Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5419676.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Lucifer/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Lucifer_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, First_Time
  Series:
      Part 2 of crush
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-13 Words: 3188
****** O How He Loves You, Darling Boy ******
by itallstartedwithdefenestration
Summary
     Sam and Lucifer get their gala night. A divergence of the events of
     chapter 5 of The Repeated Image of the Lover Destroyed.
Notes
     If you haven't already read Repeated Image, this might not make
     sense. But you don't have to. For those who don't remember or don't
     know, Sam is 16, and Lucifer is 41.
     The beginning part, in italics, is from my original fic.
“What if I had you on your back,” Lucifer interrupts, his voice even quieter.
Mouth still on Sam’s ear, his hand cupping Sam’s face. “What if you were spread
out under me, and I was fucking you?”
Sam goes totally, utterly still. His body freezing up like he’s under attack.
Stepping out from Lucifer’s touch, not a lot, just enough so that they’re
looking into each other’s eyes again, and Lucifer cannot tell what Sam is
thinking. What he’s feeling.
It’s quiet for a long, long time. Both of them just standing there staring at
each other. Sam with one hand still on his neck, the other resting faint on the
back of Lucifer’s. Until Lucifer starts to think he said something wrong, that
Sam will be angry with him all evening, and he starts:
“You know, as per our contract, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want
to—”
“You really wanna fuck me?” Sam interrupts. He’s trembling, Lucifer can feel
the soft vibrations through the tips of his fingers, but his eyes are banked
back with barely held-in hope. A shining happiness that Lucifer isn’t used to,
not even from Sam.
Lucifer swallows. Reaches out and pushes Sam’s hair back behind his ear. “I
want to, yes,” he says. “I have for a while now.”
Sam’s whole face lights up. He reaches out to Lucifer’s own face, tucks his
fingers under his jaw. Their food forgotten beside them. The whole world
forgotten under their feet. Civilizations could rise and fall and Lucifer would
not notice.
“Tonight,” Sam tells him. “We could tonight, if you—”
“Yes,” Lucifer says. Immediate response, letting Sam smile and kiss the fruit
juice off his thumb. “I still have a few people to visit with here, but
afterwards we can go home—”
Sam’s nodding, frantic, like he’s afraid Lucifer will change his mind. “I’d
love that,” he says, soft. His whole face flushed but his eyes are bright, his
mouth curved at the corners. So that Lucifer can hardly help running his thumb
over the crescent of it, Sam’s pretty thin rose-colored lips. Wondering what
they’ll feel like on Lucifer’s own mouth, instead of wrapped around his cock.
Wondering if this time will be different than the thousands of other times
Lucifer’s fucked before, just because of who he’ll be with. What Sam means, to
him.
“Well,” Lucifer says, drawing his hands reluctant and slow to his sides,
because he knows if he doesn’t stop touching Sam now, he never will. Takes a
swig of champagne from a free-standing full glass beside his hand, and glances
around the room. Hyperaware of Sam directly beside him the entire time, wearing
that suit Lucifer just wants to tear off his body, watch those buttons pop and
roll across the floor while Lucifer crooks his fingers in Sam’s tight heat and
spreads. “Let’s go finish up our rounds, Sam.”
~
At some point during the function Lucifer gets dragged into a conversation with
an American and a duchess, her French accent grating on his ears, whiny and
nasal. He can feel Sam pressing against him from behind, impatient, his fingers
digging into the small of Lucifer’s back, and the American abruptly turns from
her duchess friend to smile, predatory, at Sam.
“Who’s your lovely friend, Lucian?” she asks, and reaches up as if she wants to
touch him—touch Sam, his Sam, his property—
Lucifer takes half a step back, feeling Sam move with him. Watches the
American’s arm drop, the bangles and pearls around her wrist and neck clanking.
A faint frown crossing the space between her eyebrows.
“Lucian—”
“Sam and I have to leave,” Lucifer says, glancing down at his wrist as if he’s
wearing a watch there. “We’re sorry to be departing from your pleasurable
company so early, but there’s urgent business back at my brothel. The children
can get so unruly if you leave them for a few hours,” and when he inclines his
head, smiling, the American and her duchess friend laugh, indulgent. Probably
not noticing the faint bristling of Sam, tense, along Lucifer’s spine.
He reaches behind him, twines his fingers with Sam’s. “It was lovely to meet
both of you,” he says, cordial, and he and Sam weave their way out of the gala.
