Fic: They Are Beneath Us
Title: They Are Beneath Us
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Lucifer/Baldur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 5x19
Word Count: 1860
Warnings: heavy dub-con
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "But you are not better than us," Baldur tells him. The words are drawn out, hard and threatening. "You will not look down on us, when underneath you wish you were us."
AN: Written for aeon_entwined who makes me want to play pairing roulette all the time <3
The body has potential even without Lucifer claiming its cells as his own. It's a mix of hard curves and softness, and there's a weight to it that Lucifer had carried far too well. Angels don't often care for the aesthetics of their vessels. But there's something about this one, something commanding. Baldur could find out who it used to be, if he wanted to. But there's something to be said for leaving it a mystery.
He tests the cuffs holding the vessel's arms to the bed. The sigils scored deep into the metal in small, curving lines glow brightly, vindictively almost. Baldur waits, settled on Lucifer's thighs while the angel burrows his way back under the skin. Winding himself into the blood and bone of it. Such a messy business, stealing another's flesh. Angels, always taking what isn't theirs. Baldur knows the instant that Lucifer occupies it again. The creeping clench of muscle underneath him. The slow tug on the limbs that have been restrained. The study of exactly how he is positioned and how best to free himself or incapacitate whoever holds him until he can. Lucifer is still a soldier after all. One of the very best.
"Playing dead doesn't suit you." Baldur keeps his voice quiet.
Lucifer's eyes open, fix on him, and there's more than a promise of death there. But Baldur has seen death come on many faces.
"I killed you once," Lucifer says tightly, voice low and raw like a punishment. Baldur thinks perhaps he should be flattered that Lucifer bothered to remember him at all. He smiles down at him.
"I've been killed before. Many more times than you, Morningstar." Baldur parts his shirt, displays the smooth and flawless expanse of his chest, then leaves the cotton to drape, sliding gently over the curve of one shoulder. "Angels aren't the only ones gifted with resurrection. We pagan gods have tricks of our own. For all that you think us little better than cattle."
Lucifer stretches at the words, eyes narrowing. His head tilts, turning up to see what holds him.
"What have you done to me?"
"Taken advantage of the connection you had to one of your vessels. For all your tricks and your fury, you still think like an angel. You still underestimate those you think are beneath you." Baldur lays his hands on Lucifer's waist, to demonstrate that things have indeed changed.
"For what reason?" Lucifer demands.
"Because you owe me, one death for another. Or perhaps I shall simply keep you. This position suits you."
There's a hard clank of metal and the bed shakes. "I shall work my way free eventually -"
"And kill me?" Baldur finishes. "Yes, I suppose you will...eventually."
"You are nothing," Lucifer says simply, dismissing him like it matters to Baldur what people think of him. It's been years since anyone bothered to worship him and he's learned all about the painful other side of pride. Unlike some people.
Baldur snatches Lucifer's jaw between sharp fingers and tugs his head down to face him.
"Angels," Baldur says sharply. "For all your protests and all your high-minded ideals, your obsession with purity. For all that, you're still petty and angry and jealous inside. Unable to let go of your grudges and perceived slights. You look down on flesh and then you crave it in the same breath. You coat yourself in it, pour yourself into it and then force it to cave to your whims. Taking away everything that makes it beautiful. It would be tragic, if you didn't deserve it. Always fighting, always destroying. No wonder your father abandoned you all to fight for toys which were never even yours."
Lucifer jerks at the chain that holds his wrists together again. Baldur tightens his thighs, a clench and slide of obvious nudity where the skin on Lucifer's hips is thin. Lucifer twitches under him, an aborted attempt to throw him off.
"You angels with your righteousness." Baldur digs his fingers into Lucifer's chest, listens to the noise he makes, something low and angry and offended. "You're all slaves, obedient slaves who never question. Even those of you who walked away still dance to his tune. And never once think to cut the strings. Of all of you, it was Gabriel who really understood, and even he played the game in the end."
Baldur's hand slides over Lucifer's ribs, the curve of his waist and the bare softness of his thighs.
"But you are not better than us," Baldur tells him. The words are drawn out, hard and threatening. "You will not look down on us, when underneath you wish you were us."
Baldur bends down, eyes fixed on Lucifer's for as long as he can hold them. He worships Lucifer in a way that only those of flesh know how. He tastes every curve of his ribs and the peak of a nipple, presses his teeth into the meat of his shoulder. He slides his fingers over soft untouched lines of skin, digs his thumbs into places that look like they could bruise easily, even for an angel. He presses a kiss to Lucifer's snarling mouth before sliding back down and doing it all again.
