Fic: Devil's Trap
So, *gasp* I have a new ship. And it has nothing to do with either of my favorite characters (Dean and Cas), but might have something to do with New!New-Guy (Misha was New-Guy to me for half a season, JSYK). So here it is. Please to be enjoying.
Title: Devil’s Trap
Author: mummyluvr314
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer… Samsifer? Lam? IDEK. Mentions of Dean/Castiel.
Summary: They were alike, see? They’d both been used. The angel and the human, twisted into something beyond recognition, something that even they couldn’t identify.
Spoilers: Slight references to things that happened in 5.01.
Word count: 2260
Disclaimer: I don’t own the show. Or the characters. I would say that God owns Lucifer, but I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Maybe Luci’s his own bitch?
The circle was old Enochian, and Dean (who knew how to properly manage a damned Devil’s Trap) had made it. It was virtually indestructible. The demon trapped within certainly wasn’t getting out any time soon, something that pleasantly surprised Sam.
The hunter paced around the painted circle, waiting for his brother and Castiel to get back from… wherever they’d gone together. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know. The fact that the angel was back and Dean had stopped moping was enough for him.
The demon glared at him. “I’m surprised at you, Sammy.”
He felt his eye twitch. Maybe it was annoyance. Maybe it was oncoming withdrawal. Sam didn’t really care. “Don’t call me that.”
Lucifer grinned. “Hit a nerve? That’s what your brother called you, right?”
“Shut up.”
“You know what’s not fair, Sam?”
At least he’d used the right name this time. “What?”
“Life. Heaven. Hell. Earth.” Lucifer sighed. “You spent four long, hard months up here without your brother, being manipulated-”
“Because of you.”
“Because of Dean. The little sunspot had to go and take all the glory, didn’t he? Or should that be Glory? You know how Daddy is with the capitals.”
Sam turned away from the Devil and crossed the room of the run-down house they were squatting in. He plopped down on a dusty couch and crossed his arms, glaring at the demon. “Whatever it is, I’m not falling for it.”
Lucifer smiled and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Of course. Because that would be epically stupid.” He shook his head. “I’m just saying, Sam. It’s not fair. You spend your whole life praying to be normal, to be safe. Dean goes out and fucks anything that moves, steals, cheats. You get screwed over by a demon. Dean gets screwed by an angel.”
The hunter narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Hate to break it to you, Sam, but homosexuality’s a sin, and Dean and I? We’ve met. On my turf. Under my conditions. I think I know exactly what crawled up his ass and died, ok?”
The demon stood and stretched, watching Sam with hooded blue eyes that caught the light just right and shone unnaturally. But it wasn’t evil. It was… familiar. He’d seen it before.
“Tell me, Sam,” he muttered. “How would you like to be fucked by an angel?”
The single bulb in the room burst, showering them both with sparks as giant wings flashed black against the sudden light. Sam felt his eyes widen, felt that tickle of familiarity again. Dean had told him about the wings. He’d said they were awesome and incredible, and he’d been right.
And they had feathers. Feathers weren’t demonic. Feathers were-
“I’m still me,” Lucifer said, voice low and deep. So familiar. So fucking familiar.
His tongue darted out and flicked over thin lips. “I’m still me, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t even try to correct him. He’d figured it out. The sudden gravel tone to his voice, the shining eyes, the freaking wings. It reminded him of Cas. Castiel. His brother’s angel.
“You’re so like him, Sam,” Lucifer said. “It doesn’t matter what those dicks say, what Dean thinks. It doesn’t matter what the world says. You’re still you. Not the boy with the demon blood, not the Anti-Christ. You’re just Sammy.”
The hunter stood, taking slow, calculated steps toward the Trap. “And you’re not Devil, right?”
He shrugged. “They told me you were the smart one.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I know where you are right now. I’ve been there. You did what you thought was right and you got the short end of the stick. You got used. You think my Dad didn’t know what I was gonna think of you guys when he made me? When he made you? He wanted to make an example of someone, Sam. He wanted us to obey Him without question. He used me to scare the rest. Fools like Castiel once was.”
