Learn To Fly [Sam/Lucifer]
LEARN TO FLY;
Who: Sam/Lucifer
What: Lucifer holds Sam hostage at a strange hotel. It's not as bad as Sam thinks.
When: Ambiguous Season 5 Blanket
Word Count: ~1,500
Warnings: PG; cuddling, some mostly innocent touching.
Author's Note: There are a lot of "he says, she says" methods of writing in this story. I've been reading a lot of Richard Matheson as of late, and so I sort of subconsciously incorporated that type style into this fic. Also, Lost reference, FTW. >>
When Sam wakes up, he's cuddling with Lucifer.
The entire hotel staff is baffled by the strange, sudden yelling that rings throughout the building.
When Sam wakes up, he's cuddling with Lucifer.
The entire hotel staff is baffled by the strange, sudden yelling that rings throughout the building.
***
"Where are we?" Sam asks.
"You need to eat," Lucifer evades.
Sam's head hurts and his breath reeks of alcohol.
"Did you take advantage of me?" he cries out, horrified.
Stupid question. It's the Devil.
Lucifer shakes his head, sets down a plate of pancakes on the kitchen counter. He walks towards Sam.
Sam hasn't moved from his spot huddled in the corner. He stares at the paint that isn't chipped and at the trim that isn't peeling and he laughs at how ridiculous it is that he'd notice such stupid details when Satan is loitering around the room.
"Do you like the accommodations?"
Lucifer had picked a nice hotel, had commandeered a suite at the top floor.
"Did you?" Sam insists.
"No," Lucifer says.
"Good," Sam says.
The reassurance does nothing. Sam's stomach drops when he realizes Lucifer is still coming closer.
"Stay back," he bites out, gruff and shaky.
"No," Lucifer says.
Sam winces when a hand reaches for his hair. He jerks his arms up and tries to knock it away, but it's like pushing at a granite wall.
"Did you--" Sam starts again, aware of the heat that spreads through his body when the Devil lays his palm flat along the top of his head.
"No," Lucifer says, cutting him off. "But I will."
***
Sam is trying to find a good allegory.
The term you can't rape the willing applies.
Problem is, he's not being raped. He's being spooned.
Sam isn't entirely sure which is worse.
If it was rape, Sam could hate Satan. But Lucifer isn't trying to hurt him; Lucifer is trying to make him see.
Sam doesn't want to see. He wants to close his eyes and block out the feelings. He wants to shake off how utterly, terribly comfortable the Devil is.
"You like this, don't you, Sam?"
"No."
Lately, Sam's been lying more than the Father of Lies.
***
It's been nearly three days. That's almost an hour in real time.
Lucifer has slowed down Sam's perception, brought both their realities to a screeching stop. He says he can do that because they're the same. He says he can do that because Sam is special.
Sam hasn't slept in three days because the Devil insists on sleeping with him, beside him -- the Devil insists on touching him, holding him, studying his body with skilled, innocent strokes. Lucifer never invades. Lucifer never violates. Lucifer presses and comforts and is fascinated by Sam; his entire attention is constantly focused on his vessel.
Sam hates it because it makes him feel owned.
And he thinks he likes it.
***
Lucifer is holding Sam's face between his hands. Sam wakes up like this, blinks away the weariness and tries to jolt back. The grip holds strong, immobile.
Lucifer's thumbs glide in perfect circles along Sam's jaw. They dip beneath, the edge of a nail creasing the flesh, pulling back, the pad moving up, pressing along Sam's lower lip. Sweeping, studying.
"Beautiful," he whispers. "Mine," he says.
***
"If you're trying to bore me to death," Sam says, shifting in his seat, "you're doing a good job."
"I would never hurt you," replies Lucifer. He's staring out the window, up at the sky.
"Right."
Lucifer's gaze skitters across the floor, lands on his companion. Sam is staring at him. He doesn't think Sam has stopped staring at him.
Sam stands up. He walks closer, changes his mind, sits back down.
"You're the Devil," he says, waving a flippant hand towards the fallen angel in question. "Aren't you supposed to be more... interesting?"
Lucifer glances at him for a tick, then taps his fingers on the windowsill.
