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The Courtship of Sam Winchester

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“Fuck off.”

“I can’t do that, Sam.”

The devil has been stalking him for weeks now. Sam would be about ready to file harassment charges if he thought he could get away with it without being committed for insanity.

“How would a piece of paper keep me from you?” Lucifer’s voice is softly curious, like he honestly doesn’t understand.

“And stay the fuck out of my head. How did you even find me, anyway?”

Hell, it’s been weeks since he heard from Dean and even Cas can’t find him. Not with the sigils on his ribs and not when he doesn’t particularly want to be found. Sam’s not sure if he’s relieved or upset that even the demons who always seem to follow him have disappeared.

It’s just him and the devil for company these days.

Lucifer’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “You are not nearly as difficult to find as you think,” the devil informs him, “not when we are connected.”

“We’re not connected.”

Sam will deny it forever, uncaring for the way his statement makes Lucifer turn his face away. The devil is good at that, at looking crushed and human when Sam knows he’s just being played.

He crosses his arms and steadfastly ignores the flare of guilt and uncertainty in his stomach.

Sam exhales an annoyed breath, irritated with himself for falling for Lucifer’s games. He lies back down in his too-narrow motel bed and turns his back on the devil, determined to get at least a handful of hours of sleep before his shift in the morning.

“You don’t have to live like this,” Lucifer interrupts quietly. He’s always like that: quiet and careful, deceivingly gentle as if it will make Sam lower his guard.

Sam refuses to accept that it may be working.

“Shut up,” he tells him instead, stubbornly closing his eyes and punching his pillow into the proper shape.

To his surprise, Lucifer falls silent for the rest of night.

Sam wakes once before dawn and stumbles to the bathroom. On his way back he sees Lucifer still sitting in the uncomfortable kitchen chair, watching him. Even then, however, the devil is quiet as Sam falls back into bed and tries to ignore him until the alarm goes off.

As usual, Lucifer is gone when Sam gets up to start his day.

Sam gets back to his room late. The day has been terrible, he aches all over, and all he wants is to kill the nagging voice in his head with beer and the drone of late-night television.

His job isn’t really physically demanding, not like hunting is, but it tires him in a completely different way. Dealing with customers all day gives him a headache that no amount of ibuprofen will relieve and it only gets worse now that he’s found himself as the bar’s de facto bouncer.

Sam sometimes wonders if this is how normal people live.

Do normal people struggle through jobs they hate so they can pay for one more night in a motel they also hate? Do they run from their past and their future and dread seeing a familiar face? Are they stalked by the king of hell?

Well, maybe not that last one.

All the same, Sam has no hopes of being alone tonight. He’s never alone anymore. In a weird way, it’s kind of reassuring.

He has to fight with the cheap lock to get the door open and when he finally does he’s not the least surprised to find Lucifer in his usual chair.

“Don’t you get bored?” Sam bitches, dumping his bag and boots in a pile by the door.

He gets like that sometimes, lulled into complacency by Lucifer’s stillness. Like he’s not the devil, like he couldn’t kill Sam with a thought.

“I wouldn’t kill you, Sam,” Lucifer replies, responding again to Sam’s thoughts instead of his voice. “I need you.”

The devil’s voice is soft and disarming and Sam hates that his shoulders loosen at the sound of it, at the reassurance that isn’t really reassuring at all.

“Lucky me.”

Lucifer makes a soft sound in agreement and watches with more intensity than Sam would like as the human shrugs off his jacket and shoves it into a corner.

“Not tonight,” Sam forestalls with a sigh, giving the devil a wide berth as he goes to check his painkiller supply in the bathroom. He’s lost count of how many nights in a row Lucifer has been showing up, murmuring to him about destiny and how much better everything will be if he just says yes.

“What is wrong with you?” The devil asks calmly, brow furrowed as Sam digs through the medicine cabinet.

Sam would be angry, but Lucifer’s voice is so earnest. Like he actually doesn’t understand headaches and stress and the weight of the entire fucking world bearing down on one person’s shoulders.

“Headache,” Sam finally snaps at him when it becomes clear that Lucifer will stare at him expectantly until he is answered.

There’s no ibuprofen left. No acetaminophen or aspirin either. He knew he should have restocked before he let his supply run out.