Sam stood at the edge of the Trap, his toes barely touching the line of paint, staring at the Devil. “You hate us so much, why do you want me?”
Lucifer smiled, perfect white teeth in a perfect face under perfect eyes. “Because you’re different, Sam.”
For some reason that Sam couldn’t - or didn’t want - to identify, he toed off his shoes and stepped into the circle. “Prove it. On your knees.”
Lucifer smirked and did as he was told. “Nice, Sam. Making the Devil hit his knees for a human.”
“You’re not the Devil, remember?”
His only response was that of teeth biting down on his zipper, pulling it slowly down as Sam’s body caught up with his mind and realized that maybe this was what he’d wanted all along. Not power. Not vengeance. But worth. His very own angel, an obedient creature he could bend to his will… and possibly even break.
Hands came up to work at the buttons, fingers fluttering over too-tight denim and lingering on his stomach, ghosting through fine hairs. He reached down and pulled off Lucifer’s shirt, a remnant of a man who most likely hadn’t asked to be possessed by the Devil.
“Not the Devil,” Lucifer moaned against his erection. “Your angel.”
It could have been the hot breath seeping through his boxers. It could have been the words themselves. Maybe a mixture of the two, with soft, skilled hands thrown in for good measure. It really didn’t matter, because Sam believed him. Believed him wholly and completely and with everything in his being.
And then he was out and cold and just as suddenly covered in wet warmth and the Devil - no, his angel - was on his knees and Sam wasn’t gay, and that was ok. Neither was Dean.
Dean, who’d grabbed up a fallen angel, something broken and thrown away. Without hope. Without wings.
But Sam. Sam had something powerful, something wonderful, something so mind-blowing and awesome. Something whole and right and good. Sam had a tongue moving languidly along his cock, teeth scraping softly against him, a hymn vibrating around him and warmth built and his faith grew and he’d finally gotten what he prayed for.
“Safety,” Lucifer whispered, fisting his hands in Sam’s shirt and pulling the hunter down onto the concrete, farther in to the Trap. “A promise.”
Sam licked his lips, shrugged off his jacket. “Yeah.”
Lucifer leaned forward, soft blond hair barely touching Sam’s forehead, their noses grazing together. “Sammy.”
Sam had once wondered if there was something wrong with him. If it was his blood that made him so aggressive when he wanted something. The monster in him coming out as he ripped away his own t-shirt and tugged at Lucifer’s jeans, pulling them off with a growl and a moan.
“Not a monster,” the angel gasped as Sam gripped his hips tightly and shoved him onto the floor, collapsing atop him and grinding down until pain and pleasure mingled and became one. “Sammy.” He lurched upward and captured Sam’s mouth in a rough, bruising kiss. “Mine.”
“Yours,” Sam affirmed. His fingers trailed down, tugging at soft cotton boxers as he felt his own slipping away under the angel’s hands. The stench of sulfur filled Sam’s nostrils, but he ignored it, tuned it out, just as he always had. It was familiar now, comforting as he pulled away and stuck his fingers in his mouth, watching the body under his with dark eyes (blackeyes) full of lust.
Lucifer smirked. “You weren’t listening, Sammy.”
“I don’t care.”
Sam had already sinned, had already committed the worst possible deed in the book. So bad it hadn’t even been included in the Bible. It was common sense.
“You’re anything but common,” his angel said, the final word turning to a soft moan as Sam stuck his fingers in, scissoring and stretching, smiling at the way the other man writhed beneath him.
It felt good to be in control again, to have so much power over someone. Over a demon. The thing that had torn his family apart, burnt everything he’d ever wanted and sent his brother to Hell.
But that wasn’t right, because this was an angel. Sam’s angel. The Castiel to his Dean. The one who would grip him tight and raise him from Perdition, slowly put him back together, make him whole as Dean had been made whole.
He pulled out his fingers and held out his palm, intending to spit, to make it as painless as possible - he was rough, liked control, but he wasn’t mean. Wasn’t evil. Wasn’t what Azazel had wanted him to be.