Out to the front lawn, where Thaddeus is waiting in the carriage, window rolled
down, cigarette smoke trailing into the night. He leans out as Lucifer and Sam
approach, calls:
“Ready to go, sir?” and Lucifer gives him a quick, sharp nod. Thaddeus drops
the cigarette, letting it smolder out on the ground as he starts the engine,
and Lucifer holds the back door open for Sam, who crawls in, laughing:
“Such a gentleman. Should I expect this for the rest of the evening?”
Lucifer gets in behind him, shuts the door and plays his thumb over the ridges
of Sam’s knuckles. “I’m only going to be a gentleman to you until we’re alone,”
he whispers, pressing the words into the soft crush of Sam’s hair, and
satisfactorily he feels Sam flush, the grin on his face curling down into
something softer, more private. A little embarrassed, as he turns, bumps his
nose against Lucifer’s cheek. His mouth so close to Lucifer’s that he can smell
the wine and cherries on his breath, reminded quite suddenly that they might
kiss tonight. That there’s a very real possibility of their mouths meeting and
god when did Lucifer turn into a fucking teenager again? He’s forty-one, for
Christ’s sake. It’s Sam who should be acting like this, thinking giddy.
Lucifer’s got to have composure. Sam makes him so damn undignified he could
scream.
The stars and clouds whip by outside the carriage in a fast rush as Thaddeus
speeds towards home. Sam’s sitting pressed nearly all along Lucifer’s side, not
really looking at him but clearly very aware of his presence. They haven’t
stopped holding hands since they were inside the gala and Sam’s rubbing absent
patterns against Lucifer’s palm, his own fingers trembling a little.
When they pass under a gas lamp, Lucifer can see he’s flushed all over. Can’t
tell if it’s from nerves or excitement, or a combination of both, but that’s a
conversation to be had, like everything else Lucifer wants to say, once they’re
inside.
They get to the brothel and Lucifer nearly drags Sam upstairs, ignoring
Lilith’s mocking, “Have a good time, then?” from her sprawled-out position on
one of the chairs in the lobby. He inserts the key into the lock of his suite,
gets them both inside, and shuts and locks the door again. So that they’re
finally alone, Sam and Lucifer, standing on plush carpet and smiling at each
other, idiotically. Sam blushing and Lucifer can feel himself starting to and.
Christ. What happened to the gala, where he was making Sam weak at the knees,
promising dark sexual things in his ear?
Sam walks forward, hesitant. His hands shaking as he puts them on Lucifer’s
shoulders, but his eyes are steady on Lucifer’s, his voice nearly steady when
he says, “I want this, Luce. I. I promise. I want this so bad I can hardly
stand it—” and his voice trembles right there, right on that last syllable, his
mouth so lovely and pink and it’s all too easy to take charge, the way he has
his whole life. To reach up and cup Sam’s jaw in his hand, draw him in. To kiss
him, for the first time in his life, and Sam is shaking and inexperienced and
pressing himself in too hard, biting at Lucifer’s mouth too much but it’s the
best kiss Lucifer’s ever had, he can’t even explain why but it is, and that
probably means something Lucifer cannot and will not get into right now because
there are far more urgent things to think of. Like getting Sam spread out on
his bed, getting his fingers inside him and.
Oh Jesus.
He curves his fingers against Sam’s jaw, spreading them out over his cheek.
Forcing Sam to slow down, guiding the kiss into something more gentle, less
frantic and harried. He sucks Sam’s bottom lip carefully into his mouth and is
briefly stunned by the noise it draws up from Sam’s throat. Choked and startled
and aching, as though this is something Sam’s dreamed of. The way Lucifer has
now for weeks, longing to feel Sam under him, longing to have him like this—
Sam’s hands move, shaking, from Lucifer’s shoulders to his waist. He has
incredible fingers, long and warm, and Lucifer’s thoughts drift for a moment to
Azazel. Thinking of what he’d do with this, if he’d gotten to it first.
Wouldn’t appreciate every little thing about Sam, the taste of his mouth or the
tentative little noises he makes, the splay of his hands, the way he rocks
against Lucifer, the feel of his skin under Lucifer’s hands—
“Hey,” Sam is saying against Lucifer’s lips, and Lucifer drags himself away
from his thoughts, finds Sam watching him, faint amusement curling his mouth at
the corners. “Where are you right now?”
