Angel Shot

Are you on a date that isn't going well? Do you feel unsafe, or even just a little weird? Just go to the bar and order an Angel Shot.

Fingers drummed along the black granite top of a bar.

A fast-paced Rihanna song shook the ground in the busy club. Blue eyes darted from person to person. His left hand was chilled from his short glass of vodka.

An angry exhale drew his attention to the left. Next to him, a tall brunet stood scowling into his glass of coke. He glanced up from his soda to curl his lip in the direction of a guy with two blonde women hanging off his arm.

Lucifer's eyes lit up and he felt his pulse quicken. A smile curled up both corners of his lips.

He casually glanced the man up and down. He was a bit taller, well-built, and seemed alert.

Lucifer sidled closer. The guy seemed to ignore him, and pulled a disgusted face as one of the blondes climbed into the lap of the man he was watching.

He lifted his glass to his lips, grabbing his stirring straw with his teeth thoughtfully.

"It can creep up inside you,

"And consume you.

"A disease of the mind,

"It can control you."

"Hey," he said over the music, leaning toward the tall guy.

The green-eyed brunet seemed alarmed to be spoken to as he looked over. Lucifer repressed his excitement with a lazy smile.

"Hey," the guy said, voice low and difficult to make out over the lyrics. He looked relieved.

"They aren't pretty," he observed, nodding to the women.

The brunet laughed as he looked over his shoulder at the three again. "Oh, yeah," he agreed.

Both blond eyebrows raised. A gay man at a straight bar was unusual, but made things considerably less complex.

"He's my brother," the guy offered.

Lucifer sipped on his vodka from his bent stirring straw.

"He drags you out to bars?" Lucifer asked curiously, leaning toward the guy's ear.

The brunet laughed and rubbed his forehead with the base of his hand. "He's, uh—Dean means well," he said awkwardly. "Usually I don't go. I don't drink," he fumbled over his words, seeming uncomfortable.

Lucifer set down his glass, the ice inside knocking the sides of the glass.

"Neither do I," he said. "What's your name?"

"Sam," he replied. "Why are you here if you don't drink?"

Lucifer smiled. "To watch people."

Sam looked uncomfortable with the answer, and shifted his weight back on to his heels.

"Sam," Dean's voice sounded impatient as the dirty blond stepped in between the two.

Lucifer's expression faltered, distinct anger settling over his features as he glared at the back of Sam's brother's head.

"I've been telling Emma about you and—what are you even doing over here?"

"Dean, stop telling girls about me," Sam said uncomfortably, grimacing and setting down his coke on the bar behind himself without looking.

Dean looked at the blond guy next to his brother out of the corner of his eye and startled. Lucifer gave him a teeth-baring grin.

"Who's that?" he tried to ask more quietly, his voice still loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Uh, I don't know."

"You're standing with him," Dean said.

Lucifer glanced between the two, and took the final swig of his vodka.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't need your—"

Lucifer stepped into the sweaty crowd of people between himself in the door, a few drunks bumping into him on his way out. It wasn't worth it. He'd promised himself he would quit, anyway.

He exhaled sharply as he pushed open the door, the muggy night air hitting him in the face and sparking his adrenaline. He had promised Castiel he would give up his hobby. Maybe take up something more casual, like golf.

His eardrums felt relieved as the door swung closed behind him, leaving behind the musty air and thumping bass.

Lucifer stopped to light up a cigarette, leaning his back against the brick exterior and looking up at the nearly-full moon. The green eyes of that guy were still flashing through his mind behind closed lids. He was a perfect specimen. A perfect last score. But with company, and of course with his relative size and fitness—it would be complex.

Not that that made the prospect any less tempting.

He waited, his mind flicking through a few possible courses of action.

It only took a few minutes before he caught a glimpse of Sam in his peripheral, storming toward the glass doors.

He dropped his cigarette, covered it with his heel, ground it into the asphalt, and fished his keys out of his pocket.

Sam's jaw was tight as he stormed into the dimly lit parking lot. He paused to exhale, unclenching his fists and reaching into his jacket pocket.

Lucifer walked forward in an unsteady line toward his car, a short distance away, by a dim streetlight in the lot. He scuffed his foot on the corner of the curb, purposely dropping his keys and mumbling a swear under his breath.

He could see Sam stop and focus on him in the corner of his vision, his expression unreadable in the dark but his posture alarmed and alert in a dog-like fashion.

He fumbled along the ground for his keys as if he were struggling before pulling himself upright and laughing quietly, steadying himself against the trunk of his car.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam's voice called out from the short distance away in the parking lot. Lucifer repressed a smile, his voice was finally clear—instead of muffled by shitty pop song edits.