"Do you want to hear a story, Sam?"
Yes.
"No."
Lucifer begins, "When I was first created, I didn't know how to fly. My wings didn't work right. The other angels knew by instinct, but mine were unresponsive.
"One day, Michael pushed me off the edge of a cumulus cloud. I hit the ground. Another day, he threw me out into the sea. I sank. Each time he tried to make me fly, I never succeeded."
Sam swallows hard. Lucifer is still peering up at the sky.
"Did you?" Sam finally asks.
Lucifer tilts his head, turns his gaze towards the human.
"Did I what?"
"Learn how to fly."
The room is silent. The Devil smiles and something in Sam's heart cracks.
"No. But I learned how to fall."
***
When Sam asks when he'll be released, Lucifer asks, "Why do you want to go?"
"Because you're Satan."
Lucifer nods slowly, crosses his arms.
"Three times," he says. "Ask me three times, and on the third I will let you go."
Sam asks him three times in succession. Lucifer smiles and says that's against the rules.
Sam asks, "What rules?"
Lucifer says, "My rules."
The ambiguity of the answer drives Sam to seek out the mini bar.
***
Nearly a week has passed. Almost three hours.
Sam has been eating the Devil's pancakes. Yesterday, he stopped feeling bad about it.
The day is bland. Lucifer does nothing but stare out the window. Sam thinks it's a clever trick, because the stillness of the air eventually pushes him to seek out the only other living creature in the room.
Sam sits down in a chair opposite the Devil. A little round table separates them.
Lucifer glances at him, his face open, eyes calmly endearing.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Sam asks, licking his lower lip.
"Yes," Lucifer answers immediately.
"When I was little," Sam says, "Dean pushed me down a flight of stairs. Twelve of them. I broke my ankle."
Sam taps his fingers along the tabletop.
Lucifer watches, intent.
"If he hadn't," Sam continues, "I would've been killed by a monster."
The room is silent. The silence is physical.
"Let me go," Sam says slowly, carefully. He worries his tongue in his mouth.
Lucifer holds up a hand, the index extended, the others folded.
"One," he says.
***
The next time Sam wakes up, Lucifer is kissing his forehead. Sam doesn't bother to jerk away. He knows it would be useless.
He closes his eyes instead. His body shudders from head to toe.
"What do you want?" Sam asks. The words grate against his throat.
"You," Lucifer replies.
Lucifer likes the patch of flesh just below the small of Sam's back. He likes to caress it, likes the way Sam arches against his body every time his too-hot fingers make another sweep.
"Let me go," Sam pants, his face falling to Lucifer's shoulder, his nose buried in the angel's neck.
"Two," Lucifer says, then pushes Sam back against the bed and kisses him.
***
Their legs are tangled at the beginning of the second week. Past four hours, now.
Sam hasn't gotten out of bed yet. Neither has Lucifer. They don't really want to move, so they stay locked together like two twisted puzzle pieces vying to become one.
Sam can feel it. The sense of belonging that oozes from the Devil's borrowed skin envelopes him like a warm blanket. It cocoons him, suffocates him when Lucifer straddles his hips and whispers soft words of praise into his ear.
Sam is getting lost. He's forgotten how to breathe, so he leans up and steals the Devil's air.
Lucifer worships Sam's body. It is the height of vanity.
When they're done, Lucifer pulls Sam close and runs his hands along every inch of the human's skin.
"Mine," he says.
Sam shudders, opens his mouth to say something, but Lucifer kisses it away.
***
"Do you want to hear a story?" Sam asks.
Lucifer is cradling his body. They're lying in bed.
"Yes," Lucifer answers.
Sam leans his back into the warm chest pressed close behind him.
"When my ankle was healing, dad disappeared for a week. Dean didn't leave my bedside."
Lucifer kisses the back of Sam's neck.
Sam opens his mouth to say something, and Lucifer's embrace tightens.
"You know," Sam says, "if you unlock the door, I won't have to ask you to let me go."
***
The next morning, edging on five hours, Lucifer is gone. Sam tries the door. It swings open.
He leaves a note on the bed.
See me for flying lessons.
