Fic: Devil's Advocate (Sam/Lucifer, NC-17, AU)
It is time for me to actually get cracking on my BB, but here is some stupid porny AU I felt the need to write first. Apologies for majorly obvious title, and also the random schmoop factor. Things would be easier if Lucifer was actually just a bastard, rather than a bastard who is completely in love with Sam in his own, twisted little way.
Title: Devil's Advocate
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5k
Summary: Sam had been a junior associate at Garrison for less than a week before its senior partner decided there was an additional function he wanted him to perform. Skeevy Alan Shore!Lucifer/baby lawyer!Sam, basically.
Sam had been a junior associate at Garrison for less than a week before its senior partner decided there was an additional function he wanted him to perform. Sam never knew exactly what set it off, but then, nobody ever did know much about the inner workings of Luke DeVille's mind. Ruthless and insidiously effective, DeVille had been given his moniker, Lucifer, by the city press, but it had quickly spread, and now everyone used it, even the man himself. After a few days on the receiving end of Lucifer's silver tongue, Sam could see just how apt it was.
His bluntness was like nothing Sam had ever been exposed to before, but there was always a lawyerly double-handedness to all their exchanges, the way Lucifer would lean, too-close, over Sam's desk and make offers that could have been quips and quips that could have been offers. For a month, Sam sat it out, pink-cheeked, never quite able to determine how serious Lucifer was -- which, of course, was what he wanted. It wasn't until Sam found himself cornered in Lucifer's office, rattling a locked doorhandle, that he was completely sure: Lucifer meant business. Sam at least knew that.
How Sam felt about it, though, was still up in the air. Lucifer, sprawled easily in his desk chair, wore an expression of mild cockiness that suggested he did things like this all the time, and here was Sam, locked in his goddamn office without even a warning. For a long second, it was all Sam could do to stare at his hand on the unmoving doorknob, gathering his breath while Lucifer laughed, said, "In a hurry, Sam?"
The words were enough to spur Sam into motion. He swallowed and, turning, crossed his arms. "You realise," he said, struggling to keep his tone mild, "that you can't keep me here, right? You can't make me do anything I don't want to." After all, Lucifer was a big guy, but Sam still had three inches on him. Sam had inches on everyone.
With Lucifer, though, it often felt like that was the only thing he had, which wasn't a sensation Sam was entirely familiar with.
"Is that so?" Lucifer's voice was a low, smirking drawl, entirely unperturbed. “You may be bigger than me,” he said easily, like a goddamn mind-reader, “but I’m Bigger than you, Sam.” Sam could hear the capital. “On the Big Scale of zero to Elvis, I’m Marlon Brando; I’m the Louvre Museum; I’m the cat’s pyjamas, and baby -” He leaned forward, mouth curved triumphantly - “You’re the bottom; I’m the top.”
Sam swallowed. A pulse fluttered in his jaw. Something else, something unwarranted and strange, fluttered, too, in his stomach, and he tamped it down with an effort. “I could report you,” he said.
“Yeah?” Lucifer laughed. “You could, and I’d win. Your word against mine? No contest.” He licked his lips. “Tell you what. Blow me and I’ll promote you.”
Disbelief made Sam's heart plummet into his gut and clench there. He stared. “Seriously? You’re going there?”
Lucifer shrugged. “Let me fuck you and I’ll promote you twice. No odds to me.”
For a long moment, Sam could only blink. Then he said, “Look, I -- you've been doing this since I arrived, and I don’t get it. What is it with me?”
“Screwing paralegals has lost its appeal,” Lucifer said breezily, as if it was obvious. “I want a challenge, Sam. I want you. Say yes.”
He leaned back in his chair, the movement sinuous, deliberate. His fair hair was rucked up in a way so artful it looked effortless, like he'd gotten well-fucked in the elevator on the way up to his office. Hell, maybe he had. Sam cast about for the appropriate sense of disgust at the thought, but it eluded him. Lucifer's legs were spread wide in his neatly-pressed pants, an invitation. He set his hands on his knees, looked up at Sam under his eyelashes, assessing, and Sam felt his breath quickening despite itself, some sort of cursed gut reaction to the look of clear want in Lucifer's face.
"Hey," said Lucifer, low, "Come here, Sam." He tilted his head back, lifted his hips just slightly in indication. "You want to."
It wasn't a question. A roil of heat skittered through Sam from his shoulders to his toes, sparking in his groin, at his scalp, like static. It was stupid, ludicrous; he tried to swallow it down, but it was there, now, like a second pulse, deep in him. He took a breath.
"I'll crush you," he parried, but the lameness of it must have been evident, because Lucifer just laughed and let his thighs fall apart a little farther.
"Whatever, He-Man. You're, what, two-fifteen soaking wet?" His tongue caught the tail of wet, tucked between his teeth for a second as he smiled. "You may work out like a demon, but you're still boy-shaped, Sam. All long and slender. Coltish, I think they call it." He held Sam's eyes and grinned again, and something about it -- God. It shouldn't have been remotely appealing, but somehow Sam found himself following Lucifer's hands as they palmed his own thighs, skimmed upward. "C'mere, Sam. Sit in Daddy's lap."
Sam snorted a laugh, couldn't help it. "What are you, Bad Santa?" But, inexplicably, half-involuntarily, he was moving, one hand settling tentatively on Lucifer's shoulder where the fabric of his shirt was almost damp with body heat. "I don't --"
"Like this." Lucifer's hands went to Sam's hips, thumbs riding the ridges of his pelvis. He tugged, staccato, and Sam stumbled into him naturally, widening his stride until Lucifer's knees were tucked within the vee of Sam's open legs. Lucifer made a soft sound, pleased, and tugged again, downward this time.
Sam landed with a start. His feet remained planted on the floor, but the greater part of his weight rested on Lucifer's thighs and, like this, he could feel him, the hot clear line of his dick pressed up against Sam's ass through his slacks. "Shit," Sam muttered, cheeks flushing. This wasn't just words any more; this was real, and he wasn't -- he didn't --
He made to get up, but Lucifer caught his hand and stilled it easily, free arm snaking around Sam's waist to pinion him down. "Not so fast. Don't you want a promotion, Sam?"
