fic: I Can't Tell You and Me Apart
Title: I Can't Tell You and Me Apart
Author: wolfish_willow
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: R
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Kripke and the CW. I'm just having some fun with them. No profit is being made.
Word Count: 1,494
Spoilers: 7x01
Warnings: Dub-con/Consent issues, may be triggering.
Beta: insertcode11 (who was even more awesome and came up with a title for this thing)
Summary: Icy blue eyes bore unwaveringly into him, steadily studying his face - cataloguing every reaction, every breath and tic and twitch.
Notes: IDK what's wrong with me. I started writing this at 1 in the morning the night I finally watched the second episode of season 7 (it took me the week to build myself up to it) while I was practically half asleep. But it wouldn't leave me alone and I took what I'd written and finished it in a couple days. It's been sitting, beta'd, in my hard drive since that week because I was too nervous to look over it.
Notes 2: I know this is way late considering how far we've gotten into the season. But I was really anxious about reading it over and posting because of the dub-con aspects of this. It's something that sometimes squicks me and sometimes doesn't (it all depends on the fic and how it's written, it seems), and I was worried.
-----
"Long time, no spooning."
Icy blue eyes bore unwaveringly into him, steadily studying his face - cataloguing every reaction, every breath and tic and twitch. They practically dance in the dim lighting, lips quirking up. Ever amused by his human pet's reactions.
"You're not real," Sam breathes, voice shaking and not at all secure enough to be believed. But he hopes - even when he knows better than to hope anymore because this is Lucifer and if Sam's learned anything in his time in the cage it's that the Devil is more than capable of ridding Sam of all his hopes until he's nothing more than what the fallen angel has shaped him into.
But it can't be real.
The jar of blood is heavy in his hands, reminding him of what he's doing back here at all, but when he moves to walk past Lucifer - not Lucifer, because the Devil is still locked far away in his cage without Sam to torment, and why did Dean choose Sam when Adam is just an innocent kid alone down there, the Devil's new toy by default without Sam to protect him --
Sam blinks, forcing himself to focus on the here and now, where he can help protect people. Help people. Help Dean.
He tries again to pass Lucifer, but can't help the way he steps back when the angel blocks his path.
Don't touch him, he commands himself fervently.
Don't touch him, don't touch him, don'ttouchhim.
It doesn't matter that it isn't real -- can't be real. Once those hands are on him, he'll be done for and Sam can't do that to Dean, to the world when he's still got to get the blood to them somehow.
When it's clear Lucifer won't let him through, Sam crouches down, careful and slow and never taking his eyes off the fallen angel in front of him, swallowing thickly at the sympathetic smirk thrown his way as he sets the jar on the ground. He stands, tries to hold himself straight. Confident; like his big brother would.
He can't quite make more than a slouch, shoulders hunched forward like they can protect him from the words Lucifer starts spinning, the lies.
...But when has he ever lied to you, Sam? a traitorous voice - that sounds so much like the broken, Hell piece of himself he'd stabbed through to get back to his brother - whispers in his head. He almost wishes he'd listened then, to those words of caution, even as shame floods through him at the mere thought of leaving his brother alone. Of being so selfish, again.
None of it's true, though. Can't be true because he's been back topside for over a year. Been back with his brother and Bobby and before them the Campbell's, soulless as he'd been. He can't still be in the cage because if he is - if this world with his brother is all a lie - Sam can't get past it. Won't get past it.
Then Lucifer's lifting his hand, a quick sharp movement and he flinches, his whole body tensing painfully at the motion that he's learned means hurt and blood and pain. All combined with something worse that he refuses to give a name to, and he backs up, turns to get out of there before the Devil can touch him - it's useless, you can't get away, that voice whispers in his ear - and he stumble-runs into another large empty space in the building, nothing but bare walls and even barer shelves occupying it.
