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The fun thing about vessels is there are no walls between them and you. The interesting thing about humans is they often have self-constructed walls separating their consciousness from things they don't want to think about. Curious, how one can know something and yet not know it. The human mind is a strange machine. His father made such peculiar, pathetic little creatures.
Is it any wonder Lucifer chose not to bow before them?
He likes his vessel an awful lot.
Of course he does: Sam is his one true vessel. He was not only flawlessly conceived to house the might of Lucifer's being, but he has the added benefit of being a prime specimen of humanity, if the way other humans look at him is any indication.
If the way his own brother looks at him is any indication.
Interesting creatures. Righteous, self-aggrandising, moralistic Dean Winchester loves his brother in a manner even he, Satan himself, understands is beyond the pale. For humans, anyway.
It's a reciprocated desire. He flicks through Sam's memory while Sam screams uselessly at him from the recesses of his own mind and finds the moment Sam recognised he was in love with his own brother. Well, not love, not yet, but he certainly spent an astonishing amount of time pleasuring himself to thoughts of the elder Winchester.
“A little precocious, were we, Sam?” Lucifer chuckles, seeing eleven year old Sam touching himself cautiously while Dean slept shirtless in the bed beside him.
Curiously, there are dark marks on Dean's neck. Well, perhaps not so curious: Dean is, apparently, a bit of a whore, and always has been. Fifteen in human years is about right for fumbles with girls (or boys) in a borrowed back seat or empty classroom.
Reliving memories is not merely a spectator sport for an angel; Lucifer feels exactly what Sam felt, and the most overwhelming emotion is pure jealousy. Sam had some very dark thoughts about whichever unknown rival gave Dean those bruises. Only eleven years old and he was already brimming with potential for violence.
“And you wonder why you are my vessel.”
Sam screams and screams and screams.
Lucifer peruses Sam's memories of Dean until he comes to one of those pesky walls. It’s easy for him to break down, barely a lazy sigh of effort, and for him all it does is open another path in Sam's messed up little head to stroll merrily down, but for Sam it's akin to a catastrophic demolition of integral supports. Once one wall falls, so do many others.
Sam is even younger in these memories, and his feelings for Dean have not yet developed into what they were when he was eleven and going through his sexual awakening. Lucifer is not the most knowledgeable on the human condition, but he knows that young children don't understand sex and can find it quite frightening.
Sam certainly found his initial exposure to sex awfully frightening.
He is seven years old and sick with a fever. Half-delirious and mostly asleep, he doubts his own eyes. He is in search of water, but Dean is not in their small shared bedroom in some dilapidated squat. He stumbles out to the hall and sees light under his father's door. He cracks it open, always so cautious around him, and is confronted by a sight that will scar him so deeply his mind protected him from it until Lucifer knocked his walls down.
Dean was a pretty little child.
John Winchester evidently felt the same.
It's pure horror that roots Sam to the spot. Enough of a basic understanding of sex to know that what he is seeing is just that, and enough of an understanding of right and wrong to know that it is not something a father and his very young son should be doing together.
Years later, for the years between his sexual awakening and the first time he and his brother engage in sexual contact, Sam will assume the bruises on Dean's body are from his little girlfriends. He will not remember witnessing his brother crying quietly underneath the heaving bulk of his father, who had pinned Dean down by the wrists as if he stood a chance of escaping otherwise. He will not remember Dean's glassy eyes meeting his, nor the whimpers of pain and fear. If he did, he may have not been quite so rough with Dean once they became sexual partners, and may not have accepted Dean's excuses to his trembling and tears as just being overwhelmed in a good way.
Sam knows, now. Helpless in his own meatsuit, he screams and sobs and wishes to tear his own flesh from his bones.
“Don't be so dramatic, Sam. At least he wanted you. Can't say the same for dear old Dad,” Lucifer says. Sam is too distraught to reply.
Despite it all, Sam does not know the true power Lucifer holds.
He can have a little fun at Sam's expense before he gets to work shaping the world.
He has quite enjoyed Sam's home movies. All those memories of fucking that admittedly beautiful brother of his have been exceptionally entertaining and titillating, but it's the buried memories he likes the most. Even those that were not trapped behind locked doors were reframed by Sam's mind to be tolerable, but with the benefit of Lucifer's impartial voyeurism, Sam gets to become acquainted with how abnormal many of his memories of Dean and his father are.
John Winchester looms imposing and dreadful in Sam's early memory, and little Dean was forever in his shadow.
Young Sam believed John loved Dean the most and he had no idea how right he was. John did love Dean most. He loved every inch of him.