Lucifer reached up and grabbed Sam’s hand, running his tongue across the palm and smiling as he licked a finger into his mouth.
Sam let him. Let him lick and suck, wet his hand. It comforted him in a way. A supposed demon lapping up the salt on his skin, dirt and sweat and blood and tears. Taking it into his mouth, washing it away.
He pulled Sam’s fingers out of his mouth and formed the hand into a loose fist, wrapping it around Sam’s cock before pressing down, rubbing skin over skin. The place where their hands met sparked to life, energy running through the hunter, filling up the spaces left by Mom, by Jess, by Dad, by Ruby. Spaces that blood had once filled. Spaces that had been cleansed by an unknown entity, by something that wanted him empty.
“That’s was me,” the angel whispered, still moving Sam’s hand, pumping him hard, working him up. “I wanted you clean. Hell-bitch is kinda bitter.”
Sam forced Lucifer’s hand away, waved it off, thought about what that meant. He’d been cleansed. Made better. Made fresh. “That was you? The plane?”
He nodded. “And Castiel. A peace offering, if you will. Your brother doesn’t have much to lose, so to lose so much…”
“You’re not evil.”
“Just misunderstood.”
Sam nodded, bit his lips, spread willing legs, and slid in. Slow, painfully slow. But tight and warm and good in every way that an angel should be. Bright blue eyes stared up at him and he couldn’t help it. He was lost.
There were moans and groans, growls, snarls. Wind blew through the small house as he pounded himself into the Devil, the shuddering body that had been taken and used. It was his. All his. The body, the soul. The angel.
Sam had an angel. One that he could have secret, private meetings with, that knew his every thought, that would fulfill his every fantasy. The body didn’t matter, but the light that he’d seen, the brightness that had filled the convent… that was what he wanted.
To be special. To be loved.
To be like Dean.
Lucifer arched up, grabbed at Sam’s hand, wrapped it around his own dick. And Sam obliged. Obliged his angel. Pumping and twisting and heaving and pushing. Never looking away from bright pools of blue. From blond hair. An aging, ethereal face.
The body beneath him bucked once, and the small space between them filled with heat. With fire. Cleansing white that washed away everything either of them had done because they understood each other. They were close.
So close.
So desperately, achingly close.
It built, and it released, and Sam collapsed. He fell. Down toward the floor, the still body beneath his. Strong hands encircled his arms, his shoulders, held him up. Searing pain ripped through him, his left arm suddenly on fire, from his neck down to his fingers. He screamed, and the world went black.
When he opened his eyes again, the hands were gone, and Sam’s head was resting on something that was almost soft. Something that felt distinctly human. He struggled to focus, and found bright blue eyes staring him down.
“Hello, Sam,” a now-familiar voice said as fingers carded through his hair. “What were you dreaming about?”
Sam smiled and pushed himself up. His arm didn’t hurt anymore, and Lucifer was staring up at him with something like adoration, like love in his eyes. “You.”
“Really?” His gaze traveled to Sam’s left arm, lingering on his shoulder. So the hunter looked.
Standing out bright red against his skin was a handprint. A scar. A mark, a claim. Possession.
Lucifer stood and stretched, smiling down at him. “I like you, Sam. We’ll have to do this again.”
And that… was confusing. So Sam stood up and stared, looked down at the man that had fallen right into their trap, his angel with the shadowy wings and the sky-blue eyes and the mischievous grin. “What do you mean?”
The smile turned to a smirk as Lucifer stepped over the line and out of the Trap. “Come on, Sammy. You really think something like that is gonna hold something like me?”
“You tricked me.” He tried to go after him, tried to reclaim what he’d thought was finally his, but found he couldn’t. Something was stopping him. “Let me go.”
“That’s not me.”
Sam looked down. He was standing at the edge of the Trap, his toes just behind the line. He turned back to the Devil. “What did you do to me?”
“I didn’t do anything, Sam. You did this to yourself.” He blinked, and was fully clothed again, turning away from the Trap. “I will be back, y’know. The whole cleansing thing takes some time to kick in.” With a flutter of wings, he was gone, leaving Sam standing naked, alone, and branded in a Devil’s Trap his brother had built.