All he can hear above him is the sound of breath, wet and deep and much less furious than before. Because angels are easy to pull down if you know how. If you have studied flesh as closely as a pagan god. There's a shake somewhere underneath Baldur's tongue. A foreign sensation that he can feel Lucifer fighting. But he fights it like an invasion, like an attack - perhaps that's what it is. But he's hardening under the muscle of Baldur's chest, a slow surge of blood and desperation that leaves Baldur smiling and laughing into his skin.
Lucifer calls him names in low, guttural tones, names he hasn't heard for millennia. Baldur sinks his teeth into flesh and Lucifer hisses and tries to knee him in the side. Baldur shoves his leg back down, pins it there and finishes the slow wet trail down his abdomen. There's a harsh clank which sounds like wood on metal when Baldur pushes his legs apart, slides his shoulders between them and takes Lucifer into his mouth. Lucifer's ragged snarl ends in a gasp. For all Lucifer's fury he doesn’t try and twist away, he doesn't kick or curse him. He forces himself to stay still, tense underneath the heat of Baldur's mouth.
Lucifer's control lasts only as long as it takes for Baldur to take him all the way down and in. He's shaking then, making quiet noises in his throat, a jumbled mix of protest and demand, want and anger. Baldur wonders if he regrets his fall. Or whether, like the first one, he is willing to hit the ground. He snarls when Baldur lets him slip free of his mouth.
"They say you were the most beautiful angel heaven ever had. I've often wondered how that could have turned so easily to pride and spite."
Baldur slides his way back into Lucifer's lap, thumbs tilting his hips and the Archangel is so beautifully, unwillingly aroused.
"When was the last time someone called you beautiful?" Baldur asks and Lucifer's jaw clenches. It's visceral and human and it's a break, a weakness. Baldur clenches his thighs and he knows Lucifer can feel the press of his skin against his own. There are only two buttons holding Baldur's shirt closed, a shade of white that's sharp and bright where it drags over Lucifer's skin. But not half so bright, Baldur suspects, as he used to be.
Baldur shifts up onto his knees, grasping Lucifer's cock and then pushing back down onto it, opening for the steady burn of it. Lucifer exhales, a burst of air that sounds painful, and brutal when Baldur slides down onto him, slowly, easily, one long push that leaves Lucifer shifting under him, like he wants to push up but refuses to give him the satisfaction. Baldur breathes and curves into his body and owns him. He doesn't stop until he can feel the stretch and shove of Lucifer inside him.
Lucifer's eyes are a shade of blue so pale it's almost like ice.
Baldur's hips rock, press down and Lucifer grunts like he's not expecting the strength there. The strength of old gods and the fine but willing line of violence. Lucifer's breath is gasping in and rushing out. Expression open and vulnerable, like he wants to take control but has no idea how, when every inch of him is bending into Baldur's touch, demanding, greedy, confused. Adrift in sensation he has no experience with. Baldur leans forward, hands braced on Lucifer's chest, the bright sleeves of his shirt trailing over his fingers. He can't resist the softness of Lucifer's hair, or his open mouth. Lucifer growls protest into the kiss but lets it happen. Then fights for control of it, bites furiously at Baldur's mouth until there's blood between them, thick and sweet.
"You fell for pride," Baldur whispers against his mouth and then groans when Lucifer shoves up with his hips.
Lucifer's hands are burning holes into the headboard, tongues of flame curling there and then folding back on themselves to twine round Lucifer's fingers.
"You sacrificed everything and you learnt nothing. While we spent millennia crawling in the mud and fighting for everything we had - and you expect us to kneel down and die. We are well-equipped to survive as a species, Lucifer." Baldur pushes back, shoves down and the noise Lucifer makes is a growl that teeters on the edge of naked want. There's fury there and it's white-hot but there's also an aggressive flavour of need, of impatience.
Baldur shudders at the power of him.
"You are still beautiful you know," he says softly, leaning down to bite the roughness of Lucifer's jaw. "For all that you've become something merciless and cruel you are still the brightest and most glorious thing in all the heavens. I would have whored myself for you. Though I think I like this better. I like you needy and desperate and furious, breaking you into pieces and hating me for it." Baldur pushes upright again and his shirt finally drops free of his shoulder, sliding down his arm when he moves in quick, aggressive pushes.
Lucifer has stopped fighting, he's gasping for air, shifting and pushing under Baldur, jerking at the burnt remains of the headboard every time the pace quickens. For all that Baldur has been holding his own arousal he only has so much self-control and Lucifer is a thing of furious and terrible beauty, even in his weakness.
"Lucifer," he hisses.
Lucifer's eyes snap shut and he comes apart, gasping like it hurts. Everything is bright-edged and suffocating and impossibly intense. Baldur can't breathe, his fingers tighten on Lucifer's burning skin while he unravels and groans and comes helplessly against Lucifer's stomach. He's shivering when the light fades, when the world expands again, breathing in soft, shaky bursts.