The Winchester patriarch had a propensity for keeping Dean close at all times, at least when he wasn't neglecting his sons in pursuit of Lucifer's own son, Azazel, or hunting the miscellaneous abominations that plague God's green Earth. Dean was under his father's thumb, or perhaps more aptly, his heel.
It is clear even through Sam's outsider perspective that Dean worshipped his father. He was always seeking his approval and was illuminated by the purest joy when he received his attention. He looked at the man like he was more than the pathetic alcoholic deranged by grief that Sam understood him to be even then, and it does not surprise Lucifer at all that John was intoxicated by that adoration. When John was not treating Dean like a child soldier, he was treating him more like a little wife, and that was even before Lucifer could detect any sign of a sexual relationship between them.
How ridiculous that this pitiful creature was the one destined to stand up against Lucifer. He was very lucky to be gifted such a perfect vessel; Michael had to make do with a broken child held together by bravado and denial, soaked in liquor, and haunted by traumatic memories.
Sam has an abundance of memories of watching enviously as his father touched Dean with apparently paternal affection that his young mind could not yet recognise as something insidious. Now that Lucifer has kindly opened his mind to the truth, he can revisit all of these memories with an enlightened perspective. He should be grateful that Lucifer has offered him the truth, for only the weak content themselves with lies. Yet Sam’s anguish only grows into a maelstrom as he learns the truth about his family.
Angels are created as complete, perfect beings. They do not have a childhood. They do not mature into adulthood. They just are. Lucifer has not spent much time walking amongst humanity but he understands that humans view their young as precious but weak things. They require protection. They cannot be treated in the same way that adults are. Perhaps this is why Sam is so tormented by the truth: little Dean was supposed to be protected by the very man who harmed him. Because that’s what the problem is here: Dean was harmed by his father’s attention. It makes little sense to Lucifer, given that humans are just animals and all animals fuck, beastly things that they are. It does not matter if it makes sense to him because the only thing that matters is he understands how painful it is for Sam, and Sam has to learn to stop being such a wet blanket. It is not befitting of his vessel.
"Well, Sam, as pleasant as this trip down memory lane has been, I think I'd rather a little audience participation. What do you say you and I pay a visit to young Dean?"
Stay the fuck away from him, Sam seethes.
"Don't you think he'll be excited to meet his little brother all grown up?" Lucifer grins as he adjusts his - Sam’s, whatever, it’s all the same - hair in the mirror. First impressions matter, after all.
The spring of 1994 was just another year of the same old, same old in the lives of the Winchesters. They are staying in a motel which is situated just close enough to a bus stop that it allows the boys to get to school on time. Or, well, it allows Sam to get to school on time: Dean must walk several blocks to his own school. Lucifer knows this because Sam remembers this.
Such banal little lives. Such pointless information.
John Winchester left town over a week ago to hunt a poltergeist. He will not be back for another week.
Lucifer watches Dean and Sam get off the bus. Sam babbles excitedly about a science project and Dean looks to be doing his best to feign interest, although his weariness is evident in the slump of his shoulders and the shadows underneath his eyes. It does not detract at all from his beauty. If anything, something about his vulnerability enhances it.
“I know you were young, Sam, but did you not notice how tired your brother was? You’re talking a mile a minute,” Lucifer mocks.
Shut up. Stay away from them.
Lucifer does stay away from them. For a little while, at least. He observes as Dean herds Sam into their room, as they go about their post-school rituals, as Dean takes Sam with him to the nearby gas station and returns with a bag of no doubt nutritionally negligible food, as the night closes in and Dean sends Sam to bed and stays up watching the TV quietly.
Dean emerges from the room and marches right over to Lucifer, a steely look of determination in his tired eyes and a pistol in his hand. Lucifer watches him approach with a small smile of amusement.
"Who the hell are you?" Dean asks, holding his gun up as he takes a sturdy shooting stance a few feet away. His voice has not so much as a hint of tremor. He was remarkably brave for such a terrified little boy.
“I mean you no harm,” Lucifer lies placidly.
Dean scoffs and doesn’t take his eyes off him. “You’ve been watching us since we got off the bus. Who. The hell. Are you?”
“There is no need for violence, Dean. I would never hurt you.”
Dean’s eyes widen minutely at the sound of his name, but he otherwise does not react.
“Yeah, right, you fuckin’ creep. What, you get your rocks off watching kids? You get the fuck away from us or I’ll empty my clip right into your dick.”
Charming as ever. The bravado has been in place for longer than Lucifer realised. It’s quite funny, really, knowing what happens behind closed doors. Nobody would fear Dean Winchester if they knew who he really was.
