They knew he was here, there was no doubt. He could feel their black eyes on him, but they said nothing, did nothing, standing in place like sentries and watching as he passed. He forced himself not to cower, not to so much as look at them, walking the length of the disturbingly silent back streets until he came to the door.

He'd never seen this door before. He'd never walked these streets. Never so much as driven through this part of Detroit in the passenger seat of the Impala. He just... knew. He knew like one would know the way back to their own home. Except he didn't have a home.

The door opened easily enough when he pulled the handle, no locks, no guards. That unsettled him more than anything, really. He didn't like the ease with which he had found this place, walked the streets, stared at by two dozen demons who made no move to stop him. He didn't like that this door had been left open for him, that he'd been expected.

The stairs were worn and creaked under his steps, a single uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling lighting the way. He could see the second door up ahead, cracked wood, dusty, but open.

He stopped beside it on the threshold, hovering in the doorway and forcing himself to contemplate the idea of turning back because that's probably what he should have been thinking, yet his eyes were straying inside, into the dim room of broken objects, to the figure stood by the window.

"Hi, Sam."

He swallowed, anxious. Anxious but not afraid, not feeling anything like the fear he knew he should, feeling horribly like a kid meeting his first date. "I haven't come to say yes," he blurted.

The other's back remained facing him, his face out of sight. "Not yet," he said.

He shifted, lips pursed, gaze downcast, hands clenched.

The door swung shut behind him, not forcefully. It clicked rather than slammed, and that was somehow so much more disturbing.

Finally, Lucifer turned to face him. He moved languidly, arm dropping to his side, almost painfully casual. The light from the window silhouetted him, but Sam could still make out the scarring across his face.

It looked painful. Sam tried to tell himself that it was surely nothing to an archangel, but the red welts still unsettled him, especially knowing he could do something about it.

He stopped himself there. Sympathy for the devil was never a good idea.

Lucifer crossed the room, again moving slow, moving as if they had all the time in the world, as if this situation was not as strange, as bizarre, as it truly were. He stopped in front of Sam, close enough to be uncomfortable, yet Sam had no urge to move away.

"Have you..." Sam swallowed. "Have you been waiting here?"

"Waiting for you," Lucifer clarified, "yes."

Sam nodded, breathing in deep, too tense to exhale. He looked away, trying to keep his head held high, eyes stinging, tears forming despite his best efforts. "I don't... want you to wait for me," he choked out.

Lucifer gave no comment on that, perhaps because there was no point denying it was true when they both knew. Instead, he simply brushed the pad of his thumb against Sam's cheek, wiping his tears away.

"Don't," Sam said weakly.

Lucifer obediently drew his hand back, arms falling back to his sides. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Sam."

The hunter swallowed, hair shadowing his face as he stared down at the floor. "I shouldn't be here," he whispered.

Lucifer gave a small shrug. "But you are."

That Sam couldn't deny, so he simply said nothing. Neither could he do anything to pretend his heart wasn't fluttering wildly in his chest, or that his soul felt like it was trying to claw its way out of him toward Lucifer, or that he was almost drowning in this peculiar feeling that he didn't want to leave this room ever on his own again.

Slowly, Sam raised his head, taking in a deep, shuddering breath as he turned his tear-stained gaze to Lucifer's. "Why?" he said.

Lucifer's face remained passive, though not unkind. He was simply staring at Sam, studying him. "I told you," he replied. "Because it had to be you. You and me, Sammy. That's all we've ever been."

"You and me," Sam repeated softly, breathless, voice so quiet it was barely audible, but Lucifer heard all the same.

The words were ambiguous, painfully poetic for being compared to the devil, but Sam understood them all the same, despite fleeting attempts to tell himself Lucifer was merely trying to charm him with pretty words. He knew. He was Lucifer, and Lucifer was him. They were currently separated in two different prisons of flesh, but something deeper within them both was the same. Whatever made a person, whatever inside of him made him Sam Winchester was also Lucifer. He didn't know where he ended and Lucifer began. There was no clear division. They were like two scraps of the same lump of clay, made of the same essence and easily melded back together again.

"You get it, right?" Sam said, voice thick. "I mean, everything. You just... You look at me like you know. Like you understand." He didn't need to elaborate.

"I do."

He felt lightheaded, almost giddy, like he could laugh, despite the tears stinging at his eyes and dampening his cheeks. "We've got a plan, you know," he mumbled. "We have to... try and stop you."

"You do what you have to, Sam," Lucifer said. He moved without warning, stepping neatly to the side and passing the hunter so he was suddenly behind him.

