Saving Sam (Supernatural, Lucifer/Sam, NC-17, spoilers)
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Originally posted by lucifersprize at Saving Sam (Supernatural, Lucifer/Sam, NC-17, spoilers)
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I am just that lazy that I am sharing this rather than copying and reposting. This is my fic on a back up account I created on my son's smart phone in case I got my computer back up in time to do Big Bang (I didn't,sorry)
A fast and dirty coda fic to welcome my laptop home and find out if anniespinkhouse is still around. I watched 11.17 and mostly I loved it as a MOTW but some things bugged me in relation to the myth arc so I fixed it just for me. Plus, I love exploring (Mark and Jared) Lucifer and the dichotomy between how he hates humanity but has pride in, and has always been invested in his vessel, Sam.
Title: Saving Sam
Description: NC-17. Lucifer/Sam (implied). Coda to 11.17. What if the doctor was wrong about the reason that Sam survived?
Wordcount: ~1k
Warnings: Major Spoilers for 11.17, Dark!fic, past non-con, show level descriptions of gore and torture.
Disclaimer: This is fiction, pure fantasy folks. No characters or part of the show belong to me. The CW gets to keep them all. *sniff*
Saving Sam
There would always be a connection. How could there not be? Sam had been his prodigy, his vessel, the boy king who should have ascended willingly to Hell’s throne with him.
Before the pain, in Sam’s first moment of shocked disbelief, Lucifer felt the bullet twisting, burning, tunneling through flesh that parted soft as butter. He shut his eyes, licked his lips and waited for the red rose of blood and pain, and when it bloomed it was more beautiful than any flower which God had created.
Lucifer groaned. Oh Sam! Sam, Sammy, his Sammy. Careless Sam. He loved him. He hated him. He wanted him dead. He wanted him alive. Treacherous, beautiful Sam was an exquisite vessel, one of a kind, proof that God loved Lucifer best.
Sam's blood slippery fingers tried to staunch the warm flow. It was a fine wine, at the perfect temperature with a nose of richest plum and cherry. Lucifer savored it. Castiel’s vessel was nothing more than rotting flesh, maggotty and malodorous and unfit for a king. Not like his Sammy. Sweet Sam.
But of course, Dean was with Sam in a moment. Dean, his brother and soul, not an angel or a healer, only calm waters in a storm, and the winds blew fierce this time. Sam’s breath hitched, screams were bitten down, the bullet exited in a squelch of damaged flesh with Sam’s every nerve lit in bright agony.
Lucifer shivered briefly with delight. He carried an appetite he hadn’t filled since the cage and he was greedy for it. His weak connection to Sam afforded him only the barest taste, always left him wanting. He took every scrap of Sam’s pain and worry, sharper when Dean was in danger, and felt bereft when it faded to a semi-conscious ache. Castiel cowered in a corner of his vessel, completely unaware of Lucifer's addiction. His faded grace was as weak as his purpose and there was no joy in torturing him. He disgusted Lucifer but he was a means to an end. Castiel had a vessel and one that for some reason the Winchesters were fond of. Jimmy Novak was no piece of art though, even while he was alive. God had crafted the best of his work for Lucifer and Michael and it was still flawed but Sam and Dean were strong and as slippery as the snake in Eden. They had a place in his new grand plan and afterwards ...well …Lucifer's lip curled cruelly as he thought of all the ways which they would feed his craving for human fear, pain and anger. For now Sam was alive. Sam, Sammy, his Sammy. Survivor Sam endured and would heal.
Lucifer sighed and called forth a demon and when it stuttered over its lack of progress in finding Amara he killed it with a blink of his eyes. He wrinkled his nose at the disgusting mess it made and called another to clean it up.
A little later Lucifer gasped at a new sensation. The press of fingers and struggle for breath was delightful, Sam’s gurgling lungs sang more sweetly than a brook in summertime. Lucifer's grace quivered in harmony. Sam's anguished thoughts of Dean, Dean, Dean is in danger increased the pleasure. It was the most satisfying hit he’d had in a long time. When Sam’s connection faded to a buzz Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock. No, no, no, the belly shot hadn’t been so bad. Sam wasn’t supposed to die. It would be deserved, for sure, but he had a plan and the Winchesters were pivotal to it. Lucifer had heard rumors and The Empty wasn’t somewhere he could go to retrieve him. Oh Sam! Sam, Sammy, his Sammy. Brave, stupid Sam. He couldn’t live with him and he couldn’t live without him.