Sam told himself he was fighting to break free, but he knew it was a weak effort. He just wasn't sure he quite wanted to admit why. "I'll earn mine the usual way, thanks."
"Suit yourself," Lucifer said. Then he rolled his hips, grinding himself against Sam's backside and the soft, trapped weight of his balls, his arm at Sam's waist hauling Sam down into it. "No promotion: fair enough. Can I interest you in some high quality cock?"
Sam hadn't realised he was hard until Lucifer's hand shifted, palmed him through his pants, and fuck, he was -- he was ready, his body betraying him for the promise of adventure, dick filling further in Lucifer's grip. "Oh," he breathed, half-startled, and his hips made this little abortive motion forward that made Lucifer laugh, still moving in his slow roll against Sam's ass.
"That a yes, Sam?" He pressed again, shifting until he could close his fingers around Sam through two layers of fabric, and Sam couldn't think over the new rush of blood in his head, the roar of it like thunder. He whimpered, despite his best efforts, hips shifting incrementally, but Lucifer's fingers skittered away when Sam leaned in, wanting -- something, he didn't even know.
"Sir," Sam began, no clue of what he meant to say and only the faintest hope that it wouldn't be embarrassing, but Lucifer cut him off.
"Ah-ah, Sam. You want to get fucked, sweetheart? You want me rammed so far up inside you there's no space for anything else?" He hitched up his hips again, jolting against Sam's perineum, and Sam groaned, grasping for sanity and the shreds of his self-respect, but Lucifer was relentless. "Or maybe you want to swallow me down, fuck your throat raw on my dick, huh? I can make you come so hard, the world'll be nothing but white light, but Sam --" and he stilled, abrupt and final and unbearable -- "you gotta say yes to me. Trust me; I'm a lawyer. Say yes."
Fuck, but this was surreal. The things Lucifer just out and said, like this was some Dirty Attorneys porno, and the way his fingers worked Sam deftly, keeping him just distracted enough not to care. Sam recognised it for an underhanded fucking trick even as he closed his eyes, hitched his hips to push himself closer to Lucifer's body, but it didn't seem to matter; didn't make any difference to the way his mouth opened of its own accord and formed, "Yes. God, okay. Yeah."
The sound Lucifer made at that was something between a laugh and a growl, but the nuances of it were lost in Sam's mouth when Lucifer hauled him roughly in, crushing their lips together. It was barely a kiss -- too inelegant for that, the dirty, open slide of it all tongue and clicking teeth before the rhythm of the thing established itself, but, fuck, it was good. Sam's jaw ached from the force of it, but the throb in his tendons felt right, like the low, sore tingle that spread across his scalp where Lucifer's hand was fisted in his hair. A groan rose up in his throat, fingers digging into the meat of Lucifer's shoulders, and Lucifer shoved up against him, drove his tongue deep to the back of Sam's mouth and hauled Sam forward by the hair. Sam's toes clenched in his shoes, thigh muscles tautening, and God, he had never been manhandled like this, never, but now that it was happening -- Lucifer sucking on his tongue, long pull of his lips along the length of it; Lucifer stilling Sam for his kisses -- he wondered why.
It wasn't until Lucifer jerked back that Sam realised he'd been holding his breath. It rushed back to him in a whoosh of air that rang in his ears as Lucifer ducked his head, pressed his mouth into the curve of Sam's throat and bit there. There was no hesitancy to it, just the sharp flash of teeth and then the wet heat of Lucifer's mouth after, sucking a bruise in the shape of his bite. Sam cried out, whole body jerking; clutched at Lucifer's head. Lucifer laughed, and the hand in Sam's hair tightened, forcing Sam's head back until his whole spine arched, uncomfortable and fiercely hot.
"You like that, Sam?" A strong tug, and then the hand relented, became a gentling thing, petting through Sam's hair. "I knew you would. Moment I saw you, I knew you'd get hard for this. Are you ashamed, Sam?"
And, Sam realised, listening to the chug of his blood in his ears and the dull, uncertain thunder of it in his stomach, he was -- ashamed of his own neediness, of how good it felt. "Yes," he said, soft and weakly honest, and Lucifer smiled.
"But you like it, don't you?" He didn't wait for a response. Apparently none was required, and when Lucifer said, "Get on your knees for me, Sam," Sam found himself moving, incredibly, unquestioningly, until his shins were flat to the industrial brown carpet and his hands shook on Lucifer's thighs.
Sam hadn't done this much -- some, in college, with a certain degree of hesitation -- but now it was as if Lucifer's impossible certainty had bled out beyond the bounds of his own behaviour and into Sam's. Sam was trembling finely, breath coming fast and, while his mind was foggy and unsure, his body felt half-possessed, some foreign impulse scudding through his nervousness and urging him on. His palms slid up Lucifer's long thighs, feeling the reflexive twitch of muscle beneath, but it was like watching someone else's movements, the phantom touch of Lucifer's hand pushing Sam's head down until his cheek met Lucifer's inner thigh through his pants. Above him, Lucifer held still, but Sam felt the thrust of him all the same, even before he tilted his hips up, coaxing. "C'mon, Sam."
Then the hand was back in Sam's hair, and Sam recognised with a jolt how much he'd regretted its absence, the gentle threat of it. Sam breathed, slow, and smelled the sweat-salt musk of Lucifer's dick, its weight straining obviously against his fly.
"Do you -- I mean --" He was trying for something defiant, some last-ditch grasp at self-assurance, but then Lucifer tugged at Sam's hair, free hand sliding downward until his thumb slotted under his waistband, fingers framing his own cock, and Sam gave up self-respect as a bad deal. There was no need for it here, like this, when he could have Lucifer's dick rubbing wetly over his tongue and ride the pleasure of his shame with impunity.
"Question, Sam?" The long fingers moved, deft; popped the button of Lucifer's slacks so the thrust of his cock beneath shoved up to take advantage of the new structural weakness. A nudge at the zipper, Lucifer's thumb smoothing down the spine of his shaft, and the rest of the teeth yielded easily to the pressure. Sam could see the head of it, now, outlined in clear relief through grey boxer briefs and he wanted -- God.
"No question," Sam said, flat, and leaned in.