Sam sighs, bent over the sink in the dingy bathroom. His head is killing him, he has another double shift in the morning, and the king of hell has wandered into the doorway to better see what he is doing.

“I don’t want to hear about our destiny tonight,” he complains to the faucet, the arms bracing him on the counter almost shaking in his exhaustion. “I just want to pass out and be blissfully unaware of my shitty life and my shittier past life, and your creepy staring.”

It's tempting fate to antagonize the devil, Sam knows that. But there’s only so much monologuing a guy can take.

Sam pulls himself together and shoulders past Lucifer. He only manages to kill the lights and kick off his jeans before falling into bed. He pulls the sheet up past his head so he doesn’t have to acknowledge Lucifer.

The minutes tick past and Sam remains undisturbed. Eventually he falls into a fitful sleep, waking every time he shifts and his headache reminds him just how much it hates him.

He doesn’t hear Lucifer approach and even half asleep Sam’s instincts should be better than this. Even so, he doesn’t start at the cool brush of fingertips across his temple. The sheet has fallen away and Lucifer touches him with surprising gentleness, wiping away the pain.

Sam sighs in relief and immediately falls into a more peaceful sleep.

When the alarm goes off the next morning, Sam cannot remember ever feeling so rested.

There is no sign of Lucifer.

There was a close call today. A pair of hunters came to the bar, hunters who recognized him, hunters who were not pleased to see him. They could have been trouble, Sam’s suspicions were running high all through their visit and he doesn’t even want to know what they had in mind for him.

But Lucifer intervened.

Sam hadn’t known that Lucifer was watching him so closely. He knew the devil had taken to staying with him every night but so far Sam hasn’t seen him in the day. So far, he has been able to push thoughts of being Lucifer’s vessel out of his mind long enough to finish a shift.

Except today. The hunters came back after Sam had managed to get them out without blowing his cover, but only two sentences into their rant Lucifer had just appeared.

Sam doesn’t know what the devil did, but the hunters vanished as quickly as Lucifer usually does and the devil just smiled at him and promised to see him tonight.

A month ago that would have been terrifying. These days it’s just part of being Sam Winchester.

“Okay,” Sam demands as soon as gets in that evening, “what was that about? You’re watching me at work now?”

Lucifer is sitting cross-legged on his kitchen chair, peering at Sam’s laptop curiously.

“Of course I am,” he answers calmly. “You needed me.”

Sam frowns and stalks over to the table. Lucifer doesn’t seem to have touched his computer, it’s still open to the desktop and nothing seems to be wrong with it. But the devil still leans in to look at it, hands kept safely away like it could hurt him.

What actually strikes Sam the most, however, is that Lucifer seems bizarrely human. The devil sits like he is comfortable in his body where every other night he has sat stiffly in the chair, immobile but for his tolerant sighs.

“I didn’t need you.”

It’s an automatic response that Sam doesn’t even think about let alone really mean. Like it or not, he is becoming used to their bickering.

Lucifer watches as Sam sighs and shuts down the OS, obviously displeased that his new object of interest is being taken away.

“They had plans for you,” the devil explains. He sounds upset and offended – like he hasn’t been implementing his own plans for Sam.


Lucifer looks up from the closed laptop and reaches to lay his hand on top of Sam’s. “They wanted to dose you with blood and set you loose on a demon.”

What?” Sam is so shocked that he doesn’t yank his hand away.

The devil just shrugs and squeezes Sam’s fingers. “You needed me,” he repeats.

And the ridiculous thing is that Sam kind of agrees with him. He knows Lucifer probably has something up his sleeve, is probably trying to lure Sam into a false sense of security, but it’s hard to keep reminding himself that. Lucifer appears so harmless with his curiosity and endless patience that Sam struggles to see him as the end of all mankind. Especially when he heals Sam’s aches without hesitation and practically flies to his rescue when needed.

“Yeah,” Sam exhales cautiously, angling a look at Lucifer and seeing him in a different light, “I guess I did.”

They spend the rest of the night in silence that is more or less companionable. It makes a nice change and Sam doesn’t even mind that Lucifer spends more time looking at him than the television.

Still, the devil is gone when Sam drags himself out of bed in the morning.

Dean hung up on him again today.

Sam was rapidly reaching his limit on the amount of crap he can take for one day and had stormed out of the bar in the middle of the dinner rush. It was a stupid argument with a backwoods hick that finally pushed him over the edge.