"You really don't recognise me?" Lucifer asks.
"No,” Dean bites out, but he narrows his eyes and stares at Lucifer hard.
Lucifer makes a sweeping gesture towards his face. "Look closer."
Dean studies Sam's face, eyes darting from his eyes to his nose to his mouth, tracing the lines of his cheekbones and jaw, but it isn't until Lucifer taps the mole next to Sam's nose that recognition dawns with surprise in Dean's big green eyes. His arms tremble but he doesn’t lower his weapon.
"Sammy?" he whispers.
"Yeah, Dean. It's me," Lucifer lies. Well, it's not really a lie - it's Sam's body and Sam is in the backseat rattling the bars of his holding cell.
Dean looks awe-struck for a brief moment before distrust wipes it from his eyes.
“Like hell it is. Lotsa people got moles - you ain’t Sammy. You expect me to believe you’re, what, pullin’ a Marty McFly?”
Lucifer has no idea what Dean is talking about. He pulls the context from Sam’s memory. Ah. Pop culture about time travel.
“Is that really so hard to believe, with everything you know?” Dean scowls, and his eyes dart away from Lucifer for just a moment when a door opens. “If someone sees you pointing that gun at me, you’re going to get into a lot of trouble. Dad won’t be happy.”
“Walk,” Dean orders, gesturing with his gun.
Lucifer goes where he is directed and they stand on the other side of the building. Dean does not lower his gun.
“This is quite unnecessary, Dean. You know it’s me. Ask me something only I would know.”
Dean considers this. Eventually, he asks, “What did you wish for when we saw that shooting star in Montana?”
Sam tries his best to keep the information from Lucifer but of course, it’s no use.
“I didn’t tell you because then it wouldn’t come true, so you told me that you wished for a never-ending slice of hot apple pie with ice cream that never melted and for Dad to stop snoring. I woke you up later that night to tell you I wished that we had our own house and a dog and it was just the two of us. You didn’t say anything back, but you kissed me on my forehead and I fell asleep lying on your chest.”
As he speaks, Dean’s expression transforms into awe, and he looks suddenly younger, or perhaps he just looks his age. His arms drop and he thumbs the safety back on in a motion that appears more muscle memory than conscious decision.
"Holy shit. Ho-lee shit! Sam? It’s- you’re really- holy shit, dude, you got huge!" Dean stammers. His face splits into a huge grin and his eyes light up, that too old for his years wariness melting away as wonder effuses from his very soul.
Sam would find that endearing. Lucifer only wants to see him broken.
“It’s really me,” Lucifer smiles back.
Dean laughs giddily, tucking his gun into his waistband and throwing himself at Lucifer. It takes him a moment to realise he is supposed to hug him, so he does, wrapping Sam’s strong arms around his slender body. At this age, Dean doesn’t quite come up to Sam’s shoulders. Lucifer can see the man he will become, but this Dean is still so very young, still soft around the edges, still slim and boyish. His eyes may carry the weary burden of knowledge and experience beyond his years, but like this, glowing with delight, he just looks like a child.
The pleasure of breaking him will only come second to the pleasure of breaking Sam.
Please don’t, please don’t hurt him, you won, you’ve already won, you’ve got me! You don’t need to hurt him! Sam begs from the confines of his mind.
I don’t need to. I want to, Lucifer replies simply.
“Why don’t we go to your room so we can talk?” Lucifer suggests.
Dean shakes his head. His hair is longer than he wears it as an adult, falling to the tops of his not-yet angular cheekbones. He pushes it out of his eyes.
“Can’t - Sammy’s sleeping, and I can’t let him see you anyway.”
Lucifer’s head cocks to the side. “Why not?”
"This'll screw with his head. Besides, I don't need him getting in his head that he's gonna get bigger'n me or I'll never hear the end of it."
“Then you can come to my room.”
Dean chews his lip. “I can’t leave him alone.”
"He'll be perfectly safe," Lucifer insists, growing impatient.
He is levelled with an unimpressed look. "No, he won't. You know that. You know what could happen to him."
"Well, I am Sammy, and don't you think I'd remember if anything bad happened to me tonight?"
Dean's eyebrows knit together. "I guess."
“Come,” Lucifer beckons, and walks away without ensuring that Dean is following, because of course he is. He trails after him like a stray puppy.
He selects an empty room, and when he twists the knob, it opens. He does not need to break the lock. Inside, Dean looks a little nervous, eyes taking in the clearly unused room.
“Where’s your stuff?”
“I can’t time travel with anything other than what I am wearing.”