Title: Devil’s Trap
Author: mummyluvr314
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer… Samsifer? Lam? IDEK. Mentions of Dean/Castiel.
Summary: They were alike, see? They’d both been used. The angel and the human, twisted into something beyond recognition, something that even they couldn’t identify.
Spoilers: Slight references to things that happened in 5.01.
Word count: 2260
Disclaimer: I don’t own the show. Or the characters. I would say that God owns Lucifer, but I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Maybe Luci’s his own bitch?
The circle was old Enochian, and Dean (who knew how to properly manage a damned Devil’s Trap) had made it. It was virtually indestructible. The demon trapped within certainly wasn’t getting out any time soon, something that pleasantly surprised Sam.
The hunter paced around the painted circle, waiting for his brother and Castiel to get back from… wherever they’d gone together. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know. The fact that the angel was back and Dean had stopped moping was enough for him.
The demon glared at him. “I’m surprised at you, Sammy.”
He felt his eye twitch. Maybe it was annoyance. Maybe it was oncoming withdrawal. Sam didn’t really care. “Don’t call me that.”
Lucifer grinned. “Hit a nerve? That’s what your brother called you, right?”
“Shut up.”
“You know what’s not fair, Sam?”
At least he’d used the right name this time. “What?”
“Life. Heaven. Hell. Earth.” Lucifer sighed. “You spent four long, hard months up here without your brother, being manipulated-”
“Because of you.”
“Because of Dean. The little sunspot had to go and take all the glory, didn’t he? Or should that be Glory? You know how Daddy is with the capitals.”
Sam turned away from the Devil and crossed the room of the run-down house they were squatting in. He plopped down on a dusty couch and crossed his arms, glaring at the demon. “Whatever it is, I’m not falling for it.”
Lucifer smiled and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Of course. Because that would be epically stupid.” He shook his head. “I’m just saying, Sam. It’s not fair. You spend your whole life praying to be normal, to be safe. Dean goes out and fucks anything that moves, steals, cheats. You get screwed over by a demon. Dean gets screwed by an angel.”
The hunter narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Hate to break it to you, Sam, but homosexuality’s a sin, and Dean and I? We’ve met. On my turf. Under my conditions. I think I know exactly what crawled up his ass and died, ok?”
The demon stood and stretched, watching Sam with hooded blue eyes that caught the light just right and shone unnaturally. But it wasn’t evil. It was… familiar. He’d seen it before.
“Tell me, Sam,” he muttered. “How would you like to be fucked by an angel?”
The single bulb in the room burst, showering them both with sparks as giant wings flashed black against the sudden light. Sam felt his eyes widen, felt that tickle of familiarity again. Dean had told him about the wings. He’d said they were awesome and incredible, and he’d been right.
And they had feathers. Feathers weren’t demonic. Feathers were-
“I’m still me,” Lucifer said, voice low and deep. So familiar. So fucking familiar.
His tongue darted out and flicked over thin lips. “I’m still me, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t even try to correct him. He’d figured it out. The sudden gravel tone to his voice, the shining eyes, the freaking wings. It reminded him of Cas. Castiel. His brother’s angel.
“You’re so like him, Sam,” Lucifer said. “It doesn’t matter what those dicks say, what Dean thinks. It doesn’t matter what the world says. You’re still you. Not the boy with the demon blood, not the Anti-Christ. You’re just Sammy.”
The hunter stood, taking slow, calculated steps toward the Trap. “And you’re not Devil, right?”
He shrugged. “They told me you were the smart one.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I know where you are right now. I’ve been there. You did what you thought was right and you got the short end of the stick. You got used. You think my Dad didn’t know what I was gonna think of you guys when he made me? When he made you? He wanted to make an example of someone, Sam. He wanted us to obey Him without question. He used me to scare the rest. Fools like Castiel once was.”
Sam stood at the edge of the Trap, his toes barely touching the line of paint, staring at the Devil. “You hate us so much, why do you want me?”