Lucifer's already there, smiling in that pleased way Sam wishes he could forget. Like Sam's done something especially well; done just what he wanted. He wishes he didn't know what came next as an ice cold hand cups his cheek, wiping away tears he hadn't noticed falling, borrowed body pressing him into the wall. That hand slides down to wrap around his throat, fingers of the angel's free hand curling over the waistband of his jeans, thumb rubbing over the jut of his hipbone. Not tight enough to squeeze, but unyielding. Unwilling to let go of what belongs to him.
Unwilling to let go of Sam.
"You're not real," he chokes out, but it's even less steady now than it had been when he'd first uttered the words, he believes his own words even less and the Devil just laughs pleasantly and digs his thumb more firmly into Sam's hip. "Don't I feel real?"
Suddenly there's a tickle of warm breath across his cheek, words whispered like sweet nothings he wants nothing to do with in his ear. "Remember all the fun we had, Sammy?"
Shit, he thinks - yells, screams inside his head because he can't make his throat work, can't get the word out - but it sends all the wrong kinds of shivers down his spine when he hears that nickname from those lips. A whimper is all that makes it through and the fingers around his throat tighten, drawing another full-body shiver. He should struggle, should lift his arms from his sides and wrench that hand from his neck because it isn't real, but he can't. There's nothing he can do to fight against it, feels himself pressing harder into the hand holding him immobile.
Lucifer pulls back until Sam can see into ice cold eyes that still seem to burn, teeth flashing before his grin morphs into a familiar smirk that has Sam's body tensing against what it'll bring this time.
"You're my little bitch, in every sense of the term." The Devil's other hand slides up from where he's been clutching Sam's hip, goosebumps trailing the skin beneath his clothes in its wake like he's not even wearing any. It tickles across his cheek and Sam clenches his eyes shut when Lucifer starts rubbing deceptively soothing circles over his temple and up through his hair, body straining to lean into the strokes it's beginning to remember, what he's clung to, what's been there for over a century.
"Tell me, Sam," he whispers against Sam's cheek, stubble catching on his skin when Sam shakes his head because he won't. He's done with this game, he's done being Lucifer's plaything, a fallen angel's kept boy.
But his body won't stop pushing into the hand at his throat, relaxing under the almost-calming strokes through his hair and he bites his lip against it.
Sam blinks his eyes open when Lucifer pauses just long enough in his ministrations to tug Sam's lips from his teeth. The angel pulls back - hand finding its way back into Sam's hair, fingers skating over his forehead and down the back of his neck and along his scalp - and locks their gazes. "Say it."
Sam goes limp in his hold, the Devil's borrowed body pressed into his the only thing holding him up and doesn't think about it anymore. Can't think about it anymore. Not with Lucifer's hands on him, not when he's practically purring under the attention.
"Yours," he answers, the first word to come from his mouth with absolute certainty since he woke up and Dean told him that this was real. Since he started seeing visions of Lucifer and the cage at every turn.
The Devil gives a cheshire cat grin and lets go of Sam's already bruising throat, barely pausing before leaning forward and marking it with his teeth instead.
Sam closes his eyes and hisses, arms finally lifting from his sides only to tug at Lucifer's and drag him impossibly closer. His name echoes through the room, Dean's voice getting closer with each call, but Sam doesn't move until he feels Lucifer draw back, Sam's blood staining usually white teeth when he smiles. The hand in his hair slips down his cheek and further until he's pressing into the new wound possessively, causing Sam to squirm in his loosened hold. Just another mark, one of many filtering into his memory of the pit. The first of many now that he's out.
"Until next time, pet."
Then he's gone, empty space where the Devil was just a moment before and Dean's running through the same doorway Sam had come through in his attempt to escape just minutes - but what feels like an eternity - ago, wearing the same concerned look he's been donning since Sam's wall came tumbling down. A look he remembers hazily from before his time in the cage and he answers his brother's questions until Dean' tone is closer to irritation at his disappearance than worry over what made him leave in the first place.
The bite on his neck heats up and Sam knows from experience that it's no longer visible, even as he feels the dull ache it left behind. Knows it won't be long before next time comes.
As they walk out, Bobby and Dean crowding his sides, he doesn't even try to convince himself he's not looking forward to it.