- S
His number is written on the back.
Who: Sam/Lucifer
What: Lucifer holds Sam hostage at a strange hotel. It's not as bad as Sam thinks.
When: Ambiguous Season 5 Blanket
Word Count: ~1,500
Warnings: PG; cuddling, some mostly innocent touching.
Author's Note: There are a lot of "he says, she says" methods of writing in this story. I've been reading a lot of Richard Matheson as of late, and so I sort of subconsciously incorporated that type style into this fic. Also, Lost reference, FTW. >>
When Sam wakes up, he's cuddling with Lucifer.
The entire hotel staff is baffled by the strange, sudden yelling that rings throughout the building.
When Sam wakes up, he's cuddling with Lucifer.
The entire hotel staff is baffled by the strange, sudden yelling that rings throughout the building.
***
"Where are we?" Sam asks.
"You need to eat," Lucifer evades.
Sam's head hurts and his breath reeks of alcohol.
"Did you take advantage of me?" he cries out, horrified.
Stupid question. It's the Devil.
Lucifer shakes his head, sets down a plate of pancakes on the kitchen counter. He walks towards Sam.
Sam hasn't moved from his spot huddled in the corner. He stares at the paint that isn't chipped and at the trim that isn't peeling and he laughs at how ridiculous it is that he'd notice such stupid details when Satan is loitering around the room.
"Do you like the accommodations?"
Lucifer had picked a nice hotel, had commandeered a suite at the top floor.
"Did you?" Sam insists.
"No," Lucifer says.
"Good," Sam says.
The reassurance does nothing. Sam's stomach drops when he realizes Lucifer is still coming closer.
"Stay back," he bites out, gruff and shaky.
"No," Lucifer says.
Sam winces when a hand reaches for his hair. He jerks his arms up and tries to knock it away, but it's like pushing at a granite wall.
"Did you--" Sam starts again, aware of the heat that spreads through his body when the Devil lays his palm flat along the top of his head.
"No," Lucifer says, cutting him off. "But I will."
***
Sam is trying to find a good allegory.
The term you can't rape the willing applies.
Problem is, he's not being raped. He's being spooned.
Sam isn't entirely sure which is worse.
If it was rape, Sam could hate Satan. But Lucifer isn't trying to hurt him; Lucifer is trying to make him see.
Sam doesn't want to see. He wants to close his eyes and block out the feelings. He wants to shake off how utterly, terribly comfortable the Devil is.
"You like this, don't you, Sam?"
"No."
Lately, Sam's been lying more than the Father of Lies.
***
It's been nearly three days. That's almost an hour in real time.
Lucifer has slowed down Sam's perception, brought both their realities to a screeching stop. He says he can do that because they're the same. He says he can do that because Sam is special.
Sam hasn't slept in three days because the Devil insists on sleeping with him, beside him -- the Devil insists on touching him, holding him, studying his body with skilled, innocent strokes. Lucifer never invades. Lucifer never violates. Lucifer presses and comforts and is fascinated by Sam; his entire attention is constantly focused on his vessel.
Sam hates it because it makes him feel owned.
And he thinks he likes it.
***
Lucifer is holding Sam's face between his hands. Sam wakes up like this, blinks away the weariness and tries to jolt back. The grip holds strong, immobile.
Lucifer's thumbs glide in perfect circles along Sam's jaw. They dip beneath, the edge of a nail creasing the flesh, pulling back, the pad moving up, pressing along Sam's lower lip. Sweeping, studying.
"Beautiful," he whispers. "Mine," he says.
***
"If you're trying to bore me to death," Sam says, shifting in his seat, "you're doing a good job."
"I would never hurt you," replies Lucifer. He's staring out the window, up at the sky.
"Right."
Lucifer's gaze skitters across the floor, lands on his companion. Sam is staring at him. He doesn't think Sam has stopped staring at him.
Sam stands up. He walks closer, changes his mind, sits back down.
"You're the Devil," he says, waving a flippant hand towards the fallen angel in question. "Aren't you supposed to be more... interesting?"
Lucifer glances at him for a tick, then taps his fingers on the windowsill.
