Nov 11, 2011 15:16
prompt me,
genre: slash,
fandom: criminal minds,
genre: total au,
pairing: michael/adam milligan,
fandom: supernatural,
genre: crossover,
activity: meme,
fandom: suits,
fandom: multiple,
fandom: percy jackson,
pairing: harvey specter/mike ross,
genre: canon/minor au,
pairing: lucifer/sam winchester,
pairing: castiel/dean winchester,
word count: 1000-4999,
life: birthdays,
fandom: rpf/rps,
word count: 100-999,
life: hello,
fanfiction: oneshot,
fanfiction,
pairing: jake abel/logan lerman
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In retrospect, Sam thinks, pulling at the bonds around his wrists, this is his own fault. The voice relating so sounds oddly like Dean. It throws a dumbass or several into its already caustic remarks. Maybe not-Dean is right?
It isn't completely Sam's fault, though. He broke the world, so when the opportunity presented itself for him to fix it, why wouldn't he - why shouldn't he - jump at the chance? Except, he never thought it would happen like this.
The devil shows up in his dreams one day. That's not new. “Convince me,” however, is.
“Convince you what?” Sam stammers. He looks around for a weapon, wishes he was having that Thundercats fantasy again, but the night is reserved for a pole-dancing stripper who Lucifer only spares an amused glance toward. Sam blames Dean and his newly arrived edition of Busty Asian Beauties.
“If you convince me that this tormented ball of dirt and the gluttonous meat-sacks residing upon it are worth sparing,” Lucifer says, with a patience the devil really shouldn't possess, “I'll consider it.” When Sam begins to sputter, undignified as a toothless horse, a pale hand reaches out to snap his jaw shut, cold and gentle beneath his chin. The touch lingers. “Get your inner lawyer out of whatever box you stuck him in, Sammy, because you'll have to convince me good.”
Lucifer drawls the world like something dirty, then vanishes, leaving Sam to the twirling stripper. He's shaken awake by Dean the next morning and finds himself mouthing an address, a date and a time. That alone earns him a weird glance from his brother, which is when Sam realizes that this has to be a solo mission. If there's even the smallest chance, he has to take it.
Ditching Dean, a few days later, is both difficult and not, all at once. Sam has experience running away; Dean has the same preventing it. The final outcome is no different: Sam three states away in his brother's precious Impala, Dean stranded and enraged in their latest shithole of the week. He's going to be an absolute peach to deal with once Sam gets back.
“Hello, Sammy,” the devil says, across a diner booth. Sam takes a seat and knows the other patrons will assume he's on a date, be disgusted by it or not, but won't know the danger they're truly in. He has to protect them.
Sam sets his laptop down on the table between them and hands Lucifer headphones. “Put them in your ears,” he directs, calmer than he actually feels. Lucifer obliges with a polite smile and Sam clicks to start his playlist - the same playlist Dean would have laughed at, had Sam not guarded it with extreme paranoia, because dude, they're not in the eighties anymore and Sam's imaginary girlfriend won't appreciate it, anyway. Dean sucks.
Sam, on the other hand, has compiled a noteworthy list that spans across multiple genres. He's awesome. He only hopes Lucifer will agree, but the second his headphones are retracted from the devil's ears, he knows it was a false hope. “The holy choir always bored me,” Lucifer says, shrugging his vessel's shoulders. “Michael had to pin my wings back to keep me from flying away. Sorry.”
Sam wants to say it's fine, but the perfect playlist took him hours to compile and the flashing screen of his iPod tells him that Lucifer barely sat through four minutes. No wonder the devil is vilified by modern religion; he's such a dick. Rather than speaking, Sam opens up a PowerPoint of images: artwork, smiling children, small animals. It's not too optimistic on his part; Dean takes his machismo more seriously than any other man Sam has met, but he still cries when Mufasa dies in The Lion King - he also bawls during Bambi, if anyone's curious.
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A/N: Stupid character limit. TBC.
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Lucifer responds with a yawn. Sam wants to kill him - and that's the root of their problems, isn't it? A blond, bubblegum-popping waitress's sudden entrance impedes him. Her arms are filled with trays that, if piled, would probably be taller than her diminutive frame. “That'll be three hundred even,” she informs Sam, who gapes between her and the devil.
“I ordered everything,” Lucifer replies, utterly unrepentant. “The arrangement of colors on their menu was too eye-catching to resist.”
Sam sighs and extracts every last penny from his poor wallet, decidedly not recalling the difficult hustle each one had required. The waitress accepts his money and flits off. With her gone, Sam returns to his impossible task, made even more challenging because he'd only been given three days to accomplish it. The video in the tab he has opened, his last resort, has him red as the cherry on the devil's sundae.
When Lucifer groans, Sam looks up and chokes on air. His laptop's screen is frozen on the shot of a woman's face, her head thrown back, her mouth opened wide in pleasure. Lucifer wears the same expression now, except his lips, the full lips of this vessel whose name Sam does not know, are stained with molten, thick dark chocolate.
“What is this godly confection?” Lucifer asks, through one mouthful more than a human could swallow. He shovels another spoonful of chocolate cake in. Apparently, he can fit quite a lot in there. Sam's brain shatters into a million jagged pieces, like internet on a dial-up connection.
“It's, uh, it's chocolate,” he manages. He begins to rattle off how chocolate is manufactured, its many uses, the different types of foods that incorporate it, the way he is wont to when he's nervous.
Upon chancing a glance up, he finds arctic blue eyes trained on him, rapt with attention. “That's fascinating,” their owner purrs, “Utterly ingenious, even.”
Sam's head bobs in a nod, then shakes 'no' when Lucifer offers him a generous bite. He's not sure why he's surprise. After all, Gabriel was a chocoholic, too. It's probably an angel thing. “Let's, um, just take a look at this, huh?”
He clicks play and hopes to distract the devil, which works a little too well. The film finishes with no outwardly elicited response from Lucifer, aside from the clinking of his dining utensils, despite the dirty looks from people in the diner that Sam garners, before the archangel says, “This is all very intriguing. You're determined to convince me, aren't you, Sam? You'll do anything?”
Sam acquiesces and promptly ends up in his current situation: handcuffed to a tawdry, heart-shaped bed, naked, chocolate trailing down his torso obscenely, the devil's cold tongue dipping into the furrows formed by his abs. There should be a holiday, a religion, maybe even a country named after Sam.
Dean's voice filters into his brain again. You get head and the world gets saved. But thinking about his brother during sex is too weird, even for Sam, so he reroutes his thoughts to England and lets Satan lick chocolate off his dick.
Because Sam is a good person that way.
♥
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Sam's headspace is a fun place. He's just so long-suffering. XD
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This is love, dear. Total and complete love.
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Thank you, bb! I'm really happy that you enjoyed it! ♥
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