There was a damp spot of darker grey where Lucifer was leaking, and Sam wanted to taste him, muscles cramping in his jaw with the urge to take him in, but the scent of him was everywhere, dark and sexy and Sam wanted all of it. His fingers went to the splayed triangles of Lucifer's fly and spread it wider, mindless of everything but the need to make room to press his nose there, rub his whole face against the bulge of Lucifer's dick. "God," he murmured, nuzzled the weight of it, and Lucifer's bitten-back hiss skittered warmth through Sam like a shot of tequila, inside-outward.
"Fuck, yeah, Sam." The big hand flexed on the back of Sam's head and Lucifer's hips rocked up, inching toward Sam's warmth. "Like that, huh? Think you can swallow all that?" Then he was hooking fingers under his waistband, shucking it down so the crown of him sprang up, wet, without warning, and the soft hot touch of it to Sam's cheek was like a burn. "C'mon, baby, you better get me good and wet, because I got nothing else to fuck you with."
"Oh, God." The words stuck in Sam's throat, the slick head of Lucifer's cock kissing the jut of his cheekbone until Lucifer curled his fingers around the base, angled it toward Sam's half-open mouth. Half-consciously, Sam let his lips go slack, and Lucifer rubbed himself wetly along the curve of Sam's mouth, pulled away just slightly, a string of precome stretching between his dick and Sam's tongue.
"Sam." The fingers in his hair tugged, and that was enough. Sam closed his lips around the swollen head, eyelids fluttering shut as the sour-salt taste of Lucifer's slick smeared across his tongue. He was big, bigger than anyone Sam had sucked before, and he knew intellectually that he ought to be careful, go slow -- but knowing something was different to feeling it, and all Sam wanted now was to curl his tongue under the ridge of Lucifer's cockhead, suck him in deep. He moaned, jacked his mouth down wetly onto Lucifer's shaft and felt the fingers in his hair clench and unclench reflexively, Lucifer groaning softly as he thumbed the shape of himself through Sam's cheek. Fuck.
Sam's next shove down was reckless, spurred by the sound of Lucifer's voice and the hot praise of his hands in Sam's hair. His eyes were watering, but he worked his mouth down onto Lucifer's dick all the same, forcing his throat to relax through the pulsing flutter of panic that surged up in him like drowning. Against the back of his throat, Lucifer felt huge, Sam's breath stoppered around the girth of him, but Lucifer was groaning, hands shaking as he wrenched out, "oh, fuck," and it was incentive enough for Sam to hold his breath as long as he could, pulling up only when he'd drooled breathlessly all over Lucifer's dick, the fat weight of his balls.
After the first push, it was easier. Lucifer was fucking wet, smearing messily against the inside of Sam's cheeks as Sam breathed in deep and slid down onto him a second time, far as he could. Lucifer's fingers were strong at the bolts of Sam's jaw, holding him open, and Sam went with it, let the rush of panic fill his chest as Lucifer ventured an upward fuck, jagged stab of his dick into the clutch of Sam's throat.
"Fuck," Lucifer panted, and the brokenness in his voice was deeply satisfying, setting Sam's dick jerking against his zipper. "Okay, Sam, wet enough; get up here -- " and he was twitching against Sam's cheek, too close. Sam let himself be pulled up, saliva pooling on his tongue and slipping wetly down Lucifer's cock, and when Lucifer twisted his wrist to tip Sam's face up to his, Sam's lips felt bruised and Lucifer's dick was spitslick, shiny-wet from Sam's mouth.
"Mmm, Sam." Lucifer's voice was almost reverent, but something about it was somehow self-satisfied; it was the tone of the slavetrader who knows his purchase has been sound. It was approval, nasty, cheap, and it made Sam's stomach turn over with something that didn't know if it was lust or revulsion and didn't care to find out. Lucifer's hands were at Sam's throat now, anyway, tugging at his tie, and Sam let himself relax into it, head lolling back as Lucifer wrenched open his collar, the buttons of his shirt.
Sam's ears were still ringing from the rush of being stuffed so deep with cock there was no room left for air, and like this, it was easy to let himself be guided -- to let Lucifer coax him to his feet, unbutton his slacks, haul them down over the spurs of his hipbones along with his undershorts. It wasn't until Lucifer groaned, low and dirty as he freed Sam's dick to smack up against his belly, that Sam came back to himself, toeing off his shoes to let his pants pool around his feet as his fingers found Lucifer's shoulder for support.
"Oh, God," Sam managed, fingers flexing. It wasn't cold in the room, but still, he was -- he was fucking naked in here, in Lucifer's goddamn office, and the air licked over him everywhere, kissing his bare flanks and his long thighs and the hot tip of his dick pearling precome in the dip of his navel. Beneath him, Lucifer was still fully dressed but for the shiny jut of his cock, and his hands were sure on Sam's hips, guiding him close, pulling him in.
"Hey," he breathed. His tone was gentler, now, than before, something in it more coaxing than aggressive as his fingers crooked between Sam's thighs, nudged into the damp space behind his balls, slid further. They were slick, slightly, with sweat and precome (Lucifer's or Sam's, Sam couldn't tell), and Sam groaned when they rubbed over the tight furl of his hole, hips jackknifing.
"God --" he managed, but Lucifer cut him off, one finger slipping inside up to the first knuckle in a single smooth shove that tugged at Sam from the inside out. Sam bore down without even any conscious intention, the intrusion feeling odd as it was but promising something better if he could only get -- if, just --
A second finger, and it was better, Lucifer's thumb pushing up against Sam's perineum while his fingers rocked in and out of him, stretching him out, getting him ready. It wasn't terribly slick, Lucifer's skin still dragging frictively against Sam's insides, but when the tip of a third finger began to crook inside with the first two, Sam had had enough; he was ready, breathless and shivering, the long muscles pulling in his thighs as he rubbed himself against Lucifer's fingers.
"Fuck," he got out, and his voice was barely recognisable, strung out and needy and weak. "God, please, that's enough, I want -- would you just --"
"Fuck you?" The words came out low, hot, and Sam felt his belly clench up as the head of Lucifer's dick rubbed up slippery between his legs. A twist of Sam's hips scooted him fully into Lucifer's lap and then he was right there, leaking slick around Sam's rim where his fingers had stretched it, and God.