"Uh, yeah," he responded. Sam approached anyway, and seemed to recognize his voice.

"You don't drink?" he asked, sounding skeptical as he stopped next to the guy and shot a glance at the keys in his hand.

Lucifer laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck in a motion of feigned sheepishness. "Well, I don't usually, because you know—I get like this," he said. He looked up with hooded blue eyes, a weak smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "I guess I don't look as sober as I feel, huh?"

"Not really," Sam said sympathetically, pausing and rolling his own keys around in his pocket. "You shouldn't drive like that, why don't I call a cab for you?"

Lucifer shook his head quickly and a little erratically. "No—thanks, you're right, but I don't do cabs. I'll walk," he said, stuffing his keys back into his pocket and pushing himself off the edge of his car. He started off in a swerving line toward the road, which lit up with the occasional car rushing past.

Sam followed after him. "Wait," he called out hesitantly.

Lucifer stopped and turned to face the tall brunet as he came up next to him looking frustrated and concerned.

"I—can give you a ride, if you want," Sam said finally.

"I can walk, my place isn't far," the blond said. "Wouldn't want to put you out of your way."

Sam looked over his shoulder at the club and shifted his weight unsurely. "I don't want you to get mugged or something. It's okay," he said, turning back to look at the other guy. "Come on." He nodded to his car and started to walk toward it.

Lucifer walked slowly, his feet scuffing once as they made their way over to a kempt '67 Impala. He glanced at the plates, and made a quick mental note.

He let out a wolf-whistle. "Beautiful car," he said appreciatively.

"Thanks," Sam said, seeming dryly amused as he pulled open the driver side door and climbed in. He leaned over the center console to push open the shotgun door for the other guy, and adjusted his seat to give himself leg room.

Lucifer climbed in, taking care to move clumsily and bump his head on the roof.

Sam grimaced as they settled into the car, and Lucifer pulled the door shut behind him. The car had no smell of smoke, and appeared to have been recently detailed, which probably meant he wasn't a very welcome passenger.

"Thanks for this," he said as Sam buckled and started the engine.

Sam visibly relaxed and looked over at the blond. "No problem. Where do you live?" He pulled out a smartphone and opened the map application.

He gave the brunet his address and glanced around the car casually. No pictures, no papers—nothing interesting or personal.

Sam put in the address and handed Lucifer the phone as he started to pull out of the lot, the phone giving directions in a sharp, robotic voice.

"I can give you directions," Lucifer offered, grimacing at the abrasive sound from the iPhone with the cracked screen.

"Sure, uh—did I catch your name?"

Lucifer smiled dryly as he turned off the obnoxious GPS application. "My name's Lucifer."

There was a beat of silence, and Sam laughed a little tensely, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"My parents had a twisted sense of humor, I guess. My older brother's name is Michael."

Sam looked over in surprise before glancing back at the road.

"Next right," he said quietly, sinking into his seat as he thought.

"Your name is actually Lucifer? I'm sorry," Sam blurted out awkwardly, his knuckles turning white.

Lucifer laughed, genuinely amused. "Don't apologize to me."

"I mean—unless you like your name, I didn't mean—"

"Straight at the intersection," he said, cutting off the rambling man. "Mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Oh, sure," Sam said. He seemed to have forgotten the guy was supposed to be drunk.

The blond turned on the radio, flipping through several stations playing commercials before stopping on the late night pop station.

He looked at Sam with interest as the Kesha song started up.

The brunet kept a straight face at the road ahead of him.

Lucifer smiled, and twisted the knob to raise the volume.

"You like Kesha?" the brunet asked over the music, just as the song trailed off.

"Not really."

The atmosphere in the car shifted, and Lucifer smiled to himself. Maybe he was a little drunk. Just a little.

"When are you going to tell your brother you're gay?" he asked curiously. Fuck it.

Sam coughed. "Uh, what?"

Lucifer sucked his upper lip into his mouth, letting it out with a pop and a breathy laugh. He used the base of his palm to scrub at his scruffy jawline.

The lights on the center console lit up Lucifer's fingertips as he reached for the new radio in the old car.

"I'm not. It's none of his business. And I don't know—I mean I've had a girlfriend," Sam answered—surprisingly.

"Me too. That's how I knew I was gay."

Sam laughed at that, his hands relaxing on the steering wheel as he looked over at the other guy. "Yeah?"

The blond was looking in his direction still, a quiet smile playing on his lips. "Yeah."

