Fic: The Other Side
Title: The Other Side
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1162
Warnings: Collars
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Lucifer doesn't submit easily.
AN: Written for the 'collars' square, for kink_bingo
It's just a dark strip of leather that looks stiff and new. But it runs warm through Sam's hands when he twists it, soft underneath and slippery smooth on the outside. He knows that it's not just leather, he knows that it's something more than that by the way Lucifer refuses to look at it.
Sam's never thought about this, he's never wanted anything like this before. But he's not going to pretend that the thought of collaring Lucifer doesn't leave him breathing through a rush of blood that threatens to make him dizzy.
"You said you couldn't trust me," Lucifer says flatly. As if that explains everything.
"I didn't expect this," Sam admits.
"You could never hope to control me without some sort of binding."
"I never wanted to control you," Sam manages. His fingers press into the leather, leaving prints on the shiny perfection of it.
"Everyone wants control," Lucifer says. "And I've overwhelmed you often enough to feel your frustration, and your fear."
Sam wants to protest that it's not the same. That he'd never asked for this. But he still can't quite believe that Lucifer has brought this as a solution. Lucifer never gives up control, he's refused anything that even looks like it.
"I will bow before you if that's what you need."
"You think this is what I need?" Sam asks, and he's still holding it, still numbly feeling the weight of it, like it's something he doesn’t know what to do with.
Lucifer says nothing, just watches him. Sam has to wonder how long it took him to come here. To do this.
"Kneel down," Sam says quietly.
Lucifer's eyes are steel, and there's a war going on there that Sam's worried is going to break him.
But then, in one slow movement, Lucifer sinks to his knees, folds into himself. All curves of skin and muscle. He doesn’t submit easily, he doesn’t submit gracefully. His head is bent but his jaw is a hard line of tension, teeth gritted, hands fisted on his own thighs. It's a moment of silent fury. But he holds himself still.
Sam leans down.
"You don't have to do this," he says against the side of Lucifer's face, skin cold under the roughness of his stubble. "You don't have to prove anything to me."
"I know." Lucifer's voice is flat, but firm.
Sam's fingers meet at the back of his neck, buckle the leather into place with more calmness than he feels. It's still warmer than it should be, strangely threatening, and it takes Sam a long second to pull his hands away, thumbs moving from leather to skin.
Lucifer shivers like he's not expecting the touch, and he's warm now, so much warmer than he usually is. He touches in the silence, because he can, because Lucifer's quiet and still and he's letting him. Sam's also breathless in a way that makes him a liar. Because he thinks he did want this. Somewhere he's barely admitted to himself.
He doesn't even know he's going to dig a hand into Lucifer's hair until he does, until he can tip his head back, watch the way the leather presses into the curve of his throat.
Lucifer inhales, sharp and real, stiffening under Sam's enthusiasm.
"I've been yours since I was born, you can be mine for this." Sam keeps his voice soft, just air against the devil's skin.
Lucifer relaxes, just a fraction, muscles un-knotting. He's not calm under Sam's hands but he doesn’t feel like coiled fury any more. He gives, carefully, in pieces. He lets Sam pull him to his feet and press him back into the sheets.
He watches Lucifer's wrist go pale under the grip of his fingers and understands that Lucifer's skin will bruise like this. Sam could hurt him like this. Part of him knows the devil would deserve it, that he wouldn't protest if Sam wanted that, if Sam needed that from him.
But this quiet, tense vulnerability. Sam wants it in a way that makes him feel guilty. In a way that he'd honestly never known before this moment. He wants this trust that he knows Lucifer is not used to giving and he wants the power of it.
He presses the devil's arms up over his head, presses down into him. Lucifer's a firm line of hardness against his stomach and he chokes out a groan when Sam's hand slips down, and catches and touches him for just long enough to put a hitch in his breath, to leave his hips shifting restlessly.
The bag by the bed is just within reach if he stretches and Sam drags it close and pulls it open, fishes out the bottle he finds inside. Because Lucifer expects him to take this and Sam's not going to refuse. There's no way on earth he's going to refuse this. His fingers are already slick, knee already shifting Lucifer's thighs open.
Lucifer exhales when he breaches him, a long rush of air that moves Sam's hair.
"How much of this can you feel?" Sam asks. Because he has two fingers pushed into him and the quick tense and shift of Lucifer's thighs is restless and greedy. But there's a tremor of something new under there.
"Everything." Lucifer's voice is deep and rough, straying close to breaking. "I can feel everything."
Sam slides his fingers into the edge of the collar, knuckles pressed against Lucifer's throat, the skin there is warm and damp. Lucifer's eyes half shut, then narrow when Sam's hand eases free, when he pushes Lucifer's knee up the bed to slip between his thighs.
Sam's too desperate to stop, to wait. He tightens his grip on the leather when he slides in, when he sinks into the strange warmth of Lucifer's body, listening to the broken sounds that push out of his throat. The way he makes noises like he wants this, while the muscles in his body tense and shift wherever Sam's hands lay.
It's sharper and harder than they've ever been before, so raw that it almost hurts. Sam's not going to last, he's already digging teeth into his lower lip, breath coming out in low, hot bursts.
He breaks between one thrust and the next. Then shakes his way through it, Lucifer's name unsteady on his tongue.
Lucifer's eyes are shut when he comes.
Sam holds himself still until he slips free. Then his fingers lift, loose and shaky, to the buckle at the back of Lucifer's neck, sliding the leather free in one movement. He can feel Lucifer's skin cooling, warm fading to the deep chill that's more familiar. The collar slides out of his hand and gets lost in the sheets.
Lucifer's hand lifts and finds his hair. Sam waits for it to grip, for some sort of reassertion of dominance.