He had finally manhandled the guy out the door when he had started handsy with Jen, one of the early shift waitresses. Sam actually had to duck a badly-aimed punch before the guy staggered off and he was just in no mood to deal with any more customers. He threw his apron into his locker without a word and drove off before the owner could yell at him.

So all that combined with Dean’s words to him that morning have just conspired to make his day hell.

He is not unaware of the irony.

And speaking of the devil, Sam has become so used to Lucifer’s presence in his motel room that when he gets back to the room he ends up standing aimlessly in the doorway, thrown off-balance to find himself alone.

Sam kicks off his shoes and slumps down on the mattress to waste his afternoon watching soaps he would never admit to following.

He doesn’t even make to the end of Days before Lucifer appears with a flutter of wings. Sam denies the relief that tries to bubble up in his chest.

“What do you do all day?” he asks instead, still staring at the television like he couldn’t care less about Lucifer’s answer. “How did you know I was here?”

“I always know where you are.”

The devil breaks the news gently as if afraid that Sam is going to freak out or something. Sam snorts because it’s not like he hadn’t already figured that out.

Lucifer steps toward the bed and tries to mimic Sam’s position, laid out on his side and propped up on an elbow. It’s so ridiculously casual that Sam doesn’t even think about pushing him off. He just watches the devil try to get comfortable with raised eyebrows.

“We’re connected,” Lucifer explains for the millionth time. “When you have been angry or bitter or claustrophobic… when you have been so lonely even surrounded by people, some of that was you but, Sam, some of that was me, too.”

“Bullshit,” Sam counters, though his voice wavers with uncertainty. The television continues playing out a melodrama that has nothing on Sam’s life but neither of them hear it.

“Despite your self-imposed exile, you have actually been more at peace these past weeks than you have your entire life.”

Lucifer doesn’t phrase it as a question and Sam finds he can’t dispute it anyway. Things have been shit and he hates his room and his job and the fact that thinking about Dean for any length of time makes him cold with anger and guilt… but still. Yeah, the crushing weight of being alone, of being incomplete, no longer plagues him.

Not that he’s about to admit that to Lucifer. Not out loud, anyway.

“It’s because you released me,” Lucifer continues, his voice much quieter as he stares at Sam. “I am no longer alone and neither are you.”

The devil reaches out and covers Sam’s hand. “We are together now.”

Sam sighs and takes his hand back, rolling onto his back and staring at the water damaged ceiling.

“You just want to wear my meatsuit and destroy my species.”

“Yes,” Lucifer admits easily. “But you do not wish for that.”

Sam laughs and shoots Lucifer a glance from the corner of his eyes. “No shit.”

The devil is quiet for a minute, not moving from his position on his side as he watches Sam and frowns.

“We are destined, Sam,” Lucifer finally murmurs. “However-

“However, I am beginning to re-evaluate just how we are meant to be together.”

It’s the first glimmer of hope that Sam has had in months and it startles him upright, turning to stare at Lucifer in barely concealed interest.

“What do you mean?”

The devil mimics him again, crossing his legs under him and tilting his head just a bit as he thinks about Sam’s question. Or maybe thinks about how to phrase it so Sam’s puny human brain can understand.

There’s a further moment of hesitation before Lucifer begins telling him about Michael. At first Sam doesn’t understand what the feathery dicks upstairs have to do with Lucifer wearing him to the Apocalypse but as the story unfolds Sam finds himself becoming fascinated regardless.

Lucifer focuses on their parallel destinies, on how they were made different from their siblings, on how their fathers disapproved, of how their brothers were told to put them down. About how Michael actually tried and Dean never did.

It’s the main difference between them, Lucifer believes. Sam isn’t broken yet because he hasn’t lost everything.

Sam rolls his eyes and tries to quell the swell of nausea as he remembers his conversation with Dean that morning. Lucifer must be eavesdropping on his brain again because the devil snorts suddenly and copies Sam’s eye roll.

“Please,” he says sarcastically, “your little spat won’t last forever. For all his faults and failings and humanity, Dean Winchester is a better brother than Michael.”

The statement seems to shock Lucifer as much as it does Sam. They stare at one another in silence but there is no taking the words back.