Lucifer smiled, perfect white teeth in a perfect face under perfect eyes. “Because you’re different, Sam.”
For some reason that Sam couldn’t - or didn’t want - to identify, he toed off his shoes and stepped into the circle. “Prove it. On your knees.”
Lucifer smirked and did as he was told. “Nice, Sam. Making the Devil hit his knees for a human.”
“You’re not the Devil, remember?”
His only response was that of teeth biting down on his zipper, pulling it slowly down as Sam’s body caught up with his mind and realized that maybe this was what he’d wanted all along. Not power. Not vengeance. But worth. His very own angel, an obedient creature he could bend to his will… and possibly even break.
Hands came up to work at the buttons, fingers fluttering over too-tight denim and lingering on his stomach, ghosting through fine hairs. He reached down and pulled off Lucifer’s shirt, a remnant of a man who most likely hadn’t asked to be possessed by the Devil.
“Not the Devil,” Lucifer moaned against his erection. “Your angel.”
It could have been the hot breath seeping through his boxers. It could have been the words themselves. Maybe a mixture of the two, with soft, skilled hands thrown in for good measure. It really didn’t matter, because Sam believed him. Believed him wholly and completely and with everything in his being.
And then he was out and cold and just as suddenly covered in wet warmth and the Devil - no, his angel - was on his knees and Sam wasn’t gay, and that was ok. Neither was Dean.
Dean, who’d grabbed up a fallen angel, something broken and thrown away. Without hope. Without wings.
But Sam. Sam had something powerful, something wonderful, something so mind-blowing and awesome. Something whole and right and good. Sam had a tongue moving languidly along his cock, teeth scraping softly against him, a hymn vibrating around him and warmth built and his faith grew and he’d finally gotten what he prayed for.
“Safety,” Lucifer whispered, fisting his hands in Sam’s shirt and pulling the hunter down onto the concrete, farther in to the Trap. “A promise.”
Sam licked his lips, shrugged off his jacket. “Yeah.”
Lucifer leaned forward, soft blond hair barely touching Sam’s forehead, their noses grazing together. “Sammy.”
Sam had once wondered if there was something wrong with him. If it was his blood that made him so aggressive when he wanted something. The monster in him coming out as he ripped away his own t-shirt and tugged at Lucifer’s jeans, pulling them off with a growl and a moan.
“Not a monster,” the angel gasped as Sam gripped his hips tightly and shoved him onto the floor, collapsing atop him and grinding down until pain and pleasure mingled and became one. “Sammy.” He lurched upward and captured Sam’s mouth in a rough, bruising kiss. “Mine.”
“Yours,” Sam affirmed. His fingers trailed down, tugging at soft cotton boxers as he felt his own slipping away under the angel’s hands. The stench of sulfur filled Sam’s nostrils, but he ignored it, tuned it out, just as he always had. It was familiar now, comforting as he pulled away and stuck his fingers in his mouth, watching the body under his with dark eyes (blackeyes) full of lust.
Lucifer smirked. “You weren’t listening, Sammy.”
“I don’t care.”
Sam had already sinned, had already committed the worst possible deed in the book. So bad it hadn’t even been included in the Bible. It was common sense.
“You’re anything but common,” his angel said, the final word turning to a soft moan as Sam stuck his fingers in, scissoring and stretching, smiling at the way the other man writhed beneath him.
It felt good to be in control again, to have so much power over someone. Over a demon. The thing that had torn his family apart, burnt everything he’d ever wanted and sent his brother to Hell.
But that wasn’t right, because this was an angel. Sam’s angel. The Castiel to his Dean. The one who would grip him tight and raise him from Perdition, slowly put him back together, make him whole as Dean had been made whole.
He pulled out his fingers and held out his palm, intending to spit, to make it as painless as possible - he was rough, liked control, but he wasn’t mean. Wasn’t evil. Wasn’t what Azazel had wanted him to be.
Lucifer reached up and grabbed Sam’s hand, running his tongue across the palm and smiling as he licked a finger into his mouth.
