"I don't know Bobby!" Sam overhears, groggily looking up from his pillow. Dean's already dressed, pacing up and down in from of their motel room, but the walls are thin enough that Sam can hear him anyway without too much effort. "He was tortured for god-knows-how-long in the pit…"
Sam doesn't even have to look for Lucifer, leaning up against the tiny kitchenette with a shit-eating grin. "It's always torture with him, isn't it?" The angel asks, and Sam has to stifle an amused sound of response, because if he can hear Dean, Dean might be able to hear him too. "Man, those were the good old days."
Lucifer punctuates his assertion with a running leap onto the bed that somehow manages to be both gleeful and graceful at the same time – not a combination Sam ever would have thought possible. "Just you and me babe," Lucifer sighs, cuddling up to Sam's side like an overlarge housecat "You and me and every flat – well, serviceable – surface…"
The giggles are threatening to burst from Sam's chest, so he does the only thing he can think of to shut Lucifer up before he absolutely loses it. He presses his lips over the angel's, blocking out whatever he was about to say. "Mmm," and because he can't help it, he whispers back, "remember that time, the one with the,"
"The one where Michael told us off?" His tone takes on a hysterically snooty impression of his older brother, "'God intended this as a punishment,' blah, blah, blah," Lucifer's hand slips onto his side, teasing the inch or so of stomach bared beneath his shirt, and Sam can't help but shiver as his hand travels lower.
"Heh. Who knew right?"
"About sadism? Hell, I invented it; that was kind of the point."
"Ahh, touché." Clever fingers tug open the drawstring to his sweatpants, and Sam momentarily loses his train of thought. "Oh, but not that time – the one with the… you know, tentacles."
"A hundred years of that, and you still blush every time." Lucifer chuckles, finally giving up the pretense that this isn't their own bizarre brand of foreplay. He tugs Sam's pants down to his knees, getting a fist on his cock before Sam can reciprocate. "Hey, what do you think Dean'd say if he walked in to you choking on my cock?"
Sam can't resist jerking up into Lucifer's fist with that comment, scrambling to free the angel's cock as well before he loses all semblance of brain function, "Well when you put it like that…"
It doesn't take long to rearrange, pants discarded in a hurry as they line up against each other. They might as well have read each other's minds for how well they slot into place so easily, Sam on his back with his head on the pillow and Lucifer facing the opposite wall.
Sam sucks his dick into his mouth easily – the result of nearly two hundred years of practice – and feels Lucifer do the same only a second later. He wastes no time in circling the head with his tongue, arching up slightly for a better angle. That's all it takes for his angel to force his hips down further, gagging Sam just the way he likes.
Lucifer enjoys it when he chokes and splutters, and Sam lets him feel it, going lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and the stimulation on his own cock. He tries to draw it out, closing his eyes to focus on the hot, slippery sensation of the angel's dick – dammit, he's thinking about the tentacles again – and then
"Sam! Sammy, I got you; it's okay." Sam opens his eyes to Dean shaking him by the shoulders, clearly panicking. Well, fuck.
"It's just a nightmare," His brother assures him – Damn you, Dean – "He's not here; you're safe with me."
Sam shuts his mouth, rolls over and buries his head in the pillow, ostentatiously for comfort, but it's really a carefully thought out strategic measure to avoid detection. "Thanks Dean." He groans, muffling his laughter in the threadbare pillowcase and sneakily grinding his erection against the mattress.
"Here we go again," Lucifer sighs, long-suffering as always, "Talk about torture – even Michael wasn't this bad of a cockblock."