Slowly, Sam smiles and tries to change the subject before Lucifer can overcompensate for his admission and launch into another tirade against the human race.

“So what are you doing all day when you’re not creeping me out in this room?”

Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest, the very picture of wounded pride.

“I was going to raise the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“You were going to? You aren’t anymore?” Sam’s voice is maybe too eager and he has to remind himself to dial it back, that it’s not likely the devil has suddenly seen the light decided to spare them all.

Lucifer shrugs and glares at him but the expression isn’t as terrifying as the utterly disinterested looks he used to get. In fact, the glare just makes Lucifer look petulant.

“I don’t like the company of demons,” he complains.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the devil.”

Lucifer frowns and looks away, doing that thing where he looks hurt. The problem is, Sam is no longer so certain that the devil is faking and the thought of having the power to hurt Lucifer’s feelings is more than a little scary.

“They’re worse than humans and I must deal with hundreds of them to raise the Horsemen. Your company is preferable.”

“Uh,” Sam hesitates in disbelief, trying to pick apart that statement for the veiled insult he is sure must be between the lines. “Thanks?”

“And I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Lucifer continues as he reaches back out to take Sam’s hand. “I am an angel.”

Sam blinks and looks down at their hands. “Yeah. So you keep saying.”

“An angel who is just like you, Sam. Who was never good enough for his Father, who has been searching for purpose his entire life, who just misses his brother. Who finally feels at peace in this pathetic little room as long as you are here.”

It’s awkward but Sam doesn’t have the heart to reclaim his hand or deny the way his pulse speeds up in agreement with Lucifer’s words.

Sam only realizes how much time has passed once the silence stops being uncomfortable. He sighs and gets up to grab some leftovers from the fridge.

They spend the rest of the night more or less companionably, only getting into philosophical arguments instead of raging at each other over the fate of the world.

Sam ends up curled on his side in bed, listening to Lucifer’s voice as the angel recounts some story Sam lost the thread of long ago.

He sleeps better than he has ages but he still wakes to an empty room in the weak morning sunlight.

Sam almost doesn’t expect Lucifer the next evening. He’s spent the day kissing ass and trying to make up for his early departure yesterday, all the while hoping that the devil will be waiting for him at home.

He stifles hysterical laughter in the middle of the lunch rush when that thought occurs to him. God, at this rate the entire bar is going to think he’s insane.

Come to think of it, Sam’s not entirely sure that he isn’t insane.

Insanity notwithstanding, Sam breathes a sigh of relief when he gets in that night and finds signs of Lucifer’s presence. At first, the devil would sit in the dark waiting for him, not seeming to even notice the difference when Sam would get annoyed and flick on the overhead lights.

But by now Lucifer has followed Sam’s example and leaves the lights on for him. Sam refuses to find it adorable.

Sam frowns in confusion when he doesn’t find Lucifer at his usual place at the table. There is, however, a pile of earmarked novels around the legs of his chair. He investigates closer and practically groans aloud in dismay.

Lucifer has been reading Chuck’s books.

He sighs and pops his head into the bathroom looking for the devil. And there Lucifer is, battered copy of Supernatural #19: Heart in hand as he peers into the mirror.

Sam fights the urge to thump his forehead against the doorway.

What are you doing?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, glancing quickly at Sam and then back to his reflection, clearly deep in thought. His lips pull into a frown as he raises his free hand to pick at his hair.

“I am very blond.”

“Yeah…” Sam starts, thrown off by the seeming non sequitur, “yeah, you are.”

“You don’t like blonds.”

Sam almost chokes on air. “What?”

“The majority of your sexual partners have been brunettes,” Lucifer lectures, still trying to pull his hair down far enough to see it without the mirror.

“They’ve also been women, Lucifer.”

And damn, Sam should not be playing along with this but it’s so far out from what he expected that he can’t help the curiosity.

“You want to be my sexual partner?”

Lucifer pauses and seems to consider that, releasing his handful of (very blond) hair to turn and face Sam.

“We are destined,” he begins in that I am an Angel and I know better voice that Sam hates, “I want to be your partner in everything.”

It occurs to him right then, standing in a motel bathroom with an archangel who apparently wants to be inside him in both senses of the word, that he’s not actually afraid of Lucifer any more.

If anything, this new desire of the devil’s should terrify him but instead Sam is amused and – honestly – a little intrigued.