"Yeah," Sam rasped, fingers closing fumblingly around the base of Lucifer's dick to shove it against his hole, hold it steady as he forced the swollen head inside, bore down. "Yeah, God -- fuck me--"
His voice got lost somewhere between Lucifer's upward thrust and his own downward slam, the way Lucifer's balls smacked up against his ass and the way Lucifer's dick smacked up against his prostate, Jesus. Lucifer had felt big in Sam's mouth, but he felt massive inside of him, splaying him wide in a way that burned and ached, deep and good. Every pull upward was a long, sparking drag of Sam's ass up the length of Lucifer's dick, almost to the tip, the muscles tensed and shivering in Sam's thighs until Lucifer dug in his fingers, hauled Sam back down onto him. Gravity made that part easy, but Lucifer was strong enough to skew Sam's rhythm into something of his own creation, forearms locking to work Sam up on his cock, fuck up into him on the downward thrust, screwing himself deep up inside of him.
Sam didn't know what it was that made his body want to seize up the way it did, back arched and chin lifted, but the faster Lucifer fucked, the more intense the need became, the pulse in Sam's pelvis driving the churning of his hips as his eyes clenched shut and his head fell back. Beneath him, Lucifer was driving faster, faster; breath falling into this low, keening sound until all of a sudden he stilled, slammed up deep and Sam could feel him fattening, impossible and final and huge. Then there were Lucifer's fingers, making a slick tunnel around Sam's cock, and Sam might have expected the hard jacks of his hand to be too rough, except that apparently he'd have been wrong.
"Oh, God," Sam managed, "Shit --" And he could feel himself clenching, muscles spasming crazily inside of him as the arch of his back went lax and thrust him forward into Lucifer's lap, head tipping down, belly pulling taut and ready. He could feel orgasm like an arrow of heat, shooting through his pelvis and thighs, shoving its way up through the length of his dick until -- "Fuck!" -- Lucifer thumbed at his slit and that was it, that was all she wrote, come blurting out of him in thick spurts, all over the pristine black cotton of Lucifer's shirt, all over his stomach. "God, I --"
"Say my name," Lucifer hissed, and the sound of it took Sam almost by surprise, catching him up in the swell of his climax and forcing him higher still. Sam's body had fallen out of its torsion, now, gone lax in Lucifer's arms, and Lucifer was practically holding him up, yanking Sam up and down on his dick like a ragdoll, but he was fucking grinding against Sam's ass, now, getting deep enough that Sam could feel the sharp edges of his hipbones when they came together.
"Lucifer," Sam managed, and Lucifer groaned, rhythm dissolving into a jagged stammer of thrusts. "Lucifer -- Luke, c'mon, fuck me --"
Sam tensed deliberately, mustering all his remaining strength, and Lucifer -- God, seized up inside of him, head falling back as he clutched at Sam's hips and fucked up deep, deep like he thought he could go on fucking and break out somewhere beyond the banality of this office, somewhere amazing. His teeth clenched, and Sam felt the jerk of Lucifer's dick as he let go, pulsing wet and hard over Sam's insides.
"Jesus," Lucifer ground out, long and slow as the tension leeched out of him, and Sam could only laugh softly, one hand idly palming the base of his own dick as it softened against his stomach, slick-sticky and hot.
He wanted to kiss Lucifer, he realised, almost drunkenly. He wanted to lean forward, loll against him and mash their mouths together lax and wet, some misplaced reaction of his body's to the way Lucifer's hand had cradled the base of his skull. He wanted to kiss Lucifer, his boss whom Sam had just let fuck him in the office over some kind of bet, or challenge, or -- whatever. It wasn't the sort of thing that ended in kissing, either, however much Sam's mouth ached for it. He swallowed against the chill of reality creeping in through the warmth of afterglow, and made to stand up, cheeks flushing a little. "Well."
It was Lucifer, though, who stopped him with a hand to his nape -- Lucifer who laughed and pulled Sam in to catch his mouth, nip at his lower lip and slip his tongue inside almost daintily, teasing. "It's okay," he said, soft, and the quiet expression of self-assurance was back on his face when they parted, Sam bent half in two over Lucifer in his chair, feeling sweaty and exposed but, yes, maybe just a little bit treasured. Lucifer fucked dirty, talked dirty, but the way he kissed Sam now was something else, something like a plea, and Sam's chest twisted, wondering what he was pleading for.
"It is?" he pushed, casting about for his discarded pants and boxers. "I have to -- I have to get back to work." He reached for his shirt, but Lucifer curled a hand around his wrist, a sudden gravitas in his eyes.
"Yes," he said, "but Sam -- I want you to know." His thumb traced a smooth line up the inside of Sam's wrist, toyed with the bracelet-lines by the heel of his hand. "I thought you were something special, first time I saw you." He paused, wet his lips. "I wasn't wrong."
Sam stopped, shirt still clutched in one hand, pants half-buttoned. Lucifer was close enough that Sam could hear his breathing, and it didn't take much to turn toward him, hold his eyes. "Yeah?"
Lucifer's smile, at least, was genuine. "Yes," he said, and gave Sam's hand a squeeze before he released it. "If you want to walk out of this office, Sam Winchester, and never come back, you can, and I won't hold it against you, I promise you. But if you wanted to come back..."
He trailed off. His mouth was pink, still a little swollen from the force of their rough, tongue-and-teeth kisses, and his hair was mussed from Sam's hands. He looked debauched, well-fucked and sexy, but there was something else in his expression, and it was that something that made Sam falter, his own chest going tight. He swallowed. "Same time tomorrow, sir? I could -- " He made himself go on. "I could put you in my Outlook calendar as a regular meeting, if you like." He paused, bit his lip. "If you think we need the time. If it'd be...beneficial."
The smile that broke out on Lucifer's face was reward enough in itself for the way Sam's heart was racing, enough to soothe the spike of adrenaline and transmute it into something deep and warm. "I think," Lucifer said, "that would be best, Mr Winchester." His thumb pushed at the base of Sam's palm for a moment, and then it was gone, leaving only cool air and a craving in its wake. "Have my secretary make a note on your way out, would you?"
Sam swallowed, straightened, pulled the two sides of his shirt together one-handed. "I'll do that, sir," he promised, rough, and his pulse was a thready flutter at the base of his jaw. "Same time tomorrow."