Lucifer was in the dark outstation with Sam in a rustle of wings. A lantern's halo glow lit his way to his vessel and Sam wasn't quite gone but his heart had slowed to a stutter and his body was cold. He didn't have long. Lucifer woke Castiel and prodded him forward, to show him Sam in his mess of blood with a bruised throat. “All your friends are dead,” he told his brother with a grin before kicking him back into a dark corner and clicking his fingers to hide Sam from angels and reapers alike.
Sam was incredible like this, bloody and bruised with his soul screaming for Dean. Neither brother was complete without the other and Lucifer marveled at his father’s cruel design.
He didn’t wake him. Not yet. Lucifer’s grace caressed the sweat damp hair and the chiseled perfection of his face, colored beautiful in gray. Blue tinted lips were soft, and slightly open, bidding a welcome for whatever Lucifer wanted to slip between them. Sam’s chest was still and wide and firm above the mess of his open, bloody, belly. Lucifer wouldn’t fix that. Sam wouldn't bleed out, but before he recovered every movement would provide a tantalizing taste of pain for him. His grace moved on and he smirked as he caressed the swell of Sam’s ass and between his thighs, up to his crotch, remembering every perfect detail of Sam’s submission to him in the cage; the broken flesh and the broken spirit. Ah, his Sammy.
Five drops of demon blood and two drops of grace was the perfect recipe for a slow return to consciousness and the strength to find help. Sam was going to be sick, and furious and jonesing for a fix when he awoke and Dean would be tormented with worry. So what? The devil had to have a little fun.
A sudden screech in Sam’s soul, like angelic feedback, captured Lucifer’s attention. Now Dean was dying! Seriously, the Winchester’s could never keep things simple. Oh well. He would toy with Dean a little before reviving him.
He didn’t get the chance. Dean was rasping huge breaths on his own when Lucifer set down and folded his wings in the hospital. The scent of a reaper lingered and mingled in corners with faint gray tendrils of darkness, but Amara was already gone. Lucifer scowled. He could almost hear her triumphant voice, “Ah Dean, my Dean. My loyal, saviour Dean.”
***
Originally posted by lucifersprize at Saving Sam (Supernatural, Lucifer/Sam, NC-17, spoilers)
.
I am just that lazy that I am sharing this rather than copying and reposting. This is my fic on a back up account I created on my son's smart phone in case I got my computer back up in time to do Big Bang (I didn't,sorry)
A fast and dirty coda fic to welcome my laptop home and find out if anniespinkhouse is still around. I watched 11.17 and mostly I loved it as a MOTW but some things bugged me in relation to the myth arc so I fixed it just for me. Plus, I love exploring (Mark and Jared) Lucifer and the dichotomy between how he hates humanity but has pride in, and has always been invested in his vessel, Sam.
Title: Saving Sam
Description: NC-17. Lucifer/Sam (implied). Coda to 11.17. What if the doctor was wrong about the reason that Sam survived?
Wordcount: ~1k
Warnings: Major Spoilers for 11.17, Dark!fic, past non-con, show level descriptions of gore and torture.
Disclaimer: This is fiction, pure fantasy folks. No characters or part of the show belong to me. The CW gets to keep them all. *sniff*
Saving Sam
There would always be a connection. How could there not be? Sam had been his prodigy, his vessel, the boy king who should have ascended willingly to Hell’s throne with him.
Before the pain, in Sam’s first moment of shocked disbelief, Lucifer felt the bullet twisting, burning, tunneling through flesh that parted soft as butter. He shut his eyes, licked his lips and waited for the red rose of blood and pain, and when it bloomed it was more beautiful than any flower which God had created.
Lucifer groaned. Oh Sam! Sam, Sammy, his Sammy. Careless Sam. He loved him. He hated him. He wanted him dead. He wanted him alive. Treacherous, beautiful Sam was an exquisite vessel, one of a kind, proof that God loved Lucifer best.
Sam's blood slippery fingers tried to staunch the warm flow. It was a fine wine, at the perfect temperature with a nose of richest plum and cherry. Lucifer savored it. Castiel’s vessel was nothing more than rotting flesh, maggotty and malodorous and unfit for a king. Not like his Sammy. Sweet Sam.