He falls forward onto Lucifer's chest, feels it rise and fall beneath him.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Lucifer/Baldur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 5x19
Word Count: 1860
Warnings: heavy dub-con
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "But you are not better than us," Baldur tells him. The words are drawn out, hard and threatening. "You will not look down on us, when underneath you wish you were us."
AN: Written for aeon_entwined who makes me want to play pairing roulette all the time <3
The body has potential even without Lucifer claiming its cells as his own. It's a mix of hard curves and softness, and there's a weight to it that Lucifer had carried far too well. Angels don't often care for the aesthetics of their vessels. But there's something about this one, something commanding. Baldur could find out who it used to be, if he wanted to. But there's something to be said for leaving it a mystery.
He tests the cuffs holding the vessel's arms to the bed. The sigils scored deep into the metal in small, curving lines glow brightly, vindictively almost. Baldur waits, settled on Lucifer's thighs while the angel burrows his way back under the skin. Winding himself into the blood and bone of it. Such a messy business, stealing another's flesh. Angels, always taking what isn't theirs. Baldur knows the instant that Lucifer occupies it again. The creeping clench of muscle underneath him. The slow tug on the limbs that have been restrained. The study of exactly how he is positioned and how best to free himself or incapacitate whoever holds him until he can. Lucifer is still a soldier after all. One of the very best.
"Playing dead doesn't suit you." Baldur keeps his voice quiet.
Lucifer's eyes open, fix on him, and there's more than a promise of death there. But Baldur has seen death come on many faces.
"I killed you once," Lucifer says tightly, voice low and raw like a punishment. Baldur thinks perhaps he should be flattered that Lucifer bothered to remember him at all. He smiles down at him.
"I've been killed before. Many more times than you, Morningstar." Baldur parts his shirt, displays the smooth and flawless expanse of his chest, then leaves the cotton to drape, sliding gently over the curve of one shoulder. "Angels aren't the only ones gifted with resurrection. We pagan gods have tricks of our own. For all that you think us little better than cattle."
Lucifer stretches at the words, eyes narrowing. His head tilts, turning up to see what holds him.
"What have you done to me?"
"Taken advantage of the connection you had to one of your vessels. For all your tricks and your fury, you still think like an angel. You still underestimate those you think are beneath you." Baldur lays his hands on Lucifer's waist, to demonstrate that things have indeed changed.
"For what reason?" Lucifer demands.
"Because you owe me, one death for another. Or perhaps I shall simply keep you. This position suits you."
There's a hard clank of metal and the bed shakes. "I shall work my way free eventually -"
"And kill me?" Baldur finishes. "Yes, I suppose you will...eventually."
"You are nothing," Lucifer says simply, dismissing him like it matters to Baldur what people think of him. It's been years since anyone bothered to worship him and he's learned all about the painful other side of pride. Unlike some people.
Baldur snatches Lucifer's jaw between sharp fingers and tugs his head down to face him.
"Angels," Baldur says sharply. "For all your protests and all your high-minded ideals, your obsession with purity. For all that, you're still petty and angry and jealous inside. Unable to let go of your grudges and perceived slights. You look down on flesh and then you crave it in the same breath. You coat yourself in it, pour yourself into it and then force it to cave to your whims. Taking away everything that makes it beautiful. It would be tragic, if you didn't deserve it. Always fighting, always destroying. No wonder your father abandoned you all to fight for toys which were never even yours."
Lucifer jerks at the chain that holds his wrists together again. Baldur tightens his thighs, a clench and slide of obvious nudity where the skin on Lucifer's hips is thin. Lucifer twitches under him, an aborted attempt to throw him off.
"You angels with your righteousness." Baldur digs his fingers into Lucifer's chest, listens to the noise he makes, something low and angry and offended. "You're all slaves, obedient slaves who never question. Even those of you who walked away still dance to his tune. And never once think to cut the strings. Of all of you, it was Gabriel who really understood, and even he played the game in the end."
Baldur's hand slides over Lucifer's ribs, the curve of his waist and the bare softness of his thighs.
"But you are not better than us," Baldur tells him. The words are drawn out, hard and threatening. "You will not look down on us, when underneath you wish you were us."
Baldur bends down, eyes fixed on Lucifer's for as long as he can hold them. He worships Lucifer in a way that only those of flesh know how. He tastes every curve of his ribs and the peak of a nipple, presses his teeth into the meat of his shoulder. He slides his fingers over soft untouched lines of skin, digs his thumbs into places that look like they could bruise easily, even for an angel. He presses a kiss to Lucifer's snarling mouth before sliding back down and doing it all again.
All he can hear above him is the sound of breath, wet and deep and much less furious than before. Because angels are easy to pull down if you know how. If you have studied flesh as closely as a pagan god. There's a shake somewhere underneath Baldur's tongue. A foreign sensation that he can feel Lucifer fighting. But he fights it like an invasion, like an attack - perhaps that's what it is. But he's hardening under the muscle of Baldur's chest, a slow surge of blood and desperation that leaves Baldur smiling and laughing into his skin.