Lucifer shakes his head. Thinks, I saved you, and he thinks, You’re never going
to belong to anyone else except yourself, and me. If you’ll have me, and he
thinks, desperate and half-formed, Oh Sam I—
Out loud: “I’m here,” and, “Are we going to take this into my room? Or would
you prefer to just stand here, see if I could get you on your back this way?”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, as if you could fuck me on the floor,” he says, “old man
that you are,” and it’s a challenge, of sorts, but Sam’s still trembling. Faint
hesitance in the backs of his eyes, not quite afraid but definitely cautious,
and Lucifer wants Sam’s first time to be. Perfect. As perfect as it can be in a
brothel, so he shakes his head:
“Some other time,” he says, and catches one more kiss on Sam’s mouth before
leading him into his bedroom. Letting the door swing shut behind him as he
slides out of his overcoat, starts to unbutton his vest.
Those same long, warm fingers stop him mid-movement. Carefully knocking his
hands out of the way as Sam reaches out to unbutton the vest himself, and then
the shirt underneath. He slides the clothes off Lucifer’s shoulders, exposing
his skin to the cool air, and Lucifer watches him watching him, their eyes
colliding like twin suns in a galaxy, fated to spin and spin until they crash
into each other, crash and burn and explode in a brilliant force glow of
supernovae. Sam’s eyes are burning with heat, his mouth a little open as his
hands move to Lucifer’s trousers. Working shaking at the snap and zipper and it
doesn’t seem to occur to him, even once, that he should look down so he can see
what he’s doing.
Eventually, taking pity on him, Lucifer steps out of his trousers himself.
Tucking his fingers under Sam’s jaw so he can draw him back up to his feet,
kissing him softly, stroking his hair out of his face.
“Now you,” he says, standing there in nothing but his shorts, and Sam laughs
rueful against Lucifer’s mouth. He’s blushing again when Lucifer pulls back,
reaches for his buttons. Blushing and trembling and he grips Lucifer’s wrists
when Lucifer hesitates, trying to pull him in.
“Sam, do you not—”
“No, I want this.” Sam’s thumb fits neat and perfect over Lucifer’s radial
artery. “Like I’ve told you all evening, I want this. I just. I’ve been naked
with you before, you’ve blown me, you. We’ve done a lot together, but this.
This is so. This is just...” He trails off, casting his eyes to the floor.
Mouth twitching like he wants to keep speaking but can’t figure out how and
Lucifer nods, slow. Bumping their foreheads together, he says:
“I understand, Sam,” and Sam looks up fast, his eyes relieved and wary at once.
“Yeah?”
Lucifer nods. Trails his finger down the line of Sam’s throat.
“It means—it means a lot to me too, Sam,” he whispers. A quiet admission, and
the minute he says it he hates himself, vulnerability and weakness never having
been his strong points, never liking his emotions to show, but with Sam,
somehow, it’s okay. Even more so when Sam kisses him a third time, slow smile
spreading across his face as he starts to unbutton his vest. His skin revealed
slow and dazzling, tantalizing stretches of gold in the half-light cast over
the room by the gas lamp. He shrugs off his jacket and vest and shirt, tugs off
his trousers. He’s wearing silk panties, cock hanging half-hard out of the
lace, and Lucifer shudders, physically, staring. Sam was right, this is
different. In a way he can’t even explain.
“Gonna just stand there all night, old man?” Sam asks, teasing, and Lucifer
drags his eyes back up to Sam’s. Lets his smile curve into something more
predatory and dark, and he pushes Sam back against the mattress. Watches Sam’s
face flicker through a series of emotions, his pupils overblown with lust,
before that same smile begins to echo back on his own lips. Scooting up on his
elbows and cautiously spreading his legs, watching Lucifer crawl between them.
The rest of the night comes and goes in a series of snapshots, Lucifer so
overwhelmed he finds himself experiencing the sensation of Sam in bursts, as if
they’re being photographed. He finds himself kissing Sam, his hand on his jaw
again. Tasting him and licking into his mouth, feeling Sam’s heartbeat rapid
quick under his thumb. Biting his way down Sam’s sternum, nosing through the
trail of hair leading to his crotch. Teeth sinking into soft silk and he tugs
the underwear off Sam’s thighs, sucks kisses into his skin on the way back up.
Mouths over his cock, taking it briefly into his mouth just to hear Sam’s
breath hiss out, to feel his fingers scrabble instinctive and tight in
Lucifer’s hair.
Pressing Sam into the mattress all the way, his spine flat against the bed as
Lucifer kneels between his legs, bending one knee up with his palm. Then back
between his legs, mouth at his hole.