“Oh. Right. How did you time travel?”
“Magic,” he answers curtly.
“Why did you?”
Irritating child. “To see you, of course.”
“Why?”
Lucifer exhales through his nose and Dean picks up on his annoyance, shifting anxiously.
“If you could time travel, wouldn’t you want to come see me?”
“Course I would, but- what about future me? Where am I?”
“You went to visit a different Sam.”
“Oh. Cool. Is this just something we do?”
“Yes. Dean, why don’t you sit down?”
Dean shifts from foot to foot, casting his eyes around the room, but then he takes a seat on the couch. Lucifer remains standing and Dean keeps stealing glances towards him.
“You can look at me, you know.”
Dean colours and rubs at the back of his neck. “You just look so…”
“Yes?”
“Different. I can’t believe you’re Sam.” He shakes his head, but his eyes roam Lucifer’s body like he can’t quite believe what he is seeing. His eyes linger on his chest, shoulders, and arms, and the colour in his face deepens.
Sam shrieks in his mind, trying to wrest control away from Lucifer, begging Dean to notice that it’s not really him. Lucifer doesn’t ignore him, because half the fun is Sam’s suffering.
Lucifer takes a seat next to Dean and Dean twists around to face him.
“What would you like to do, Dean?” he asks, giving him the illusion of control to assuage his nerves. Just for now.
He could just rape Dean right now. He could kidnap him and keep him tied up and rape him until he's a broken, empty shell of a boy, but he thinks it will be much, much more devastating for both Dean and Sam if he handles things differently.
"Dunno. You're kinda like the big brother now, aren't you?"
"I suppose I am."
"So, I always kinda wanted a big brother."
This is surprising news to Sam. "You did?"
"Yeah. I always have to be the big brother. If I have a big brother, I can be the little brother, and you're like, actually a grown up, so we can do fun stuff."
"What fun stuff did you have in mind?"
Dean shrugs his skinny shoulders. "Tyler's big brother lets him drink beer."
Oh, this is gonna be too easy.
"You wanna drink beer?" he asks, amused.
“Can we?” Dean asks, turning big eyes upwards. Lucifer thought that adult Dean’s eyes were big, but as a child, his eyes are disproportionately large, lending him an innocent, appealing look.
“Why not. Just don’t tell Dad,” Lucifer winks. He summons a six pack into the fridge and fetches it, handing a bottle to Dean after removing the cap.
“How did you do that without a bottle opener?” Dean asks, impressed.
“I’m strong.”
“No shit,” Dean laughs, but he’s got that shy look about him like he very much likes how strong Sam is.
It is an interesting situation. The Dean of the future is obviously attracted to his Sam, but this Dean’s Sam is just a young child. Evidently, the attraction was one-sided on Sam’s behalf until he grew up. He flicks through Sam’s memory and discovers that their relationship turned sexual when Sam was sixteen - five years from now. Five years for Sam to pine and covet and grow increasingly jealous and bitter. Five years during which Sam dedicated himself to self-improvement, obsessively working out to gain muscle mass, checking his height every week, celebrating every growth spurt, cursing every pimple, and always, always checking to see if Dean noticed him the way he noticed Dean.
His sixteenth summer. The boys were staying in a cabin by a lake. They went swimming in their underwear because they didn’t own swim trunks. Sam hauled Dean up to throw him in the water and Dean was too stunned to put up a customary fight. Time stood still, Sam stood still, and the air between them became electrified. Sam never knew who kissed who; they were as in sync as they had always been in everything but this, and finally, finally, Dean had caught up to him.
Sam is silent as he relives the precious memory. A single tear wells in his eye, and Lucifer wipes it away before it can fall.
It’s easy to get Dean drunk. He does not feel the effects of alcohol despite his human vessel. He encourages Dean to drink more, encourages his questions and lies or tells the truth when required, and listens to Dean talk about memories that are recent to him but distant to Sam.
Dean keeps blushing and staring at his lips, or his large hands holding his bottle, or the shift of muscles beneath his shirt. Lucifer removes his outer shirt - why do these Winchesters insist on dressing so sloppily? - and Dean chokes on his beer.
The boy is drunk and loose-limbed and happy, eyes bright and face pink as he leans against Lucifer, who idly strokes a hand through his hair.
"You know, I thought you were the prettiest boy in the world," Lucifer says, voice pitched low. Dean shivers against him. He likes Sam’s voice.
Dean's mouth drops open. "What, you now? I mean, now you? Uh, Sammy, not you. I mean- fuck."