He hates to admit it, but Lucifer has been right about a lot. They do know too much about each other, he has felt more comfortable in his skin and his life in general since Lucifer began visiting.


Sam shakes himself out of it and reaches for the novel still open in Lucifer’s hand. “Yeah,” he answers finally, throat dry, “so you keep telling me.”

He escapes before he can do something stupid like taste the devil’s lips, retreating into the main room where he busies himself tidying the pile of novels by the table.

“I haven’t enjoyed the gospels for a very long time,” Lucifer comments from the bathroom doorway.

He’s watching Sam in a way that makes heat rise to the back of the hunter’s neck and Sam does his absolute best to ignore him.

“These, however, are delightful. And enlightening. I am eager to learn how to fit in your life, Sam.”

Sam groans and rubs a hand over his eyes. On one hand, he’s pretty sure no one ever wanted to grow up and be the object of desire for the devil. But on the other… he’s weirdly flattered. Lucifer is an Archangel, and more than that, Lucifer knows him better than any other soul on Earth and he still seems to want to know more.

It should make him sick, that he has so much in common in with Satan.

But, Sam is slowly starting to admit to himself, Lucifer is not that being. If Satan ever existed outside the minds of men, he was never the Angel Sam now knows. Lucifer is selfish and petulant and too powerful for his own good, but he is not actually evil. No more than Sam, anyway.

When he climbs into bed that night, Sam doesn’t protest as Lucifer joins him. He feels somewhat like he’s playing the world’s most high stakes game of chicken but Lucifer doesn’t push and Sam doesn’t kick him out.

A cool arm slides around his waist just as he’s falling asleep and he can’t even convince himself that he doesn’t smile and move just a little closer.

Sam surprises himself by nearly choking on his disappointment when he wakes up alone.

Lucifer is all he can think about the next day.

He’s not scheduled to work and spends most of the day wandering around the small town and wishing Lucifer was with him. It’s not that Sam thinks he can change the Angel’s mind about humanity with a hot dog and a movie, but it couldn’t hurt, right?

Plus, he’s pretty sure Lucifer’s utterly alien take on everything would make his day just that much better.

It’s as Sam is walking out of the bookshop with the latest Winchester Gospel for Lucifer that he realizes how obsessed he’s become. He stares at his reflection in the store window and sighs. He’s acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush. This is the most ridiculous thing to happen to him in a life made up solely of ridiculous things.

Still, Sam keeps a tight grip on Chuck’s new book as he heads back to the motel.

That night, Lucifer holds the paperback in both hands, staring at it like it’s concealing the mysteries of the universe.

“Explain this again?” He asks Sam quietly, too-innocent eyes tracking Sam’s movements across the room.

Sam sighs and runs a hand through hair. “It’s just a gift, Lucifer. Say thank you and shut up.”

But Lucifer just stares at him from his perch on the bed, fingertips smoothing over the book’s cover.

Sam gives up and goes to sit next to him. “I saw it, I thought of you, I bought it for you. No bloodshed was involved if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The Angel smiles and tilts him a considering look. “You thought of me,” he repeats slowly, lips still curved in a satisfied smile.

“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your he-“

Sam is cut off as Lucifer leans forward unexpectedly, pressing their mouths together in an uncoordinated kiss. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his lips or hands, but he soldiers on regardless, making it difficult for Sam to push him away. He’s just so goddamn earnest.

The kiss ends before Sam can kick his brain into gear enough to respond and now Lucifer’s just watching him, not moving away but brows drawn with uncertainty.

“Have you ever done that before?” Sam asks in a whisper. But it’s not at all what he meant to say. He meant to tell Lucifer to never touch him again, that they’re not meant for each other.

But even Lucifer knows that Sam is lying to himself because the Angel is smiling again, incapable of keeping out of Sam’s mind.

“No,” Lucifer answers, “but I would like to do it again.”

This time Sam doesn’t let him have the advantage, this time he curls his hand around the back of Lucifer’s head and pulls him into a kiss that is all teaching and exploration.

Part of him is aware of how wrong this should be. Never mind that Lucifer is a guy, he’s the devil, and yet all Sam can think about is how much he likes the alien scrape of Lucifer’s stubble, how the coolness of his mouth is strangely erotic.