END
Author: wolfish_willow
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: R
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Kripke and the CW. I'm just having some fun with them. No profit is being made.
Word Count: 1,494
Spoilers: 7x01
Warnings: Dub-con/Consent issues, may be triggering.
Beta: insertcode11 (who was even more awesome and came up with a title for this thing)
Summary: Icy blue eyes bore unwaveringly into him, steadily studying his face - cataloguing every reaction, every breath and tic and twitch.
Notes: IDK what's wrong with me. I started writing this at 1 in the morning the night I finally watched the second episode of season 7 (it took me the week to build myself up to it) while I was practically half asleep. But it wouldn't leave me alone and I took what I'd written and finished it in a couple days. It's been sitting, beta'd, in my hard drive since that week because I was too nervous to look over it.
Notes 2: I know this is way late considering how far we've gotten into the season. But I was really anxious about reading it over and posting because of the dub-con aspects of this. It's something that sometimes squicks me and sometimes doesn't (it all depends on the fic and how it's written, it seems), and I was worried.
-----
"Long time, no spooning."
Icy blue eyes bore unwaveringly into him, steadily studying his face - cataloguing every reaction, every breath and tic and twitch. They practically dance in the dim lighting, lips quirking up. Ever amused by his human pet's reactions.
"You're not real," Sam breathes, voice shaking and not at all secure enough to be believed. But he hopes - even when he knows better than to hope anymore because this is Lucifer and if Sam's learned anything in his time in the cage it's that the Devil is more than capable of ridding Sam of all his hopes until he's nothing more than what the fallen angel has shaped him into.
But it can't be real.
The jar of blood is heavy in his hands, reminding him of what he's doing back here at all, but when he moves to walk past Lucifer - not Lucifer, because the Devil is still locked far away in his cage without Sam to torment, and why did Dean choose Sam when Adam is just an innocent kid alone down there, the Devil's new toy by default without Sam to protect him --
Sam blinks, forcing himself to focus on the here and now, where he can help protect people. Help people. Help Dean.
He tries again to pass Lucifer, but can't help the way he steps back when the angel blocks his path.
Don't touch him, he commands himself fervently.
Don't touch him, don't touch him, don'ttouchhim.
It doesn't matter that it isn't real -- can't be real. Once those hands are on him, he'll be done for and Sam can't do that to Dean, to the world when he's still got to get the blood to them somehow.
When it's clear Lucifer won't let him through, Sam crouches down, careful and slow and never taking his eyes off the fallen angel in front of him, swallowing thickly at the sympathetic smirk thrown his way as he sets the jar on the ground. He stands, tries to hold himself straight. Confident; like his big brother would.
He can't quite make more than a slouch, shoulders hunched forward like they can protect him from the words Lucifer starts spinning, the lies.
...But when has he ever lied to you, Sam? a traitorous voice - that sounds so much like the broken, Hell piece of himself he'd stabbed through to get back to his brother - whispers in his head. He almost wishes he'd listened then, to those words of caution, even as shame floods through him at the mere thought of leaving his brother alone. Of being so selfish, again.
None of it's true, though. Can't be true because he's been back topside for over a year. Been back with his brother and Bobby and before them the Campbell's, soulless as he'd been. He can't still be in the cage because if he is - if this world with his brother is all a lie - Sam can't get past it. Won't get past it.
Then Lucifer's lifting his hand, a quick sharp movement and he flinches, his whole body tensing painfully at the motion that he's learned means hurt and blood and pain. All combined with something worse that he refuses to give a name to, and he backs up, turns to get out of there before the Devil can touch him - it's useless, you can't get away, that voice whispers in his ear - and he stumble-runs into another large empty space in the building, nothing but bare walls and even barer shelves occupying it.