He smiles indulgently. "Yes, the me of this time. I thought you were beautiful, Dean." He ducks his head and whispers in his ear. "I still think you're beautiful."
He puts a hand on Dean's thigh and Dean's muscles tense up.
"What are you doing?" Dean asks in a quivering voice, as if he could be ignorant of Lucifer's intentions.
"False modesty does not become you, Dean."
This time, Dean's confusion is authentic. He always was a little slow compared to Sam.
"What?"
"Don't pretend you don't know what is happening. Don't pretend you don't want it."
"You're Sam. You're my brother."
Lucifer slides his hand higher up Dean's thigh where his erection is straining his jeans. Dean makes a small, confused noise. "So?"
"S-so it's wrong."
"No, it's not. Not if you want it. Not if I want it,” he murmurs, allowing his thumb to caress the length of Dean’s dick. Dean flinches, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Sam, please. Don't," he begs.
"We do this in the future, you know."
"What?" Dean gasps. "We're- me and you, we're..."
"Together. We have been for a long time."
"You're lying. I'd never do that to Sammy," Dean hisses, trying to pull away, but Lucifer tightens his hold and doesn't even need to use his supernatural strength to keep Dean in place. Dean is no match for Sam's greater size.
"I am Sammy."
"You're not my Sammy. You could be lying," he protests, pushing himself as far away from Lucifer as possible.
"Why would I ever lie to you? I already proved it’s me.”
"Y-you could’ve found that out some other way.”
“I know everything about you, Dean. Everything.”
“No, you don’t,” Dean counters.
"I know about you and Dad," he says gently, fighting the malicious smile that wants to form on his lips.
Dean’s head snaps up in horrified shock that he quickly shakes off, feigning casual ignorance.
"What do you mean?" he asks in a transparently toneless voice.
Lucifer touches his face with his other hand and Dean flinches. "Dean, it's okay. You don't have to hide it from me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says coldly.
Lucifer crowds over Dean, pushing him back against the arm of the couch. Dean's breath comes in faster and his eyes show white all around.
"I know. It's okay, Dean. I understand."
"I, I... I don't- nothing is--"
He soothes a hand up Dean's arm. It's so thin his hand more than wraps around it. There are already fading bruises there from the last time John held him down. He still wonders why John feels the need to, given it doesn't seem like Dean ever fights him, but perhaps it's less about need and more about want. He can see the appeal.
"It's okay, Dean. You love him, don't you? And he loves you. He loves you so, so much, just like I do."
"Sam," Dean whispers, closing his eyes as if he can close out the truth. His lips quiver prettily.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You love me, don’t you? You love Sammy. More than anything. And he- I love you, more than anything.”
Tears trickle free from Dean’s closed eyes. “Not like this. It’s wrong.”
"We're going to have so much fun together, Dean. I’m going to make you feel so good,” he lies. “Look at me, Dean.” Dean shakes his head so Lucifer seizes his face and tips it upwards. “Look. At. Me.”
Dean’s eyes open slowly, like it hurts him to do so. “Sam,” he whispers, pleading.
“You want me. I know you do, because you want me in the future, and you want me now. You’ve been staring at me all night.”
“I…”
“You can have what you want. Wouldn’t it be nice to be close to your brother like you are with your father?”
A wounded noise tears from Dean’s throat. “Stop it.”
"When was the last time Dad fucked you?" he asks, tracing a thumb over Dean’s wobbling bottom lip.
"Don't," Dean pleads.
"You can tell me, Dean. It's okay."
"Don't, Sam, please."
"Dean. Answer me." Dean shakes his head. Lucifer’s hand tightens on his face and Dean gasps. "Answer me."
"Nine days ago," Dean whispers so quietly he can barely hear him. "Before he left."
"Good."
"Good?"
"You'll be nice and tight for me."
A sob shudders violently past Dean’s lips. "Sam, please, I-I don't wanna do this. Not with you."
"Not with me? You'll spread your legs for our father, but not me? I'm the one who loves you most of all, Dean. You have no idea what I've done for you. You think me a stranger, but I'm not. I've known you your whole life. I've loved you since we were children. I love you still, years from now." He leans in closer. "I love you even knowing that you let our father use you like a cheap whore."
Dean cries out and flinches as if he has been struck. "I d- I don't want to, it's not like that!!"
“You could stop him any time you wanted to. You know so many ways to kill a man, even at this young age. There is always a gun underneath your pillow, the same one you lay your head on while your father fucks you. All you have to do is take the gun and pull the trigger.” As he talks, he strokes Dean’s hair in a mimicry of affection. Dean is sobbing and shaking his head as much as he can while still in Lucifer’s grasp. “If you really didn’t want it, you would make him stop, but you do want it. You like it. You like the way your father loves you.”