*
eta: for your reference, this was the ridiculous Pellegrino hair I was envisaging, jsyk. :)
Title: Devil's Advocate
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5k
Summary: Sam had been a junior associate at Garrison for less than a week before its senior partner decided there was an additional function he wanted him to perform. Skeevy Alan Shore!Lucifer/baby lawyer!Sam, basically.
Sam had been a junior associate at Garrison for less than a week before its senior partner decided there was an additional function he wanted him to perform. Sam never knew exactly what set it off, but then, nobody ever did know much about the inner workings of Luke DeVille's mind. Ruthless and insidiously effective, DeVille had been given his moniker, Lucifer, by the city press, but it had quickly spread, and now everyone used it, even the man himself. After a few days on the receiving end of Lucifer's silver tongue, Sam could see just how apt it was.
His bluntness was like nothing Sam had ever been exposed to before, but there was always a lawyerly double-handedness to all their exchanges, the way Lucifer would lean, too-close, over Sam's desk and make offers that could have been quips and quips that could have been offers. For a month, Sam sat it out, pink-cheeked, never quite able to determine how serious Lucifer was -- which, of course, was what he wanted. It wasn't until Sam found himself cornered in Lucifer's office, rattling a locked doorhandle, that he was completely sure: Lucifer meant business. Sam at least knew that.
How Sam felt about it, though, was still up in the air. Lucifer, sprawled easily in his desk chair, wore an expression of mild cockiness that suggested he did things like this all the time, and here was Sam, locked in his goddamn office without even a warning. For a long second, it was all Sam could do to stare at his hand on the unmoving doorknob, gathering his breath while Lucifer laughed, said, "In a hurry, Sam?"
The words were enough to spur Sam into motion. He swallowed and, turning, crossed his arms. "You realise," he said, struggling to keep his tone mild, "that you can't keep me here, right? You can't make me do anything I don't want to." After all, Lucifer was a big guy, but Sam still had three inches on him. Sam had inches on everyone.
With Lucifer, though, it often felt like that was the only thing he had, which wasn't a sensation Sam was entirely familiar with.
"Is that so?" Lucifer's voice was a low, smirking drawl, entirely unperturbed. “You may be bigger than me,” he said easily, like a goddamn mind-reader, “but I’m Bigger than you, Sam.” Sam could hear the capital. “On the Big Scale of zero to Elvis, I’m Marlon Brando; I’m the Louvre Museum; I’m the cat’s pyjamas, and baby -” He leaned forward, mouth curved triumphantly - “You’re the bottom; I’m the top.”
Sam swallowed. A pulse fluttered in his jaw. Something else, something unwarranted and strange, fluttered, too, in his stomach, and he tamped it down with an effort. “I could report you,” he said.
“Yeah?” Lucifer laughed. “You could, and I’d win. Your word against mine? No contest.” He licked his lips. “Tell you what. Blow me and I’ll promote you.”
Disbelief made Sam's heart plummet into his gut and clench there. He stared. “Seriously? You’re going there?”
Lucifer shrugged. “Let me fuck you and I’ll promote you twice. No odds to me.”
For a long moment, Sam could only blink. Then he said, “Look, I -- you've been doing this since I arrived, and I don’t get it. What is it with me?”
“Screwing paralegals has lost its appeal,” Lucifer said breezily, as if it was obvious. “I want a challenge, Sam. I want you. Say yes.”
He leaned back in his chair, the movement sinuous, deliberate. His fair hair was rucked up in a way so artful it looked effortless, like he'd gotten well-fucked in the elevator on the way up to his office. Hell, maybe he had. Sam cast about for the appropriate sense of disgust at the thought, but it eluded him. Lucifer's legs were spread wide in his neatly-pressed pants, an invitation. He set his hands on his knees, looked up at Sam under his eyelashes, assessing, and Sam felt his breath quickening despite itself, some sort of cursed gut reaction to the look of clear want in Lucifer's face.
"Hey," said Lucifer, low, "Come here, Sam." He tilted his head back, lifted his hips just slightly in indication. "You want to."
It wasn't a question. A roil of heat skittered through Sam from his shoulders to his toes, sparking in his groin, at his scalp, like static. It was stupid, ludicrous; he tried to swallow it down, but it was there, now, like a second pulse, deep in him. He took a breath.
"I'll crush you," he parried, but the lameness of it must have been evident, because Lucifer just laughed and let his thighs fall apart a little farther.
"Whatever, He-Man. You're, what, two-fifteen soaking wet?" His tongue caught the tail of wet, tucked between his teeth for a second as he smiled. "You may work out like a demon, but you're still boy-shaped, Sam. All long and slender. Coltish, I think they call it." He held Sam's eyes and grinned again, and something about it -- God. It shouldn't have been remotely appealing, but somehow Sam found himself following Lucifer's hands as they palmed his own thighs, skimmed upward. "C'mere, Sam. Sit in Daddy's lap."
Sam snorted a laugh, couldn't help it. "What are you, Bad Santa?" But, inexplicably, half-involuntarily, he was moving, one hand settling tentatively on Lucifer's shoulder where the fabric of his shirt was almost damp with body heat. "I don't --"
"Like this." Lucifer's hands went to Sam's hips, thumbs riding the ridges of his pelvis. He tugged, staccato, and Sam stumbled into him naturally, widening his stride until Lucifer's knees were tucked within the vee of Sam's open legs. Lucifer made a soft sound, pleased, and tugged again, downward this time.
Sam landed with a start. His feet remained planted on the floor, but the greater part of his weight rested on Lucifer's thighs and, like this, he could feel him, the hot clear line of his dick pressed up against Sam's ass through his slacks. "Shit," Sam muttered, cheeks flushing. This wasn't just words any more; this was real, and he wasn't -- he didn't --
He made to get up, but Lucifer caught his hand and stilled it easily, free arm snaking around Sam's waist to pinion him down. "Not so fast. Don't you want a promotion, Sam?"
Sam told himself he was fighting to break free, but he knew it was a weak effort. He just wasn't sure he quite wanted to admit why. "I'll earn mine the usual way, thanks."
