut him off and all. You were his hero, and if you could do it … But I thought he wasn’t eating enough and stepped in before he did anything stupid. I had a nice young woman in the scholarship office possessed and upped his grant.” Lucifer reached out and traced his finger over Dean’s antipossession tattoo. “So. Make it good, or I mosey down the hall and pay a visit to your brother.”

Castiel wanted to turn his eyes away, but the body wasn’t his to control, and all he could do was feel the air on the body’s skin, the hot puffs of Dean’s breath as Dean jerkily moved himself into place, kneeling between Lucifer’s legs. His back was broad even with the defeated slump of his shoulders, his head bowed so that he didn’t have to look at the body’s face.

He put his hands, so warm and human, on Lucifer’s thighs, then paused. “Cas,” he said, soft enough that Lucifer leaned in to hear, “if you’re still in there … I’m sorry.”

Lucifer snorted, but the noise cut off when Dean’s mouth closed around his dick, still sensitive from orgasm. Castiel felt the slick heat with Lucifer. This should be fun, Lucifer said, carefree. There had been a time when Castiel would have had the power to tear mountains apart, but he couldn’t stop this.

Lucifer put his hand on the back of Dean’s neck and pulled hard. Dean gagged but recovered, his lips nearly down to the base of the body’s cock. Lucifer moaned in satisfaction, the same satisfaction reverberating through Castiel, his physical being concentrated on the pleasure of Dean’s skillful mouth.

“Look at me,” Lucifer demanded. Dean choked, but Lucifer tugged on his hair and he raised his eyes, wide and green as the fields of Heaven. Lucifer leered down. “Can’t say Dad screwed up making this feature,” he said merrily. Dean’s mouth stretched wide around the cock, the glans bumping against the back of his palate. His eyelashes were clumped together with sweat or tears, and he was so beautiful that Castiel felt a black wave of hatred roll through him, for Lucifer because he’d done this and for himself because he’d wanted this. Every harmonic of his essence tangled into dissonant negations. For a moment he felt Lucifer’s dominance flicker—

Lucifer pushed Dean away. “Can’t have that, I’m afraid. Get back on the bed and spread for me.”

Dean’s mouth was shining, redder than ever. His eyes were flat, like coins corroded from long immersion in water. Never taking his gaze from Lucifer, he maneuvered himself to comply, bringing his knees up and pressing his feet into the mattress.

And you could have had this for years. Really, little brother, I’m almost ashamed on your behalf.

Dean didn’t flinch when Lucifer crawled between his legs, though he did turn his head to the side, the tendons of his neck taut and vulnerable. He was pale beneath his constant stubble, and the body’s mouth throbbed as if in memory of the scrape of Dean’s skin against its own.

“Put it in,” Lucifer ordered, forcing Dean to turn his head back. Dean’s jaw was tight, but his hand was steady as he took the body’s dick in his hand, smearing his own spit over it, and guided it to the reddened, slick place between his legs.

Like the gates of Heaven, Lucifer mused as he pushed in, past the resistance of muscle. Or so I’ve heard. It’s been a while. What do you think?

I think I’m going to kill you. No emotion tinged the words, or perhaps there was so much that it had become indistinguishable from the thought.

Nah, I prefer the little death. He began to move in earnest. This wasn’t fornication, the way Dean fornicated with so many strangers. This, more even than any pornography, was fucking. It was precise enough that Lucifer wasn’t tearing through Dean with his angelic strength, but brutal nonetheless. With every thrust, Dean suppressed a gasp, and his eyes were again closed, his fists clenched in the sheets.

This was Dean’s sanctuary, Castiel realized. The first home he’d chosen. Defiled because of Castiel’s rash choice.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lucifer counseled with false sympathy. If he hadn’t had such a crush, this wouldn’t have been nearly as easy. So really, he was asking for it as much as you did.

He sped up the pace, and Castiel was all but lost in the sensation, not less seductive after experiencing it so recently. Dean’s body yielded to him as tension wound tighter, tighter, until—

In the pleasure of the moment, he and Lucifer were united, Lucifer’s triumph blurred underneath the raw physical force of the body, more powerful than angels in its own way.

It was a minute before Lucifer shook his head and shoulders and blew out a breath. “Whew,” he said. “That was good. You’re a peach, really.” Runs in the family, I suppose. Dean barely flinched when Lucifer lifted himself from Dean’s body.

Lucifer put his hand on Dean’s chest, and Enochian sizzled on his skin, scarring it instantly into what Castiel would have translated for Dean as ‘bring it, bitch.’ A groan escaped Dean’s clenched teeth at the new violation. “There,” Lucifer said with satisfaction. “You’re connected to the Darkness. As long as you’re around, we have a hotline to her—and we have her weakness. I’ll get rid of her for you, like I promised Castiel. Once I’ve taken care of a few other things. Be seeing you, Dean.”

He leaned down and kissed Dean once more. Dean jerked, but stilled when Lucifer put a cautionary hand on his throat, and submitted to this latest invasion. Tears were streaming from his wide-open eyes. Castiel thought he could almost hear Dean thinking how he’d failed Castiel, how he would save him even if it brought his world crumbling down around him once more. Do you think I broke him? Lucifer asked, delighted by the prospect. Not to worry. Your boy can take a licking and keep on ticking.

Lucifer stood, and with a wave of his hand the body was fully dressed again. Dean was motionless on the bed, wary in his nakedness, but all Lucifer did was turn around and leave. With a few strides he was at Sam’s door, knocking. Calm down, he said in response to Castiel’s wordless outrage. I’m an angel of my word. Or is that my Word, now that Dad’s gone? Regardless. I won’t touch a luxuriant hair on that overlarge head.

Sam opened the door gingerly, his hair mussed as if he’d been trying to sleep. “Castiel?”

“Dean needs you. Urgently,” Lucifer said, with so much seriousness that Castiel thought Sam might see through the pretense, but Sam’s head snapped Deanward as he shouldered past Lucifer, barefoot and focused.

Lucifer whistled as he walked away.