“Why are you doing this?” Dean whimpers.
“It’s for your own good. You must understand who you really are, Dean. You’re not a hunter, you’re not a killer, you’re not on some righteous mission of vengeance and redemption - you’re just a pathetic little boy who spreads his legs for his own father and brother. You’re the family whore, Dean. You’re good for nothing else. You’ll never be anything else.”
“You’re not Sam!” Dean cries out, finally struggling in earnest but failing to get away as Lucifer grabs his wrists and pins him to the couch with his body. “Get off me!”
“I am Sam. I am your brother. I know that the only scar on your body that isn’t from training or hunting is from falling out of a tree when you were ten years old. I know you secretly like to eat peanut butter and jerky together. I know you wanted to be a fireman when you were a child, before Dad told you that you were only ever going to be a hunter. I know you, Dean, because I am your brother.” He leans down to speak into Dean’s ear. “I know you like what Dad does to you. I know you chase after that feeling for the rest of your life. I know you beg me to fuck you hard, to choke you, to bite you, to make it hurt, because that’s the only way you can get off.”
Dean sobs shake his body and Sam’s screams harmonise beautifully with the sound.
Lucifer had sex in his previous vessel; it was somewhat underwhelming. He knows that anal sex requires a lot more work: time dedicated to careful preparation to avoid injury and pain, use of lubricants, and caution to avoid internal damage.
Lucky for him, he not only doesn't care if Dean gets hurt, he wants to hurt him.
This child will grow up to be a thorn in his side. He will kill his black-eyed children. He will almost succeed in keeping his vessel from him.
Besides, it's not like he can do any more damage than his father has done.
Undressing Dean is the work of seconds. Cloth tears and if Dean realises that even a man as large as Sam should not be able to rip denim like tissue paper, it doesn’t matter. He does not bother undressing himself, only releases his cock from his jeans and shoves Dean to the floor. He lands heavily on his knees but does not try to run. He has long since had that instinct trained out of him. That he offered any resistance at all shows that John wasn’t doing his job properly.
No matter, brother is here to pick up his slack.
He stands and relishes the way he towers over Dean. He fists his cock and Dean looks at it like he isn't sure what he is looking at. Lucifer supposes it's because it is far larger than his previous vessel's was. Sam truly is an exceptional specimen. Not bad, for a human.
"Oh, Dean. Your love for your brother is like worship, don't you see? This is just another way for you to worship me as you rightly should. This is how it was always going to end: you, on your knees for me, where you belong," he snarls, voice losing any trace of its former coercive softness.
Dean flinches when Lucifer reaches out to him. He grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him forwards, forcing him to rise up on his knees.
“Please stop,” Dean whimpers.
“Open your mouth,” Lucifer demands.
Dean keeps his mouth shut tight. Lucifer slaps Dean hard across the face, keeping his other hand fisted in his hair, and without the ability to turn with the momentum of the impact, his face absorbs that much more of it and his hair tears at the roots. His mouth opens on a cry and Lucifer uses that to his advantage, sliding his cock into his mouth, keeping his head right where it is and pushing into the back of his throat.
Just this moment is better than any of the sex Lucifer has had. Perhaps human vessels have more than one purpose after all.
It’s less about the physical sensation, although that is good, or the very pretty picture young Dean makes with his lips stretched too wide around his cock, or even the gurgling choking sound he makes as his cock brushes the back of his throat.
No, it’s the fact it’s Dean Winchester on his knees for him. It’s the fact he is using Sam Winchester’s body to do this.
There are so many delicious layers to this. It is Lucifer defiling Dean. It is Sam defiling Dean. It is Lucifer defiling Sam by using his body to defile Dean. It is Lucifer defiling Michael's vessel and therefore in a sense defiling Michael.
It is a beautiful act for how viciously depraved it is.
“See, not so bad, is it?” he says with a cruel, mocking twist to his words.
Dean makes another choked sound that has nothing to do with the fact Lucifer is now fucking in and out of his mouth, relishing the slick heat even if Dean is not actively participating and offering any suction. It’s still good. It’s still very, very good. It’s just a tease of the main event, just a box to check in his defilement of Dean’s body, but as he lets Sam’s muscle memory take over, he finds himself enjoying it more and more. Dean’s hands have risen to hold onto his hips, trying to prevent him from pushing in too deep, but that just won’t do. He drags Dean’s head down at the same moment as he thrusts in deep and breaches his throat, causing Dean to gag loudly. His breath stutters through his nose in panic, but he relaxes his jaw automatically, and Lucifer knows this is not the first time he has taken a cock down his throat.