The next few minutes went on in silence as Lucifer closed his eyes, letting his head back to rest. Sam was pleasant to be around—uncommonly so. It was a good difference.

"Why don't you drink, Sam?"

There was a beat of silence, and Lucifer opened his eyes, looking at the brunet with interest.

He shrugged noncommittally with one shoulder. "I do, sometimes, just not when I go out. And not with my brother."

"You live with your brother?"

"We travel together. Yeah." Sam looked uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had took.

"So you guys aren't from around here?" The blond asked curiously as he turned down the music further, the springy pop becoming a background hum of bass.

"We are for now. We just move around a lot. My brother isn't the settling down type."

"What about you?"

There was a contemplative silence, as Sam swallowed and tilted his head, blinking a few times.

"Well I tried. That was sort of the girlfriend thing, and—my dad got, uh, sick, so I thought Dean needed me, and, I don't know. I guess I'd like to. Settle down."

"Sorry to hear about your dad," Lucifer said, trying to keep the boredom out of his voice—maybe unsuccessfully.

"It's okay, I hated him," Sam said, seeming unabashed by the blond's yawn after his unimpressive display of empathy. "But Dean was messed up."

"So you and Dean are pretty close, but you can't tell him you like men?"

Sam laughed and shook his head, resting his right arm on the center console. "I could, probably. I just don't want to. Dean can be... Dean. Does your brother know?"

"Yeah, but he's a cunt."

Sam laughed at the blunt statement, an amused, crooked smile lighting up his features.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh—that's awful," Sam said after he caught himself, looking thoroughly abashed.

Lucifer laughed. "For what it's worth, my younger brothers aren't. Michael always was special." The blond smiled wryly.

"How many brothers do you have?" Sam asked as he turned on to the road that the other guy gestured to. The driver looked around the neighborhood he had turned into with interest, green eyes widening at some of the more flashy homes.

"Michael, Gabriel, and Cas." Lucifer sat back, feeling done with the conversation. He didn't discuss family with his quarry. He opted for looking out the window.

If he could get Sam into his house, things would go more smoothly. But he wanted to play with him a bit more. Sam was special. Sam was unique.

He liked Sam.

"This is it," he said as the car came up to his street.

It was quiet at night. He liked how far he was from his neighbor, and his stupid fucking dog.

He motioned to his red brick, French styled home. Right out of his cunt of a brother's pocket—but it was beautiful.

"Nice place," Sam echoed his thoughts, and sounded surprised as he glanced over at the blond to do a double-take.

Lucifer laughed. "Thank you. I designed it."

Sam blinked in surprise, and bent over the steering wheel to give the house a better look. "Really? Like—an architect?"

"Yes, exactly like that," he said dryly.

"Oh! That's really cool," Sam said animatedly, green eyes lit with excitement as he rotated in his seat to face the blond.

Lucifer smiled slightly. "Thanks."

"Is it French?" Sam unbuckled, then hesitated with his hand on the door.

"Heavily inspired, yes," Lucifer said. "My dear brother paid for its construction. In exchange, I designed him an office. Would you like to see the inside?" he asked as he opened the door of the Impala, the night air rushing in.

Sam hesitated for only a moment, before shooting a final glance at the house and pulling the keys out of the ignition, seeming unable to help himself as he climbed out of the black car. "I'd love to," he replied, almost unsurely.

Lucifer smiled as he started toward the front door, and fished his house keys out of his pocket.

Sam drew in a breath as he stepped into the impressive estate after the blond. The cool air from inside the house was a welcome reprieve from the humidity.

The black French doors opened into an open concept, circular room. In the center of the house, glass walls looked into a private courtyard. Sam looked around and toed off his shoes after the blond did so himself.

The inside was surprisingly modern and minimalist. Neat, crisp, and fresh smelling. The kitchen and bar were to the left, and a double staircase curled around both sides of the circular courtyard. The space to the right had a grand piano and a wall of a filled bookcase that rose into the second story, adorned with a white sliding ladder.

He followed the blond as he opened one of the contemporary glass doors that lead outside.

"This is the courtyard. My favorite thing to design since school."

The second story rooms had walls with mirror-looking exteriors, reflecting lights off the pool and koi pond. A small waterfall poured quietly into a two-level pond of fish and lilies, not disturbing the surface.

Marble-swirled slate paths lined with night-blooming white flowers lead to a underwater lit, blue pool.

"It's beautiful," Sam said, unable to keep the shock off his face as he turned around to take in his surroundings.

He didn't consider himself judgmental, but he had not pinned the smoking, drunk blond as someone wealthy or artistic.