Lucifer's already there, smiling in that pleased way Sam wishes he could forget. Like Sam's done something especially well; done just what he wanted. He wishes he didn't know what came next as an ice cold hand cups his cheek, wiping away tears he hadn't noticed falling, borrowed body pressing him into the wall. That hand slides down to wrap around his throat, fingers of the angel's free hand curling over the waistband of his jeans, thumb rubbing over the jut of his hipbone. Not tight enough to squeeze, but unyielding. Unwilling to let go of what belongs to him.
Unwilling to let go of Sam.
"You're not real," he chokes out, but it's even less steady now than it had been when he'd first uttered the words, he believes his own words even less and the Devil just laughs pleasantly and digs his thumb more firmly into Sam's hip. "Don't I feel real?"
Suddenly there's a tickle of warm breath across his cheek, words whispered like sweet nothings he wants nothing to do with in his ear. "Remember all the fun we had, Sammy?"
Shit, he thinks - yells, screams inside his head because he can't make his throat work, can't get the word out - but it sends all the wrong kinds of shivers down his spine when he hears that nickname from those lips. A whimper is all that makes it through and the fingers around his throat tighten, drawing another full-body shiver. He should struggle, should lift his arms from his sides and wrench that hand from his neck because it isn't real, but he can't. There's nothing he can do to fight against it, feels himself pressing harder into the hand holding him immobile.
Lucifer pulls back until Sam can see into ice cold eyes that still seem to burn, teeth flashing before his grin morphs into a familiar smirk that has Sam's body tensing against what it'll bring this time.
"You're my little bitch, in every sense of the term." The Devil's other hand slides up from where he's been clutching Sam's hip, goosebumps trailing the skin beneath his clothes in its wake like he's not even wearing any. It tickles across his cheek and Sam clenches his eyes shut when Lucifer starts rubbing deceptively soothing circles over his temple and up through his hair, body straining to lean into the strokes it's beginning to remember, what he's clung to, what's been there for over a century.
"Tell me, Sam," he whispers against Sam's cheek, stubble catching on his skin when Sam shakes his head because he won't. He's done with this game, he's done being Lucifer's plaything, a fallen angel's kept boy.
But his body won't stop pushing into the hand at his throat, relaxing under the almost-calming strokes through his hair and he bites his lip against it.
Sam blinks his eyes open when Lucifer pauses just long enough in his ministrations to tug Sam's lips from his teeth. The angel pulls back - hand finding its way back into Sam's hair, fingers skating over his forehead and down the back of his neck and along his scalp - and locks their gazes. "Say it."
Sam goes limp in his hold, the Devil's borrowed body pressed into his the only thing holding him up and doesn't think about it anymore. Can't think about it anymore. Not with Lucifer's hands on him, not when he's practically purring under the attention.
"Yours," he answers, the first word to come from his mouth with absolute certainty since he woke up and Dean told him that this was real. Since he started seeing visions of Lucifer and the cage at every turn.
The Devil gives a cheshire cat grin and lets go of Sam's already bruising throat, barely pausing before leaning forward and marking it with his teeth instead.
Sam closes his eyes and hisses, arms finally lifting from his sides only to tug at Lucifer's and drag him impossibly closer. His name echoes through the room, Dean's voice getting closer with each call, but Sam doesn't move until he feels Lucifer draw back, Sam's blood staining usually white teeth when he smiles. The hand in his hair slips down his cheek and further until he's pressing into the new wound possessively, causing Sam to squirm in his loosened hold. Just another mark, one of many filtering into his memory of the pit. The first of many now that he's out.
"Until next time, pet."
Then he's gone, empty space where the Devil was just a moment before and Dean's running through the same doorway Sam had come through in his attempt to escape just minutes - but what feels like an eternity - ago, wearing the same concerned look he's been donning since Sam's wall came tumbling down. A look he remembers hazily from before his time in the cage and he answers his brother's questions until Dean' tone is closer to irritation at his disappearance than worry over what made him leave in the first place.
The bite on his neck heats up and Sam knows from experience that it's no longer visible, even as he feels the dull ache it left behind. Knows it won't be long before next time comes.
As they walk out, Bobby and Dean crowding his sides, he doesn't even try to convince himself he's not looking forward to it.
END