But of course, Dean was with Sam in a moment. Dean, his brother and soul, not an angel or a healer, only calm waters in a storm, and the winds blew fierce this time. Sam’s breath hitched, screams were bitten down, the bullet exited in a squelch of damaged flesh with Sam’s every nerve lit in bright agony.
Lucifer shivered briefly with delight. He carried an appetite he hadn’t filled since the cage and he was greedy for it. His weak connection to Sam afforded him only the barest taste, always left him wanting. He took every scrap of Sam’s pain and worry, sharper when Dean was in danger, and felt bereft when it faded to a semi-conscious ache. Castiel cowered in a corner of his vessel, completely unaware of Lucifer's addiction. His faded grace was as weak as his purpose and there was no joy in torturing him. He disgusted Lucifer but he was a means to an end. Castiel had a vessel and one that for some reason the Winchesters were fond of. Jimmy Novak was no piece of art though, even while he was alive. God had crafted the best of his work for Lucifer and Michael and it was still flawed but Sam and Dean were strong and as slippery as the snake in Eden. They had a place in his new grand plan and afterwards ...well …Lucifer's lip curled cruelly as he thought of all the ways which they would feed his craving for human fear, pain and anger. For now Sam was alive. Sam, Sammy, his Sammy. Survivor Sam endured and would heal.
Lucifer sighed and called forth a demon and when it stuttered over its lack of progress in finding Amara he killed it with a blink of his eyes. He wrinkled his nose at the disgusting mess it made and called another to clean it up.
A little later Lucifer gasped at a new sensation. The press of fingers and struggle for breath was delightful, Sam’s gurgling lungs sang more sweetly than a brook in summertime. Lucifer's grace quivered in harmony. Sam's anguished thoughts of Dean, Dean, Dean is in danger increased the pleasure. It was the most satisfying hit he’d had in a long time. When Sam’s connection faded to a buzz Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock. No, no, no, the belly shot hadn’t been so bad. Sam wasn’t supposed to die. It would be deserved, for sure, but he had a plan and the Winchesters were pivotal to it. Lucifer had heard rumors and The Empty wasn’t somewhere he could go to retrieve him. Oh Sam! Sam, Sammy, his Sammy. Brave, stupid Sam. He couldn’t live with him and he couldn’t live without him.
Lucifer was in the dark outstation with Sam in a rustle of wings. A lantern's halo glow lit his way to his vessel and Sam wasn't quite gone but his heart had slowed to a stutter and his body was cold. He didn't have long. Lucifer woke Castiel and prodded him forward, to show him Sam in his mess of blood with a bruised throat. “All your friends are dead,” he told his brother with a grin before kicking him back into a dark corner and clicking his fingers to hide Sam from angels and reapers alike.
Sam was incredible like this, bloody and bruised with his soul screaming for Dean. Neither brother was complete without the other and Lucifer marveled at his father’s cruel design.
He didn’t wake him. Not yet. Lucifer’s grace caressed the sweat damp hair and the chiseled perfection of his face, colored beautiful in gray. Blue tinted lips were soft, and slightly open, bidding a welcome for whatever Lucifer wanted to slip between them. Sam’s chest was still and wide and firm above the mess of his open, bloody, belly. Lucifer wouldn’t fix that. Sam wouldn't bleed out, but before he recovered every movement would provide a tantalizing taste of pain for him. His grace moved on and he smirked as he caressed the swell of Sam’s ass and between his thighs, up to his crotch, remembering every perfect detail of Sam’s submission to him in the cage; the broken flesh and the broken spirit. Ah, his Sammy.
Five drops of demon blood and two drops of grace was the perfect recipe for a slow return to consciousness and the strength to find help. Sam was going to be sick, and furious and jonesing for a fix when he awoke and Dean would be tormented with worry. So what? The devil had to have a little fun.
A sudden screech in Sam’s soul, like angelic feedback, captured Lucifer’s attention. Now Dean was dying! Seriously, the Winchester’s could never keep things simple. Oh well. He would toy with Dean a little before reviving him.
He didn’t get the chance. Dean was rasping huge breaths on his own when Lucifer set down and folded his wings in the hospital. The scent of a reaper lingered and mingled in corners with faint gray tendrils of darkness, but Amara was already gone. Lucifer scowled. He could almost hear her triumphant voice, “Ah Dean, my Dean. My loyal, saviour Dean.”
***