“This is going to feel like nothing you’ve ever experienced,” he whispers, his
voice hoarse and ragged and used, and he licks into Sam, opening him with his
tongue and his fingers at the same time. Sam’s gasping and shaking and
twisting, nearly crying:
“Oh, Christ, Luce, oh my god, that—oh my fucking god—”
Then Lucifer’s got his mouth on Sam’s again, Sam’s hole opening up for his
fingers as he spreads him with lube, moving slow, pumping in and out, Sam
whimpering into his mouth—
Sliding his palm over his own cock, already so on edge—
Lining himself up, pressing his hand on Sam’s knee, bending his leg up for
better access. Pressing and maneuvering and then Lucifer’s inside Sam. Sucked
deep and immediate into his tight unused heat, everything wet and burning and
too much too much—
Buried in him to the hilt. Staring down at Sam, bent and folded under him.
Sam’s fingers on his waist again, and he’s shaking, tense. So tight it’s making
Lucifer need to come that much faster, and he reaches down. Strokes Sam’s hair
back from his face.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Okay? I need you to relax.”
Sam nods. His breathing evening out by degrees, body opening up, staring at
Lucifer in awe and he says:
“It doesn’t hurt,” and he says, “Could you move, maybe?” his body knowing
instinctively what it wants, and Lucifer buries his face in Sam’s collarbone,
obliges—
He’s thrusting, jacking Sam off in rough counterpoint to the sharp pistoning of
his hips. Sam’s gasping, erratic short bursts of air, clutching at Lucifer.
Clawing at him, really, leaving scrape marks down his back that sting and burn
deliciously. Biting his neck and his jaw and his mouth and kissing him, savage
and fierce, whenever Lucifer can manage to focus long enough to remember that’s
a thing, now—
Sam’s hips are stuttering up, he’s crying, he’s grasping at Lucifer’s hair, at
his waist. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck Luce I’m gonna—I think I—” and he’s coming
between them, so hard his spine tries to bend double. Screaming, the pulse in
his neck going so hard Lucifer can see it jumping, keening and moaning and
Lucifer swallows the noises greedily, gripping Sam’s hip, thrusting faster. The
broken sound of his voice and the feel of his come splattering wet and hot on
Lucifer’s own stomach propels his body into action and Sam’s barely started to
come down when Lucifer’s orgasm hits him, sudden and without warning. Coiling
its way down his spine and exploding at the base, pressure built up like lava
in his hips and shooting out, curling his toes, arching his back. He spills
into Sam, forceful and violent, and Sam’s face goes newly shocked at the
sensation. His spent cock twitching valiantly and oh, god—
Lucifer swears he feels Sam come again, a weak little final stream into his
palm that has Lucifer shuddering, the final throes of his orgasm pushing his
hips into Sam’s until his body feels weak with the desire it’s just wrung
itself through.
When he can focus again, he’s lying beside Sam. Pulled out and breathing hard,
his body shaking from overexertion. Stroking Sam’s hair absently and he’s aware
they’re both sweaty. That they need to take a shower, or at least to clean off
with a washrag, but he can’t bring himself to get up just yet. Content to lie
here and feel Sam’s heartbeat under his palm, on his chest.
He says, soft, “Sam,” and Sam is quiet for a long minute. Long enough that
Lucifer thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then he turns. Opens his eyes. Smiles.
“Yeah, Luce,” he whispers, as rough as Lucifer was a moment ago, and Lucifer
noses against his temple.
“Did it,” Lucifer starts, and then stops, hesitant. “Was it okay?” he asks, and
Sam laughs. Bright, happy sound, rolling over all the way so he can cup
Lucifer’s face in his own hands. Bring them together for a kiss, the sensation
still fresh and new to both of them. Lucifer hopes that lasts a long, long
time, for them.
“For such an old man, it was okay,” Sam says, and he’s still laughing when
Lucifer shoves at his shoulder. Rolling him back again, just so he can press
Sam into the mattress and kiss him. Lick gently over the bruises he left,
stroke his jaw with his thumb.
“I’m only asking because it was your first time—” Lucifer starts, and Sam nods.
His face growing serious, contemplative, as he reaches up. Touches Lucifer’s
cheek.
“It was perfect,” he whispers, at length, and brings Lucifer back down so he
can press his face, warm and exhausted and lovely, into Lucifer’s neck. Where
he will stay, sleeping, smiling, until the morning, wrapped in Lucifer’s arms.
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