"Do you want to hear a story, Sam?"
Yes.
"No."
Lucifer begins, "When I was first created, I didn't know how to fly. My wings didn't work right. The other angels knew by instinct, but mine were unresponsive.
"One day, Michael pushed me off the edge of a cumulus cloud. I hit the ground. Another day, he threw me out into the sea. I sank. Each time he tried to make me fly, I never succeeded."
Sam swallows hard. Lucifer is still peering up at the sky.
"Did you?" Sam finally asks.
Lucifer tilts his head, turns his gaze towards the human.
"Did I what?"
"Learn how to fly."
The room is silent. The Devil smiles and something in Sam's heart cracks.
"No. But I learned how to fall."
***
When Sam asks when he'll be released, Lucifer asks, "Why do you want to go?"
"Because you're Satan."
Lucifer nods slowly, crosses his arms.
"Three times," he says. "Ask me three times, and on the third I will let you go."
Sam asks him three times in succession. Lucifer smiles and says that's against the rules.
Sam asks, "What rules?"
Lucifer says, "My rules."
The ambiguity of the answer drives Sam to seek out the mini bar.
***
Nearly a week has passed. Almost three hours.
Sam has been eating the Devil's pancakes. Yesterday, he stopped feeling bad about it.
The day is bland. Lucifer does nothing but stare out the window. Sam thinks it's a clever trick, because the stillness of the air eventually pushes him to seek out the only other living creature in the room.
Sam sits down in a chair opposite the Devil. A little round table separates them.
Lucifer glances at him, his face open, eyes calmly endearing.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Sam asks, licking his lower lip.
"Yes," Lucifer answers immediately.
"When I was little," Sam says, "Dean pushed me down a flight of stairs. Twelve of them. I broke my ankle."
Sam taps his fingers along the tabletop.
Lucifer watches, intent.
"If he hadn't," Sam continues, "I would've been killed by a monster."
The room is silent. The silence is physical.
"Let me go," Sam says slowly, carefully. He worries his tongue in his mouth.
Lucifer holds up a hand, the index extended, the others folded.
"One," he says.
***
The next time Sam wakes up, Lucifer is kissing his forehead. Sam doesn't bother to jerk away. He knows it would be useless.
He closes his eyes instead. His body shudders from head to toe.
"What do you want?" Sam asks. The words grate against his throat.
"You," Lucifer replies.
Lucifer likes the patch of flesh just below the small of Sam's back. He likes to caress it, likes the way Sam arches against his body every time his too-hot fingers make another sweep.
"Let me go," Sam pants, his face falling to Lucifer's shoulder, his nose buried in the angel's neck.
"Two," Lucifer says, then pushes Sam back against the bed and kisses him.
***
Their legs are tangled at the beginning of the second week. Past four hours, now.
Sam hasn't gotten out of bed yet. Neither has Lucifer. They don't really want to move, so they stay locked together like two twisted puzzle pieces vying to become one.
Sam can feel it. The sense of belonging that oozes from the Devil's borrowed skin envelopes him like a warm blanket. It cocoons him, suffocates him when Lucifer straddles his hips and whispers soft words of praise into his ear.
Sam is getting lost. He's forgotten how to breathe, so he leans up and steals the Devil's air.
Lucifer worships Sam's body. It is the height of vanity.
When they're done, Lucifer pulls Sam close and runs his hands along every inch of the human's skin.
"Mine," he says.
Sam shudders, opens his mouth to say something, but Lucifer kisses it away.
***
"Do you want to hear a story?" Sam asks.
Lucifer is cradling his body. They're lying in bed.
"Yes," Lucifer answers.
Sam leans his back into the warm chest pressed close behind him.
"When my ankle was healing, dad disappeared for a week. Dean didn't leave my bedside."
Lucifer kisses the back of Sam's neck.
Sam opens his mouth to say something, and Lucifer's embrace tightens.
"You know," Sam says, "if you unlock the door, I won't have to ask you to let me go."
***
The next morning, edging on five hours, Lucifer is gone. Sam tries the door. It swings open.
He leaves a note on the bed.
See me for flying lessons.
- S
His number is written on the back.