But there's nothing but the trail of fingers through his hair. For long enough that he eventually relaxes again.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Lucifer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1162
Warnings: Collars
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Lucifer doesn't submit easily.
AN: Written for the 'collars' square, for kink_bingo
It's just a dark strip of leather that looks stiff and new. But it runs warm through Sam's hands when he twists it, soft underneath and slippery smooth on the outside. He knows that it's not just leather, he knows that it's something more than that by the way Lucifer refuses to look at it.
Sam's never thought about this, he's never wanted anything like this before. But he's not going to pretend that the thought of collaring Lucifer doesn't leave him breathing through a rush of blood that threatens to make him dizzy.
"You said you couldn't trust me," Lucifer says flatly. As if that explains everything.
"I didn't expect this," Sam admits.
"You could never hope to control me without some sort of binding."
"I never wanted to control you," Sam manages. His fingers press into the leather, leaving prints on the shiny perfection of it.
"Everyone wants control," Lucifer says. "And I've overwhelmed you often enough to feel your frustration, and your fear."
Sam wants to protest that it's not the same. That he'd never asked for this. But he still can't quite believe that Lucifer has brought this as a solution. Lucifer never gives up control, he's refused anything that even looks like it.
"I will bow before you if that's what you need."
"You think this is what I need?" Sam asks, and he's still holding it, still numbly feeling the weight of it, like it's something he doesn’t know what to do with.
Lucifer says nothing, just watches him. Sam has to wonder how long it took him to come here. To do this.
"Kneel down," Sam says quietly.
Lucifer's eyes are steel, and there's a war going on there that Sam's worried is going to break him.
But then, in one slow movement, Lucifer sinks to his knees, folds into himself. All curves of skin and muscle. He doesn’t submit easily, he doesn’t submit gracefully. His head is bent but his jaw is a hard line of tension, teeth gritted, hands fisted on his own thighs. It's a moment of silent fury. But he holds himself still.
Sam leans down.
"You don't have to do this," he says against the side of Lucifer's face, skin cold under the roughness of his stubble. "You don't have to prove anything to me."
"I know." Lucifer's voice is flat, but firm.
Sam's fingers meet at the back of his neck, buckle the leather into place with more calmness than he feels. It's still warmer than it should be, strangely threatening, and it takes Sam a long second to pull his hands away, thumbs moving from leather to skin.
Lucifer shivers like he's not expecting the touch, and he's warm now, so much warmer than he usually is. He touches in the silence, because he can, because Lucifer's quiet and still and he's letting him. Sam's also breathless in a way that makes him a liar. Because he thinks he did want this. Somewhere he's barely admitted to himself.
He doesn't even know he's going to dig a hand into Lucifer's hair until he does, until he can tip his head back, watch the way the leather presses into the curve of his throat.
Lucifer inhales, sharp and real, stiffening under Sam's enthusiasm.
"I've been yours since I was born, you can be mine for this." Sam keeps his voice soft, just air against the devil's skin.
Lucifer relaxes, just a fraction, muscles un-knotting. He's not calm under Sam's hands but he doesn’t feel like coiled fury any more. He gives, carefully, in pieces. He lets Sam pull him to his feet and press him back into the sheets.
He watches Lucifer's wrist go pale under the grip of his fingers and understands that Lucifer's skin will bruise like this. Sam could hurt him like this. Part of him knows the devil would deserve it, that he wouldn't protest if Sam wanted that, if Sam needed that from him.
But this quiet, tense vulnerability. Sam wants it in a way that makes him feel guilty. In a way that he'd honestly never known before this moment. He wants this trust that he knows Lucifer is not used to giving and he wants the power of it.
He presses the devil's arms up over his head, presses down into him. Lucifer's a firm line of hardness against his stomach and he chokes out a groan when Sam's hand slips down, and catches and touches him for just long enough to put a hitch in his breath, to leave his hips shifting restlessly.
The bag by the bed is just within reach if he stretches and Sam drags it close and pulls it open, fishes out the bottle he finds inside. Because Lucifer expects him to take this and Sam's not going to refuse. There's no way on earth he's going to refuse this. His fingers are already slick, knee already shifting Lucifer's thighs open.
Lucifer exhales when he breaches him, a long rush of air that moves Sam's hair.
"How much of this can you feel?" Sam asks. Because he has two fingers pushed into him and the quick tense and shift of Lucifer's thighs is restless and greedy. But there's a tremor of something new under there.
"Everything." Lucifer's voice is deep and rough, straying close to breaking. "I can feel everything."
Sam slides his fingers into the edge of the collar, knuckles pressed against Lucifer's throat, the skin there is warm and damp. Lucifer's eyes half shut, then narrow when Sam's hand eases free, when he pushes Lucifer's knee up the bed to slip between his thighs.
Sam's too desperate to stop, to wait. He tightens his grip on the leather when he slides in, when he sinks into the strange warmth of Lucifer's body, listening to the broken sounds that push out of his throat. The way he makes noises like he wants this, while the muscles in his body tense and shift wherever Sam's hands lay.
It's sharper and harder than they've ever been before, so raw that it almost hurts. Sam's not going to last, he's already digging teeth into his lower lip, breath coming out in low, hot bursts.
He breaks between one thrust and the next. Then shakes his way through it, Lucifer's name unsteady on his tongue.
Lucifer's eyes are shut when he comes.
Sam holds himself still until he slips free. Then his fingers lift, loose and shaky, to the buckle at the back of Lucifer's neck, sliding the leather free in one movement. He can feel Lucifer's skin cooling, warm fading to the deep chill that's more familiar. The collar slides out of his hand and gets lost in the sheets.
Lucifer's hand lifts and finds his hair. Sam waits for it to grip, for some sort of reassertion of dominance.
But there's nothing but the trail of fingers through his hair. For long enough that he eventually relaxes again.