But then Lucifer is tugging him backward until Sam falls over, landing sprawled over him in an ungainly heap. It breaks the kiss and Sam laughs, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Woah! Slow down, man.” He grins, leaning down quickly to kiss Lucifer quickly on the mouth, soothing ruffled feathers before the angel can get disgruntled. “You never even kissed someone before and you want to rush into more?”

“Yes,” Lucifer answers immediately, grabbing for Sam’s waist and trying to pull him back down.

Sam’s certain the angel isn’t actually trying, however, because he’s felt Lucifer’s strength first hand just earlier and this is more of a weak grab.

He stifles another soft laugh and rolls off to lie beside Lucifer, both of them staring at the ceiling with their knees bent over the edge of the bed. Taking a breath for courage, Sam slides his fingers down Lucifer’s inner arm and takes his hand.

“This is crazy, right?”

Lucifer turns his head to peer at the side of Sam’s face. “We were created for each other.”

Sam snorts but squeezes Lucifer’s fingers. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Dear god, is he really considering this? Sam forgets that Lucifer reads his mind as easily as breathing, going over all the reasons that this is completely insane. His view of the ceiling blurs as he bites his lip, fighting off panic.


He must be conditioned to relax at Lucifer’s voice now because Sam exhales slowly and turns on his side to face the angel. “Yeah?”

“Its fine,” Lucifer soothes, rubbing his thumb over the backs of Sam’s knuckles and leaving a slight chill in its wake. “I am not the monster you thought me to be. Not to you and not to your family. I want you more than I want vengeance.”

Sam hesitates, guilt sparking in him when he catches sight of the hurt his disbelief causes Lucifer.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Sam,” Lucifer finally whispers, his eyes bright and earnest. “Since I was created, I have waited.”

Sam can’t even begin to comprehend how lonely that must have been. He frowns and reaches over with the hand not currently clutching Lucifer’s to touch the angel’s jaw.

“Okay,” he manages, throat dry. “No more Apocalypse?”

Lucifer doesn’t look pleased at the question but he nods all the same, turning just enough to press cool lips against the palm of Sam’s hand.

“No more Apocalypse.”

All the tension drains out of Sam just like that. He smiles and kisses Lucifer again, having to swat the angel’s hands away from his pants every few breaths.

They spend the rest of the day and evening wrapped up in each other. Sam’s resolve slowly crumbles under Lucifer’s enthusiastic entreaties to teach him about sex.

It’s unbelievable and yet somehow adorable but Sam manages to persevere, not wanting to give in to that particular demand just yet.

He finally falls asleep against Lucifer’s chest somewhere in the early morning, certain that the lack of sleep will ruin him for his shift tomorrow.

When Sam wakes only four hours later, he does so in an empty bed. Lucifer is gone and fear stabs at Sam’s heart. He couldn’t have changed his mind already… it’s not possible, it’s not fair.

He only manages to calm himself down after stepping out of the shower and realizing that Lucifer is always gone in the morning. That the angel may not be here, but Sam can’t find the book he bought for him, either. Lucifer took it with him. He accepted the gift.

He must be coming back.

Sam's day goes by quickly. He's long since convinced the owner of the bar that he`s best for the slower morning and afternoon shifts but even the boredom of such a shift doesn't make time seem to crawl.

Not today, at least.

When he's not staring into space wondering what Lucifer does during the daytime he's fantasizing about what he'd like to do with him in bed. Sam swears to himself that he won't try to put Lucifer off anymore if he just comes back tonight.

To his great relief, Lucifer does return that evening.

Instead of sitting at his usual spot, however, Lucifer is already curled comfortably in Sam’s bed. Sam supposes he should just be grateful that the angel is fully clothed.

Actually, considering some of his fantasies today, maybe he should be disappointed.

“You weren’t here this morning,” Sam says by way of greeting. His tone is more accusatory than he had expected.

Lucifer sits up amid the thin sheets, head cocked curiously.

“Should I have been?”

Sam sighs and kicks off his shoes, trying hard not to look at Lucifer.

“Yeah, maybe,” he tells his boots, “I mean, if we’re going to do this, I don’t want to be wondering if you’re off slaughtering entire cities during the day.”