Lucifer calls him names in low, guttural tones, names he hasn't heard for millennia. Baldur sinks his teeth into flesh and Lucifer hisses and tries to knee him in the side. Baldur shoves his leg back down, pins it there and finishes the slow wet trail down his abdomen. There's a harsh clank which sounds like wood on metal when Baldur pushes his legs apart, slides his shoulders between them and takes Lucifer into his mouth. Lucifer's ragged snarl ends in a gasp. For all Lucifer's fury he doesn’t try and twist away, he doesn't kick or curse him. He forces himself to stay still, tense underneath the heat of Baldur's mouth.
Lucifer's control lasts only as long as it takes for Baldur to take him all the way down and in. He's shaking then, making quiet noises in his throat, a jumbled mix of protest and demand, want and anger. Baldur wonders if he regrets his fall. Or whether, like the first one, he is willing to hit the ground. He snarls when Baldur lets him slip free of his mouth.
"They say you were the most beautiful angel heaven ever had. I've often wondered how that could have turned so easily to pride and spite."
Baldur slides his way back into Lucifer's lap, thumbs tilting his hips and the Archangel is so beautifully, unwillingly aroused.
"When was the last time someone called you beautiful?" Baldur asks and Lucifer's jaw clenches. It's visceral and human and it's a break, a weakness. Baldur clenches his thighs and he knows Lucifer can feel the press of his skin against his own. There are only two buttons holding Baldur's shirt closed, a shade of white that's sharp and bright where it drags over Lucifer's skin. But not half so bright, Baldur suspects, as he used to be.
Baldur shifts up onto his knees, grasping Lucifer's cock and then pushing back down onto it, opening for the steady burn of it. Lucifer exhales, a burst of air that sounds painful, and brutal when Baldur slides down onto him, slowly, easily, one long push that leaves Lucifer shifting under him, like he wants to push up but refuses to give him the satisfaction. Baldur breathes and curves into his body and owns him. He doesn't stop until he can feel the stretch and shove of Lucifer inside him.
Lucifer's eyes are a shade of blue so pale it's almost like ice.
Baldur's hips rock, press down and Lucifer grunts like he's not expecting the strength there. The strength of old gods and the fine but willing line of violence. Lucifer's breath is gasping in and rushing out. Expression open and vulnerable, like he wants to take control but has no idea how, when every inch of him is bending into Baldur's touch, demanding, greedy, confused. Adrift in sensation he has no experience with. Baldur leans forward, hands braced on Lucifer's chest, the bright sleeves of his shirt trailing over his fingers. He can't resist the softness of Lucifer's hair, or his open mouth. Lucifer growls protest into the kiss but lets it happen. Then fights for control of it, bites furiously at Baldur's mouth until there's blood between them, thick and sweet.
"You fell for pride," Baldur whispers against his mouth and then groans when Lucifer shoves up with his hips.
Lucifer's hands are burning holes into the headboard, tongues of flame curling there and then folding back on themselves to twine round Lucifer's fingers.
"You sacrificed everything and you learnt nothing. While we spent millennia crawling in the mud and fighting for everything we had - and you expect us to kneel down and die. We are well-equipped to survive as a species, Lucifer." Baldur pushes back, shoves down and the noise Lucifer makes is a growl that teeters on the edge of naked want. There's fury there and it's white-hot but there's also an aggressive flavour of need, of impatience.
Baldur shudders at the power of him.
"You are still beautiful you know," he says softly, leaning down to bite the roughness of Lucifer's jaw. "For all that you've become something merciless and cruel you are still the brightest and most glorious thing in all the heavens. I would have whored myself for you. Though I think I like this better. I like you needy and desperate and furious, breaking you into pieces and hating me for it." Baldur pushes upright again and his shirt finally drops free of his shoulder, sliding down his arm when he moves in quick, aggressive pushes.
Lucifer has stopped fighting, he's gasping for air, shifting and pushing under Baldur, jerking at the burnt remains of the headboard every time the pace quickens. For all that Baldur has been holding his own arousal he only has so much self-control and Lucifer is a thing of furious and terrible beauty, even in his weakness.
"Lucifer," he hisses.
Lucifer's eyes snap shut and he comes apart, gasping like it hurts. Everything is bright-edged and suffocating and impossibly intense. Baldur can't breathe, his fingers tighten on Lucifer's burning skin while he unravels and groans and comes helplessly against Lucifer's stomach. He's shivering when the light fades, when the world expands again, breathing in soft, shaky bursts.
He falls forward onto Lucifer's chest, feels it rise and fall beneath him.