He’s already very good at this, isn’t he? How long do you think he’s been doing this for your father? he asks Sam.
I’m going to kill you. We’re going to kill you, you sick son of a bitch.
And just how do you think you’re going to manage that, dear boy? You’re stuck in here with me. May as well just sit back and enjoy the show.
He’s a child!
Yes, he is. And you wanted him so badly at this age, didn’t you? You should be thanking me, Sam: you’re living out one of your earliest fantasies.
Lucifer tunes out Sam and focuses on Dean. He is handling this very well, despite the occasional gag. He’s a sight for sore eyes like this, with his lips red from friction and drool spilling down his chin, his eyes watering or crying or both, his face flushed. Lucifer pushes deeper down his throat and Dean’s pretty lips slide slickly all the way down his cock until his dainty nose is pressed into Sam’s dark, wiry pubic hair. He holds still. Dean tries and fails to breathe through his nose. As seconds pass, he starts to panic in earnest, eyes opening at last and staring up at Lucifer, his hands slapping at his thighs as he tries to pull back.
“How long can you hold your breath for, Dean? Shall we find out?”
You’re going to suffocate him! Sam yells.
If he faints, it’s nothing another slap won’t fix.
Dean splutters around his cock, a mess of drool slipping past the tight wreath of his mouth. His face turns redder and redder and the pitiful strikes of his hands grow weaker and weaker. At the moment his eyelids slide shut and his body slackens, Lucifer shoves him away and he lands on his back on the floor, heaving in air and coughing as it fills his deprived lungs. He looks so small and pathetic on the floor; exactly as he should be, exactly where he should be.
A bed is too good for Dean Winchester.
Lucifer is on him in the blink of an eye, shoving him onto his front so hard his recently gained oxygen is slammed right back out of his lungs. He is too stunned to struggle at first, but as Lucifer yanks his hips up into the air, his intention is recognised.
“N-no! No, don’t! Let me go!” Dean cries, trying to crawl away in vain. “Help! Someone help!” he screams.
Lucifer laughs, sincerely amused. “Nobody is coming to save you, Dean. Just like nobody saved you from your father.”
If Dean has noticed that he keeps slipping and calling John his father rather than their father or simply ‘Dad’, he doesn’t give any indication of it. Lucifer doesn’t know if Dean truly believes he is Sam, but surely there can be little doubt in his mind with everything Lucifer has told him. He’s a stubborn boy, always will be, and he is fond of denial.
He has to take one hand off Dean’s hips to guide his cock to his hole, and Dean predictably tries to get away, but even one-handed, Lucifer’s hold is unshakable.
“I’ve got to say, Dean, I’m surprised you still have this much fight left in you. I thought Dad would have broken you in years ago, but I guess I really hit the nail on the head: you willingly spread your legs for him.”
A single syllable is all Dean manages to make in what was surely a very witty retort before it dies and turns into a scream as Lucifer forces himself into his body.
It’s obscene. Dean looks so much smaller like this, impaled on the substantial length of his cock. His body is tensed inwards, like a spider curling up defensively, and he shakes apart as Lucifer violently plunges deeper and deeper into his resisting body. It’s like nothing he has ever felt before, the tightness almost painful.
“Still so tight, Dean. Is Dad not as big as me?” he taunts.
Dean can only moan in pain.
Does he feel like you remember? Or is all used up by the time you get to him?
Sam refuses to respond, but he keeps up his futile clawing for control, his anguish delightfully potent. He can feel everything that Lucifer feels. He feels how good Dean feels, how tight, how hot. He sees everything Lucifer sees, cannot close his eyes, cannot look away.
As much as he would like to focus on Sam’s torment, he has a boy to destroy.
Dean sobs and cries out wordlessly as Lucifer fucks him, giving not an inch of mercy. It’s brutal and violent and perfect for it. His body goes limp and Lucifer wonders if he has passed out from the pain, but when he fists a hand in his hair and yanks him backwards, his eyes snap open and his mouth twists in a grimace. He holds him like that, a hand bruising his hip and another in his hair, and snaps his hips up into him with so much force Dean rattles in his grip. His soft, limp dick flops pitifully.
“How old were you the first time Dad fucked you?” he asks, voice intimately low and mouth next to Dean’s ear. He stills his movement, keeping himself buried deep inside his spasming channel.
“F-fuck you,” Dean gasps. So he still has a little fight left in him. Good. Still more fun to be had breaking him.