"Suit yourself," Lucifer said. Then he rolled his hips, grinding himself against Sam's backside and the soft, trapped weight of his balls, his arm at Sam's waist hauling Sam down into it. "No promotion: fair enough. Can I interest you in some high quality cock?"
Sam hadn't realised he was hard until Lucifer's hand shifted, palmed him through his pants, and fuck, he was -- he was ready, his body betraying him for the promise of adventure, dick filling further in Lucifer's grip. "Oh," he breathed, half-startled, and his hips made this little abortive motion forward that made Lucifer laugh, still moving in his slow roll against Sam's ass.
"That a yes, Sam?" He pressed again, shifting until he could close his fingers around Sam through two layers of fabric, and Sam couldn't think over the new rush of blood in his head, the roar of it like thunder. He whimpered, despite his best efforts, hips shifting incrementally, but Lucifer's fingers skittered away when Sam leaned in, wanting -- something, he didn't even know.
"Sir," Sam began, no clue of what he meant to say and only the faintest hope that it wouldn't be embarrassing, but Lucifer cut him off.
"Ah-ah, Sam. You want to get fucked, sweetheart? You want me rammed so far up inside you there's no space for anything else?" He hitched up his hips again, jolting against Sam's perineum, and Sam groaned, grasping for sanity and the shreds of his self-respect, but Lucifer was relentless. "Or maybe you want to swallow me down, fuck your throat raw on my dick, huh? I can make you come so hard, the world'll be nothing but white light, but Sam --" and he stilled, abrupt and final and unbearable -- "you gotta say yes to me. Trust me; I'm a lawyer. Say yes."
Fuck, but this was surreal. The things Lucifer just out and said, like this was some Dirty Attorneys porno, and the way his fingers worked Sam deftly, keeping him just distracted enough not to care. Sam recognised it for an underhanded fucking trick even as he closed his eyes, hitched his hips to push himself closer to Lucifer's body, but it didn't seem to matter; didn't make any difference to the way his mouth opened of its own accord and formed, "Yes. God, okay. Yeah."
The sound Lucifer made at that was something between a laugh and a growl, but the nuances of it were lost in Sam's mouth when Lucifer hauled him roughly in, crushing their lips together. It was barely a kiss -- too inelegant for that, the dirty, open slide of it all tongue and clicking teeth before the rhythm of the thing established itself, but, fuck, it was good. Sam's jaw ached from the force of it, but the throb in his tendons felt right, like the low, sore tingle that spread across his scalp where Lucifer's hand was fisted in his hair. A groan rose up in his throat, fingers digging into the meat of Lucifer's shoulders, and Lucifer shoved up against him, drove his tongue deep to the back of Sam's mouth and hauled Sam forward by the hair. Sam's toes clenched in his shoes, thigh muscles tautening, and God, he had never been manhandled like this, never, but now that it was happening -- Lucifer sucking on his tongue, long pull of his lips along the length of it; Lucifer stilling Sam for his kisses -- he wondered why.
It wasn't until Lucifer jerked back that Sam realised he'd been holding his breath. It rushed back to him in a whoosh of air that rang in his ears as Lucifer ducked his head, pressed his mouth into the curve of Sam's throat and bit there. There was no hesitancy to it, just the sharp flash of teeth and then the wet heat of Lucifer's mouth after, sucking a bruise in the shape of his bite. Sam cried out, whole body jerking; clutched at Lucifer's head. Lucifer laughed, and the hand in Sam's hair tightened, forcing Sam's head back until his whole spine arched, uncomfortable and fiercely hot.
"You like that, Sam?" A strong tug, and then the hand relented, became a gentling thing, petting through Sam's hair. "I knew you would. Moment I saw you, I knew you'd get hard for this. Are you ashamed, Sam?"
And, Sam realised, listening to the chug of his blood in his ears and the dull, uncertain thunder of it in his stomach, he was -- ashamed of his own neediness, of how good it felt. "Yes," he said, soft and weakly honest, and Lucifer smiled.
"But you like it, don't you?" He didn't wait for a response. Apparently none was required, and when Lucifer said, "Get on your knees for me, Sam," Sam found himself moving, incredibly, unquestioningly, until his shins were flat to the industrial brown carpet and his hands shook on Lucifer's thighs.
Sam hadn't done this much -- some, in college, with a certain degree of hesitation -- but now it was as if Lucifer's impossible certainty had bled out beyond the bounds of his own behaviour and into Sam's. Sam was trembling finely, breath coming fast and, while his mind was foggy and unsure, his body felt half-possessed, some foreign impulse scudding through his nervousness and urging him on. His palms slid up Lucifer's long thighs, feeling the reflexive twitch of muscle beneath, but it was like watching someone else's movements, the phantom touch of Lucifer's hand pushing Sam's head down until his cheek met Lucifer's inner thigh through his pants. Above him, Lucifer held still, but Sam felt the thrust of him all the same, even before he tilted his hips up, coaxing. "C'mon, Sam."
Then the hand was back in Sam's hair, and Sam recognised with a jolt how much he'd regretted its absence, the gentle threat of it. Sam breathed, slow, and smelled the sweat-salt musk of Lucifer's dick, its weight straining obviously against his fly.
"Do you -- I mean --" He was trying for something defiant, some last-ditch grasp at self-assurance, but then Lucifer tugged at Sam's hair, free hand sliding downward until his thumb slotted under his waistband, fingers framing his own cock, and Sam gave up self-respect as a bad deal. There was no need for it here, like this, when he could have Lucifer's dick rubbing wetly over his tongue and ride the pleasure of his shame with impunity.
"Question, Sam?" The long fingers moved, deft; popped the button of Lucifer's slacks so the thrust of his cock beneath shoved up to take advantage of the new structural weakness. A nudge at the zipper, Lucifer's thumb smoothing down the spine of his shaft, and the rest of the teeth yielded easily to the pressure. Sam could see the head of it, now, outlined in clear relief through grey boxer briefs and he wanted -- God.
"No question," Sam said, flat, and leaned in.