Sam let him. Let him lick and suck, wet his hand. It comforted him in a way. A supposed demon lapping up the salt on his skin, dirt and sweat and blood and tears. Taking it into his mouth, washing it away.
He pulled Sam’s fingers out of his mouth and formed the hand into a loose fist, wrapping it around Sam’s cock before pressing down, rubbing skin over skin. The place where their hands met sparked to life, energy running through the hunter, filling up the spaces left by Mom, by Jess, by Dad, by Ruby. Spaces that blood had once filled. Spaces that had been cleansed by an unknown entity, by something that wanted him empty.
“That’s was me,” the angel whispered, still moving Sam’s hand, pumping him hard, working him up. “I wanted you clean. Hell-bitch is kinda bitter.”
Sam forced Lucifer’s hand away, waved it off, thought about what that meant. He’d been cleansed. Made better. Made fresh. “That was you? The plane?”
He nodded. “And Castiel. A peace offering, if you will. Your brother doesn’t have much to lose, so to lose so much…”
“You’re not evil.”
“Just misunderstood.”
Sam nodded, bit his lips, spread willing legs, and slid in. Slow, painfully slow. But tight and warm and good in every way that an angel should be. Bright blue eyes stared up at him and he couldn’t help it. He was lost.
There were moans and groans, growls, snarls. Wind blew through the small house as he pounded himself into the Devil, the shuddering body that had been taken and used. It was his. All his. The body, the soul. The angel.
Sam had an angel. One that he could have secret, private meetings with, that knew his every thought, that would fulfill his every fantasy. The body didn’t matter, but the light that he’d seen, the brightness that had filled the convent… that was what he wanted.
To be special. To be loved.
To be like Dean.
Lucifer arched up, grabbed at Sam’s hand, wrapped it around his own dick. And Sam obliged. Obliged his angel. Pumping and twisting and heaving and pushing. Never looking away from bright pools of blue. From blond hair. An aging, ethereal face.
The body beneath him bucked once, and the small space between them filled with heat. With fire. Cleansing white that washed away everything either of them had done because they understood each other. They were close.
So close.
So desperately, achingly close.
It built, and it released, and Sam collapsed. He fell. Down toward the floor, the still body beneath his. Strong hands encircled his arms, his shoulders, held him up. Searing pain ripped through him, his left arm suddenly on fire, from his neck down to his fingers. He screamed, and the world went black.
When he opened his eyes again, the hands were gone, and Sam’s head was resting on something that was almost soft. Something that felt distinctly human. He struggled to focus, and found bright blue eyes staring him down.
“Hello, Sam,” a now-familiar voice said as fingers carded through his hair. “What were you dreaming about?”
Sam smiled and pushed himself up. His arm didn’t hurt anymore, and Lucifer was staring up at him with something like adoration, like love in his eyes. “You.”
“Really?” His gaze traveled to Sam’s left arm, lingering on his shoulder. So the hunter looked.
Standing out bright red against his skin was a handprint. A scar. A mark, a claim. Possession.
Lucifer stood and stretched, smiling down at him. “I like you, Sam. We’ll have to do this again.”
And that… was confusing. So Sam stood up and stared, looked down at the man that had fallen right into their trap, his angel with the shadowy wings and the sky-blue eyes and the mischievous grin. “What do you mean?”
The smile turned to a smirk as Lucifer stepped over the line and out of the Trap. “Come on, Sammy. You really think something like that is gonna hold something like me?”
“You tricked me.” He tried to go after him, tried to reclaim what he’d thought was finally his, but found he couldn’t. Something was stopping him. “Let me go.”
“That’s not me.”
Sam looked down. He was standing at the edge of the Trap, his toes just behind the line. He turned back to the Devil. “What did you do to me?”
“I didn’t do anything, Sam. You did this to yourself.” He blinked, and was fully clothed again, turning away from the Trap. “I will be back, y’know. The whole cleansing thing takes some time to kick in.” With a flutter of wings, he was gone, leaving Sam standing naked, alone, and branded in a Devil’s Trap his brother had built.