It’s not the real reason Sam felt a little – and only a little – abandoned this morning but it is true. Though Lucifer agreed not to burn the world, Sam has no doubt that it’s impossible to leash the devil. That Lucifer’s distaste of humanity is going to be a major issue between them but even still… even still, Sam has never been happier than he was the other night while teaching the devil how to kiss.

Lucifer’s amused voice cuts through Sam’s embarrassment and makes him look up.

“Samuel, are you saying that you missed me?”

“Shut up,” Sam sulks, sitting rigidly beside him on the bed.

Lucifer’s lips quirk into a smug smile as he reaches over to run his fingers through Sam’s hair.

“Everything is going to change soon,” the angel murmurs quietly, his thumb rubbing momentarily on the skin behind Sam’s ear. “I would like to face it with you.”

Sam doesn’t know what Lucifer’s talking about. The Apocalypse? No, they have an agreement, it must be something else. He tries to concentrate on his questions but Lucifer is driving him to distraction just with his fingers against Sam’s scalp.

“I want you here, too,” he ends up saying instead of demanding explanations. Sam stares past Lucifer to the kitchen counter, eyebrow rising in curiosity at the sight of Lucifer’s paperback balanced precariously upright next to the sink.

“Oh,” Lucifer murmurs, twisting to follow Sam’s line of sight, “I couldn’t decide where it looked best.”

It occurs to Sam suddenly that he may have been the first person to ever give Lucifer a gift. Hell, that Chuck’s most recent attempt at embarrassing Sam to death may well be Lucifer’s only possession period. It’s an uncomfortable realization and guilt gnaws at Sam’s gut for not seeing it sooner.

Lucifer’s expression softens as Sam thinks this and he scoots over in the tangle of sheets, pressed hard against Sam’s side. “That is not true,” he assures him, “I also have you.”

Sam offers a weak smile, not even bothering to berate the angel for his lack of mental boundaries. He just pulls Lucifer in for another kiss, driven on by the tight grip Lucifer has on his hair.

“Let me,” Lucifer demands when they part, already fumbling at the buttons on Sam’s shirt. "Don't tell me no."

This time Sam has no intention of stopping Lucifer. He is already excited at just the thought of being with the angel this way, eager to see how Lucifer’s boundless curiosity manifests during sex.

He smiles and covers Lucifer’s fingers with his own, taking over for him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam replies cheekily, leaning forward to nip quickly at Lucifer’s lower lip before the angel can take offence to his tone.

Sam undresses them both, hindered more than helped by Lucifer’s constant attempts to get his hands on Sam’s skin. It’s a lot more intimate and comfortable than Sam had ever imagined and even Lucifer smiles when his fingers are batted away a third time as Sam is pulling off the angel’s t-shirt.

Lucifer quickly takes control of the encounter the moment Sam succeeds in pulling off the last of their clothes. He crowds into Sam’s space and lays him down among the pillows that are much more comfortable than they had been this morning.

Deft fingers trace every inch of skin Sam has, learning him through touch and the occasional taste when Lucifer can convince him to bend or twist or stay still long enough for his lips and tongue to trail after his fingertips. Sam laughs when Lucifer finds the ticklish spot on the inside of his ankle and squirms uncomfortably when he will not rest until he has rubbed between Sam’s toes and fingers, behind his ears, and at the bend of his knee.

The sounds of discovery Lucifer makes as he runs his palm up and down Sam’s penis is enough to make him harden further and stop his breath.

It’s not so much like sex as being manhandled by a curious angel but Sam is breathless by the time Lucifer is through. Likewise, Lucifer’s eyes are dark and there is the hot press of his erection against Sam’s thigh as the angel completes his investigation with a thorough exploration of his mouth.

Lucifer’s hands are possessive yet gentle and Sam can’t help but feel like the angel is mapping out his property, committing it memory.

The strange thing is, Sam is not sure he minds. Lucifer’s eyes light with discovery when he draws moans from Sam and darken with lust when Sam arches into the touches. As frightening as the thought should be, Sam thinks maybe he wants to belong to Lucifer – that is of course, as long as the angel belongs to him, too.

As always, Lucifer is eavesdropping on Sam’s brain and he chuckles good-naturedly against the dip of Sam’s hips.

“Of course I am,” the angel responds smoothly, returning to dragging his stubbled cheek across Sam’s sensitive skin.