There was a damp spot of darker grey where Lucifer was leaking, and Sam wanted to taste him, muscles cramping in his jaw with the urge to take him in, but the scent of him was everywhere, dark and sexy and Sam wanted all of it. His fingers went to the splayed triangles of Lucifer's fly and spread it wider, mindless of everything but the need to make room to press his nose there, rub his whole face against the bulge of Lucifer's dick. "God," he murmured, nuzzled the weight of it, and Lucifer's bitten-back hiss skittered warmth through Sam like a shot of tequila, inside-outward.
"Fuck, yeah, Sam." The big hand flexed on the back of Sam's head and Lucifer's hips rocked up, inching toward Sam's warmth. "Like that, huh? Think you can swallow all that?" Then he was hooking fingers under his waistband, shucking it down so the crown of him sprang up, wet, without warning, and the soft hot touch of it to Sam's cheek was like a burn. "C'mon, baby, you better get me good and wet, because I got nothing else to fuck you with."
"Oh, God." The words stuck in Sam's throat, the slick head of Lucifer's cock kissing the jut of his cheekbone until Lucifer curled his fingers around the base, angled it toward Sam's half-open mouth. Half-consciously, Sam let his lips go slack, and Lucifer rubbed himself wetly along the curve of Sam's mouth, pulled away just slightly, a string of precome stretching between his dick and Sam's tongue.
"Sam." The fingers in his hair tugged, and that was enough. Sam closed his lips around the swollen head, eyelids fluttering shut as the sour-salt taste of Lucifer's slick smeared across his tongue. He was big, bigger than anyone Sam had sucked before, and he knew intellectually that he ought to be careful, go slow -- but knowing something was different to feeling it, and all Sam wanted now was to curl his tongue under the ridge of Lucifer's cockhead, suck him in deep. He moaned, jacked his mouth down wetly onto Lucifer's shaft and felt the fingers in his hair clench and unclench reflexively, Lucifer groaning softly as he thumbed the shape of himself through Sam's cheek. Fuck.
Sam's next shove down was reckless, spurred by the sound of Lucifer's voice and the hot praise of his hands in Sam's hair. His eyes were watering, but he worked his mouth down onto Lucifer's dick all the same, forcing his throat to relax through the pulsing flutter of panic that surged up in him like drowning. Against the back of his throat, Lucifer felt huge, Sam's breath stoppered around the girth of him, but Lucifer was groaning, hands shaking as he wrenched out, "oh, fuck," and it was incentive enough for Sam to hold his breath as long as he could, pulling up only when he'd drooled breathlessly all over Lucifer's dick, the fat weight of his balls.
After the first push, it was easier. Lucifer was fucking wet, smearing messily against the inside of Sam's cheeks as Sam breathed in deep and slid down onto him a second time, far as he could. Lucifer's fingers were strong at the bolts of Sam's jaw, holding him open, and Sam went with it, let the rush of panic fill his chest as Lucifer ventured an upward fuck, jagged stab of his dick into the clutch of Sam's throat.
"Fuck," Lucifer panted, and the brokenness in his voice was deeply satisfying, setting Sam's dick jerking against his zipper. "Okay, Sam, wet enough; get up here -- " and he was twitching against Sam's cheek, too close. Sam let himself be pulled up, saliva pooling on his tongue and slipping wetly down Lucifer's cock, and when Lucifer twisted his wrist to tip Sam's face up to his, Sam's lips felt bruised and Lucifer's dick was spitslick, shiny-wet from Sam's mouth.
"Mmm, Sam." Lucifer's voice was almost reverent, but something about it was somehow self-satisfied; it was the tone of the slavetrader who knows his purchase has been sound. It was approval, nasty, cheap, and it made Sam's stomach turn over with something that didn't know if it was lust or revulsion and didn't care to find out. Lucifer's hands were at Sam's throat now, anyway, tugging at his tie, and Sam let himself relax into it, head lolling back as Lucifer wrenched open his collar, the buttons of his shirt.
Sam's ears were still ringing from the rush of being stuffed so deep with cock there was no room left for air, and like this, it was easy to let himself be guided -- to let Lucifer coax him to his feet, unbutton his slacks, haul them down over the spurs of his hipbones along with his undershorts. It wasn't until Lucifer groaned, low and dirty as he freed Sam's dick to smack up against his belly, that Sam came back to himself, toeing off his shoes to let his pants pool around his feet as his fingers found Lucifer's shoulder for support.
"Oh, God," Sam managed, fingers flexing. It wasn't cold in the room, but still, he was -- he was fucking naked in here, in Lucifer's goddamn office, and the air licked over him everywhere, kissing his bare flanks and his long thighs and the hot tip of his dick pearling precome in the dip of his navel. Beneath him, Lucifer was still fully dressed but for the shiny jut of his cock, and his hands were sure on Sam's hips, guiding him close, pulling him in.
"Hey," he breathed. His tone was gentler, now, than before, something in it more coaxing than aggressive as his fingers crooked between Sam's thighs, nudged into the damp space behind his balls, slid further. They were slick, slightly, with sweat and precome (Lucifer's or Sam's, Sam couldn't tell), and Sam groaned when they rubbed over the tight furl of his hole, hips jackknifing.
"God --" he managed, but Lucifer cut him off, one finger slipping inside up to the first knuckle in a single smooth shove that tugged at Sam from the inside out. Sam bore down without even any conscious intention, the intrusion feeling odd as it was but promising something better if he could only get -- if, just --
A second finger, and it was better, Lucifer's thumb pushing up against Sam's perineum while his fingers rocked in and out of him, stretching him out, getting him ready. It wasn't terribly slick, Lucifer's skin still dragging frictively against Sam's insides, but when the tip of a third finger began to crook inside with the first two, Sam had had enough; he was ready, breathless and shivering, the long muscles pulling in his thighs as he rubbed himself against Lucifer's fingers.
"Fuck," he got out, and his voice was barely recognisable, strung out and needy and weak. "God, please, that's enough, I want -- would you just --"
"Fuck you?" The words came out low, hot, and Sam felt his belly clench up as the head of Lucifer's dick rubbed up slippery between his legs. A twist of Sam's hips scooted him fully into Lucifer's lap and then he was right there, leaking slick around Sam's rim where his fingers had stretched it, and God.