The light that shines from Dean Winchester has always enraged Lucifer. How could such a pathetic, broken down, haunted individual burn so bright? Even before he knew about Dean’s tragic relationship with his father, he could not understand how a man so beaten down by the world could still fuel that radiant fire. After everything he has suffered through, after every nightmare his father forced him to stare down from such a tender age, after every failure and fuck up and loss, he still stubborning refused to submit to the darkness.
The only one who should be burning brightly is Lucifer: he is the morningstar, he is resplendent with the light of Hellfire, and he will make Dean submit.
The hand Lucifer has in Dean’s hair moves to his throat, applying just enough pressure for the threat to register. Dean tightens up in fear and his pleasure soars higher.
“How old were you?” he repeats.
He could use his power to force him to speak, could tendril his will into Dean’s mind and pry the information out of him, but this way is much more entertaining. Dean remains stubbornly silent so Lucifer tightens his grip, and Dean’s hands fly up to scrabble at his hand and arm, blunt nails scratching uselessly. Seconds tick by and Dean keeps struggling, trying unsuccessfully to breathe through the restriction.
“If you answer me, I’ll let you breathe. Are you going to be a good boy?”
Dean nods as much as he can and Lucifer loosens his hold but doesn’t let go.
“E-eleven,” Dean stammers after coughing. Inside his mind, Sam’s horror and despair is almost as sweet as the fluttering clench of Dean’s channel.
“Same age S- I am now,” Lucifer observes.
“Stay away from him,” Dean hisses.
“Where is the fun in that?” he whispers, and before Dean can reply with an empty threat, he resumes pounding into him, relishing every hurt noise that sings from those lips. He has no intention of touching young Sam: unlike Dean, he needs Sam to be strong, not broken, but the threat makes Dean’s sweat bloom with the potent tang of terror.
Lucifer may be an angel but his body is only human, and he feels his pleasure cresting higher and higher as he approaches his climax. He loses himself to the feeling, relishing the build-up and fucking Dean so savagely that blood drips down his thighs and soaks into the rough carpet. Dean has been reduced beyond the capacity to sob or cry out or scream, only making pitiful little sounds like the whimpers of a dying animal.
With one final, violent thrust, Lucifer empties himself into Dean’s twitching body, hand crushing his throat. Dean is too weak to fight it, just hangs there limply.
He shoves Dean forwards instead of pulling out of him. The boy doesn’t even catch himself as he falls, just sprawls like a broken doll. Lucifer pulls one of his firm little ass cheeks aside to give Sam a good look at the damage, and it’s just as beautiful as Lucifer hoped. Sam fights to close his eyes, to look away, but Lucifer ensures he gets a good, long look.
Come now, Sam, I’ve seen how violently you fuck him. Is this not everything you dreamed? You know what, I’m feeling generous. Take the wheel for a moment, would you?
Sam gasps as he is suddenly back in control of his own body. He pulls away his hand like he is touching fire, and scrambles towards Dean.
“Oh fuck, Dean, I’m so sorry, oh God, Dean, can you hear me?”
He touches Dean’s shoulder and Dean flinches, but he doesn’t pull his hand away this time. He manoeuvres Dean upwards, struggling to get him in his arms, and he carries him to the bed. He is horribly aware of the fact his cock is still hanging out of his jeans and it’s still hard, and he can feel the sated buzz of pleasure throughout his body. Dean is limp in his arms and limp when he gingerly lowers him onto the bed. He puts his hands either side of Dean’s face and Dean doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look at anything; it’s like he’s not there at all.
“Dean,” Sam sobs, voice breaking. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, it wasn’t m-”
Abruptly, he is shoved back into the cage of his own mind as Lucifer takes control back.
Stop! Just stop! You’ve done enough! he shouts.
“Well that was touching, but I think I'm ready for round two.”
In Sam’s mind, his younger self’s memory of this night remains the same: he hears Dean stumbling in through the front door, the sound of the shower, and then pretends to sleep as Dean climbs into the bed. Dean pulls Sam into his arms and trembles as he holds him, and he thinks that Dean is really, really drunk. Sam recalls feeling as content as he is confused, and after Dean falls asleep, he looks at the dark bruises on his throat and feels the white hot burn of jealousy and possessiveness.
It remains the first night that Sam cautiously jacks off while Dean is in the bed with him, all the while staring longingly at Dean’s unconscious body. He risks touching him, fingers ghosting over his face, his chest. He longs to be the one who put those bruises on his skin.
He thought the bruises were from a girl, and then he thought they were from Dad, but now the older Sam knows the truth:
They were from him.