He shouldn't feel safe.
He should be terrified. He should be screaming and trying to get away. He should be fighting against those black wings, and should be screaming for help that someone had gotten him. But he didn't. He wasn't afraid. None of those hunter senses were telling him he was in danger. only warmth and the slow rise and fall of a chest on his cheek. Steady hands rested on his shoulders. Maybe he had fallen into a spell. Maybe the angel had used some type of mojo and drugged him into enjoying this. Or maybe he had finally gone insane from all he saw, demons, blood, guts hearts, death, ghost and his brother dying for million and one times. Maybe he was dead and this was some sort of sick thing he devil had conjured up.
But would anything that bad feel so good?
Sam nuzzled deeper into the arms of soft clothing, smelling like firewood and coal. Something that was simple and comforting but held an ironic and morbid second meaning. The black mass of ink settled more comfortably on his form.
Yeah, maybe he was insane. Who cuddled Satan? Nobody, that's right. But in some way Lucifer had stopped being the bad guy and had become more of some off-limits pleasure that Sam couldn't deny. He saw no harm. The angel came when Dean was not there, sometimes Sam would leave just for him. He was always gentle and loving, listening if Sam wanted to vent, and affectionate when he needed it. Need. Sam was a needy person. He needed love, care, someone to tell him he was good. Dean didn't do that. Dean was strict, no mushy shit. No hugs or confessions. Just manliness and beer. Not that Sam wasn't a man and didn't enjoy such things. But he was, again, needy for love. Being deprived of it for so long was beginning to show.
Then Lucifer was there and He made it better. He praised Sam on his little ideas, how much he knew, when he was funny he would laugh, and he would sometimes just smile. Lucifer was perfect, because he would reach out to Sam even if he didn't ask. He would admire him, hold him, instill some type of warmth that made it all good. He was loved. And even if Lucifer was not the first thing you thought of at that word, everything under gods green Earth felt it. Love was part of the universe. so even a heartless fallen angel maybe felt it, and Sam never denied that he did. So why push away a cure to a lack of something he needed?
The wings shifted again, ruffling so one warm hand on his back lifted to preen a little. Sam rolled his head up to look at Lucifer working his feathers. A mass of green and purple and black shimmering and holding him in their tiny world. A smile and a kiss was bestowed upon his forehead. "I love you." tumbled out.
"I love you too." The hunter replied, and fluttered his eyes closed to fall back into his fallen angel. And even if it was sick, or twisted. A disease, a mental illness maybe, it could be. even if Sam was not aware he didn't want this.
Somewhere deep down, he was in love with Lucifer.