"Yeah," Sam rasped, fingers closing fumblingly around the base of Lucifer's dick to shove it against his hole, hold it steady as he forced the swollen head inside, bore down. "Yeah, God -- fuck me--"
His voice got lost somewhere between Lucifer's upward thrust and his own downward slam, the way Lucifer's balls smacked up against his ass and the way Lucifer's dick smacked up against his prostate, Jesus. Lucifer had felt big in Sam's mouth, but he felt massive inside of him, splaying him wide in a way that burned and ached, deep and good. Every pull upward was a long, sparking drag of Sam's ass up the length of Lucifer's dick, almost to the tip, the muscles tensed and shivering in Sam's thighs until Lucifer dug in his fingers, hauled Sam back down onto him. Gravity made that part easy, but Lucifer was strong enough to skew Sam's rhythm into something of his own creation, forearms locking to work Sam up on his cock, fuck up into him on the downward thrust, screwing himself deep up inside of him.
Sam didn't know what it was that made his body want to seize up the way it did, back arched and chin lifted, but the faster Lucifer fucked, the more intense the need became, the pulse in Sam's pelvis driving the churning of his hips as his eyes clenched shut and his head fell back. Beneath him, Lucifer was driving faster, faster; breath falling into this low, keening sound until all of a sudden he stilled, slammed up deep and Sam could feel him fattening, impossible and final and huge. Then there were Lucifer's fingers, making a slick tunnel around Sam's cock, and Sam might have expected the hard jacks of his hand to be too rough, except that apparently he'd have been wrong.
"Oh, God," Sam managed, "Shit --" And he could feel himself clenching, muscles spasming crazily inside of him as the arch of his back went lax and thrust him forward into Lucifer's lap, head tipping down, belly pulling taut and ready. He could feel orgasm like an arrow of heat, shooting through his pelvis and thighs, shoving its way up through the length of his dick until -- "Fuck!" -- Lucifer thumbed at his slit and that was it, that was all she wrote, come blurting out of him in thick spurts, all over the pristine black cotton of Lucifer's shirt, all over his stomach. "God, I --"
"Say my name," Lucifer hissed, and the sound of it took Sam almost by surprise, catching him up in the swell of his climax and forcing him higher still. Sam's body had fallen out of its torsion, now, gone lax in Lucifer's arms, and Lucifer was practically holding him up, yanking Sam up and down on his dick like a ragdoll, but he was fucking grinding against Sam's ass, now, getting deep enough that Sam could feel the sharp edges of his hipbones when they came together.
"Lucifer," Sam managed, and Lucifer groaned, rhythm dissolving into a jagged stammer of thrusts. "Lucifer -- Luke, c'mon, fuck me --"
Sam tensed deliberately, mustering all his remaining strength, and Lucifer -- God, seized up inside of him, head falling back as he clutched at Sam's hips and fucked up deep, deep like he thought he could go on fucking and break out somewhere beyond the banality of this office, somewhere amazing. His teeth clenched, and Sam felt the jerk of Lucifer's dick as he let go, pulsing wet and hard over Sam's insides.
"Jesus," Lucifer ground out, long and slow as the tension leeched out of him, and Sam could only laugh softly, one hand idly palming the base of his own dick as it softened against his stomach, slick-sticky and hot.
He wanted to kiss Lucifer, he realised, almost drunkenly. He wanted to lean forward, loll against him and mash their mouths together lax and wet, some misplaced reaction of his body's to the way Lucifer's hand had cradled the base of his skull. He wanted to kiss Lucifer, his boss whom Sam had just let fuck him in the office over some kind of bet, or challenge, or -- whatever. It wasn't the sort of thing that ended in kissing, either, however much Sam's mouth ached for it. He swallowed against the chill of reality creeping in through the warmth of afterglow, and made to stand up, cheeks flushing a little. "Well."
It was Lucifer, though, who stopped him with a hand to his nape -- Lucifer who laughed and pulled Sam in to catch his mouth, nip at his lower lip and slip his tongue inside almost daintily, teasing. "It's okay," he said, soft, and the quiet expression of self-assurance was back on his face when they parted, Sam bent half in two over Lucifer in his chair, feeling sweaty and exposed but, yes, maybe just a little bit treasured. Lucifer fucked dirty, talked dirty, but the way he kissed Sam now was something else, something like a plea, and Sam's chest twisted, wondering what he was pleading for.
"It is?" he pushed, casting about for his discarded pants and boxers. "I have to -- I have to get back to work." He reached for his shirt, but Lucifer curled a hand around his wrist, a sudden gravitas in his eyes.
"Yes," he said, "but Sam -- I want you to know." His thumb traced a smooth line up the inside of Sam's wrist, toyed with the bracelet-lines by the heel of his hand. "I thought you were something special, first time I saw you." He paused, wet his lips. "I wasn't wrong."
Sam stopped, shirt still clutched in one hand, pants half-buttoned. Lucifer was close enough that Sam could hear his breathing, and it didn't take much to turn toward him, hold his eyes. "Yeah?"
Lucifer's smile, at least, was genuine. "Yes," he said, and gave Sam's hand a squeeze before he released it. "If you want to walk out of this office, Sam Winchester, and never come back, you can, and I won't hold it against you, I promise you. But if you wanted to come back..."
He trailed off. His mouth was pink, still a little swollen from the force of their rough, tongue-and-teeth kisses, and his hair was mussed from Sam's hands. He looked debauched, well-fucked and sexy, but there was something else in his expression, and it was that something that made Sam falter, his own chest going tight. He swallowed. "Same time tomorrow, sir? I could -- " He made himself go on. "I could put you in my Outlook calendar as a regular meeting, if you like." He paused, bit his lip. "If you think we need the time. If it'd be...beneficial."
The smile that broke out on Lucifer's face was reward enough in itself for the way Sam's heart was racing, enough to soothe the spike of adrenaline and transmute it into something deep and warm. "I think," Lucifer said, "that would be best, Mr Winchester." His thumb pushed at the base of Sam's palm for a moment, and then it was gone, leaving only cool air and a craving in its wake. "Have my secretary make a note on your way out, would you?"
Sam swallowed, straightened, pulled the two sides of his shirt together one-handed. "I'll do that, sir," he promised, rough, and his pulse was a thready flutter at the base of his jaw. "Same time tomorrow."
*
eta: for your reference, this was the ridiculous Pellegrino hair I was envisaging, jsyk. :)