Sam tugs and pulls until Lucifer settles next to him again, thumb rubbing circles on his side as Sam tempts him into another kiss. Lucifer is brand new to this stimulation and Sam doesn’t expect him to last very long.

There will be time later for Sam to introduce Lucifer to all the various facets of sex. For now he just wants to show him that being down here among the mortals has a few distinct advantages.

Though Lucifer seems fascinated with Sam’s erection, Sam captures the angel’s fingers and brings them to his lips rather than let him continue stroking the hardened flesh.

“Wait,” Sam whispers, taking the time to kiss each of Lucifer’s fingertips. “Let me.”

Lucifer grins at him and curls his hand along Sam’s jaw. He allows Sam to switch their positions, settling on his back with a trusting smile. Sam is pretty sure that it’s most important thing he’s ever been trusted with. The weight of it squeezes his heart and quickens his pulse.

He ends up nestling half atop the angel, propped up on his side to be able to see his face. Sam returns Lucifer’s curious touches, learning for himself what makes Lucifer writhe and gasp.

He doesn’t tease Lucifer for long. Sam’s waited all day to have him his arms and now that they are here Sam cannot resist curling long fingers around the surprisingly human weight of Lucifer’s erection. Flushed with blood, it is as hot as Sam would expect of a human, which makes a fascinating contrast to the chill of Lucifer’s tongue. Sam can’t help but indulge in both sensations, plundering the angel’s mouth while working his fist over hard length of his penis.

Lucifer is actually driving Sam to distraction with his complete lack of shame. He bends a leg to be able to push off the mattress, not evening attempting to stifle himself as Sam swipes his thumb over the head of Lucifer’s erection.

It doesn't last very long after that.

When the muscles in Lucifer`s legs start shaking just slightly, Sam pulls back from the kiss to see him. Lucifer never stops touching Sam, hands clenching on the curve of his shoulder and the jut of his hip. Even as orgasm washes over him, he arches up as though to increase the contact between them.

Sam strokes him through the waves of pleasure, entranced by the bright blue light of Lucifer`s eyes and how his toes curl in the sheets as he shivers and comes back to himself.

Sam,” Lucifer exhales, his voice lowered in surprise and clear adoration.

Before he can reply, Lucifer’s cold fingers are wrapping around his neglected erection. Sam gasps in surprise, hands gripping the angel’s arms tightly as he adjusts to the temperature.

“Fuck,” Sam curses, hips hitching up into Lucifer’s hand. The grip is inexperienced but not in the least bit tentative.

He doesn’t need much, not after being subject to Lucifer’s previous explorations and watching him experience an orgasm for the first time. Sam buries his hand in Lucifer’s short hair and kisses him again just as he falls over the edge and his release spills over the angel’s hand.

Sam groans and rests his forehead against the chill of Lucifer’s shoulder as his breathing slowly calms and Lucifer rubs a hand over his slick back.

Curled together under the sheets, they drift lazily in the afterglow, neither able to keep his hands to himself even now.

“We will do that again,” Lucifer declares to break the silence. “Many times.”

Sam stifles a laugh and drags his fingers through the hair at the back of the angel’s head. “Sounds good to me,” he agrees.

That night Sam sleeps like the dead. He is used to being woken up by the heat of two bodies sharing the same bed but with Lucifer this never happens. Even though the angel drapes himself over both of Sam’s legs and slings an arm around his waist, he never overheats in the night.

Sam supposes that it’s one of the lesser known benefits of sleeping with an angel.

When morning breaks and Sam is roused by the traffic noise, he is momentarily confused by the weight over his stomach. It takes a full minute and the blurry sight of a new paperback by the sink for things to fall into place.

Lucifer is still there.

Dean and Cas show up not two days later.

They’re in a panic over the mysterious lack of an Apocalypse and wondering if Sam has had anything to do with it. Lucifer, of course, happened to be reading the latest Supernatural book (for the third time) in his bed when Sam opened the door.

No one ended up even the least bit charred so Sam supposes that the meeting could have gone worse.

Later, as Sam throws his duffel in the trunk of the Impala, he looks up find Lucifer hesitating near the window of their motel room.

“Are you coming?” Sam asks, hiding his uncertainty by holding the car door open for him.

Lucifer smiles slowly and takes his time approaching the vehicle. He climbs in before Sam, the now ear-marked novel clutched in his hand.