"Thank you," the reserved voice came from just behind him, closer than he remembered the blond being. Something in the tone made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Sam turned around to face the unshaven blond, whose eyes were awake, and pupils dilated as he spoke. "This concept was one of the most outlandish I've ever designed. I never imagined I would actually see it built. For all of Michael's faults... I appreciate him, at least for this."

Sam swallowed, something in the man's gaze just as unsettling as his tone, and shifted his weight back as he suddenly realized he was alone in a stranger's home, Dean was drunk, and had no idea where he was.

He told himself he was being ridiculous and pushed the creeping anxiety into the back of his mind.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the blond offered politely as he stepped back, an attractive smile softening his features. "Sorry, I'm not entirely sober. I don't mean to be rude. Architecture excites me more than the average person, I'm sure."

"Oh, it's okay, it's interesting," Sam said, shoulders relaxing. "Sure, thank you."

Sam nursed a pear cider, and curled his toes in the saltwater pool that he was sitting on the edge of, the warm water reaching the back of his knees. It was getting later, and he was getting tired.

"You enjoy law school?" the smooth voice of the blond was starting to make Sam's stomach feel hot, and that wasn't good.

He shouldn't have accepted a drink, he knew he was a lightweight. He'd had some rum-based mixed drink, then they'd had a conversation about his grand piano, and he'd stupidly accepted a taste of the blond's drink—and he was starting to think it hadn't been just ginger ale.

"I dropped out, but yeah, I did," Sam said with a laugh. He jumped a little as the guy sat down next to him, putting his own legs into the water and leaning against Sam's shoulder.

"Want to go for a swim?"

His stomach flipped and he swallowed some cider to try to wash the feeling away. "I shouldn't," he said, and his lips felt too dry.

"You sure?" Lucifer asked. The brunet glanced over through the corner of his eye, and smiled weakly as the guy next to him peeled off his top, tossing it to the side and revealing a toned upper body.

"The water's warm," the blond said more quietly, and leaned against him—probably accidentally—as he stripped down to black boxers.

Sam closed his eyes and inhaled, pulling dry lips into a closed mouth. He exhaled slowly, keenly aware of the body pressed against him.

The warmth disappeared and water splashed up on to him as the other guy pushed off the wall of the pool and into the water.

Sam's tired eyes widened as Lucifer broke the surface, shaking droplets of water out of his blond hair, and treading the water with a mischievous smile.

"Come on," the guy said in a gamely tone, jerking back his chin and treading backwards to make room.

"I'm in cargo shorts," Sam protested.

"So?"

Sam huffed and looked to the side.

"It's only polite to dress to the caliber the host does. Don't outdo me. Come on Sam—you don't wear briefs, do you?"

Sam let out a reluctant sigh and stood up, peeling off his shirt and working on the buttons on his shorts.

"Just, stay over there," Sam said finally as he dropped his shorts on to the ground next to the pool, and kicked them over to the pile of clothes.

There was a derisive snort in response to his statement, and Sam, swallowing hard, stepped into the water in just his navy boxers.

Might as well.

The sound of the trickling waterfall became muted, the water shocking him into a more awake state, and Sam opened his eyes under the water, reveling in the quiet moment before he resurfaced, sucking in a sharp breath of air.

Lucifer laughed excitedly, and Sam looked over at him with a smile, as he shook his head to keep his dripping bangs out of his eyes.

"I can't believe you actually—oh, Sam." He sounded almost pitying as he laughed.

"Shut up," Sam snapped, skin feeling hot against the lukewarm water. "I like to swim."

Lucifer laughed as he moved closer. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes, actually," Sam said, flexing his jaw.

"Do you usually swim in your underwear with strange gay men? I wouldn't advise it."

Sam huffed an exasperated sigh and tilted his head back to keep water out of his eyes. The saltwater was soft. "Are you calling yourself strange?" he asked curiously after a moment.

"I would, yes."

Sam smiled and reached out a hand to grab the wall of the pool, feet seeking out the slanted underwater wall for support.

The blond moved closer again, and this time he planted one hand on either side of the brunet, blue eyes reflecting the quivering water surface.

"I like you, Sam," he said softly, eyes tracing the features on the other man's face.

Sam felt his fingers going numb and heat pooling into his lower regions. He cleared his throat and breathed a laugh, smiling slightly as the guy moved closer.

Lips pressed against his own before he could react, and he could taste saltwater and cider.

Discontinued here, this story continues into multi-chapters on Archive of Our Own under my pen-name, Sedated.