Sam almost shivered, staring blankly at the space where Lucifer had just been, caught between turning around because it unsettled him to not have Lucifer in his line of sight, and staying as he was because he knew laying eyes upon him again would give him more comfort than it should have.

"You've got to please Dean, right?" Lucifer continued, voice almost drawling, another question that wasn't really a question because they both knew not only the answer but all the hidden meaning there, too. "I understand that too, Sam."

"...I know." He turned to face him, shoulders sagging in some kind of relief, gaze running over Lucifer's back where he stood facing the wall, hand linked behind him.

"I feel what you feel," Lucifer carried on. "I know as you know. You can't lie to me, Sam. You... literally can't lie to me. Because I know."

Sam swallowed, tired, too tired to keep up the act anymore, the frantic, desperate attempts at... What? Normality? He didn't even know what he was trying to be anymore, but he was sick of it. He needed a break. "Then I don't have to say it," he said. "You don't need me to say it."

Lucifer twisted round suddenly, gaze fixing on him with an intensity that made Sam shift anxiously, despite himself. "You can say whatever you want, Sam. You can also ask."

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Without hesitation, Lucifer nodded. He walked forward, placing a gentle arm around Sam's shoulders and guiding him toward a side door.

It opened without needing to be touched, revealing a room that was in far better state than the rest of the building. In fact, it was perfect. The kind of perfect that let him know it wasn't quite natural, but he was past caring. The walls were pure and white, the furniture polished dark wood, the floor pine, and the sheets on the bed were white, too, silk. The long pale curtains either side of the large window were open, the moon shining through and casting this one perfect room in it's soft glow as if that were its only purpose.

It reflected on Lucifer's face, highlighting the rough texture of his broken skin, the scars, but also the pure, brilliant blue of his eyes, the pale sandiness of his hair.

"I love you, Lucifer," Sam said, though he had put every effort into not doing so.

Lucifer nodded, now stood before him, gently tucking his hair back behind his ears with both hands, hands too gentle for a monster. "I would hope you well know by now, but I, of course, love you, too."

It hadn't been a conscious decision to kiss him, but then again there had been no decision to be made. It came as natural as breathing. They fit around each other with the lack of effort that only came with two things made to go together, like the right pieces in a puzzle.

Lucifer's mouth was cold but not unpleasant, so strangely inhuman, yet it was the purest touch he'd ever felt. He understood kissing in that moment for everything it truly was, the intimate, trusting sharing of affection in the closest touch. He parted his lips as easy as drawing in breath, Lucifer's tongue in his mouth was the same kind of pleasure as water when dehydrated. He craved it, found relief in it, in Lucifer's lips brushing over his, in their tongues coming together, even in the unexpected shiver of pleasure when he discovered that Lucifer's tongue was indeed forked.

There were arms holding him, holding him up. At some point he'd dug his nails into Lucifer's back, clinging with a desperation that frightened him. But he needn't have worried for Lucifer never pushed him away, let him kiss deeper, let him revel in the contact he'd needed for so long. Let him kiss until he was breathless, but held him still when he drew back, planting soft, affectionate pecks around his mouth, his cheeks, his chin until Sam was almost drowning in the love offered up to him.

It was being screamed at him without words, enough to fill the room, the kind of love that could not only not be denied, but eradicated the idea that it could have ever been in doubt. I, of course, love you, too. It wasn't a simple gesture of affection, it was a fact. Of course. Of course. Of course...

He was crying still for more reasons than he could count, but Lucifer merely shushed him, kissing him deep before pulling back to rest his forehead to Sam's.

He was already so hard it was bordering on discomfort, but he could wait, he could do nothing but savour this, almost sobbing in relief as Lucifer began unhooking each button of his shirt, though his hands remained holding either side of Sam's face. The garment fell away without a care, the two of them only parting so his undershirt could follow, sliding swiftly over his head.

Lucifer kissed him again, before moving him gently to sit back on the edge of the bed, leaving him to remove his shoes and socks as Lucifer toed his own off, stripping off both shirts to leave the two of them equally bare.

Lucifer followed him onto the mattress as he shuffled back toward the headboard, kneeling between his legs, leaning down to kiss him again and again, hands gripping his bare shoulders, letting Sam wrap both arms around his neck.

His hips were shaking, bucking up toward Lucifer, desperate, craving. Sam moaned, almost cried out into his mouth, whimpering when Lucifer's hands began unfastening his belt, throwing it aside, moving to the button on his jeans next.

The removal of the restricting material was a relief. He was trembling, almost scared with how much he wanted this, his hands shaking as they ran over Lucifer's scarred skin with both wonder and desperation.

Lucifer hushed him again, pulling his jeans fully off and casting them onto the floor. He kissed Sam's shoulders, his neck, breath ghosting over his skin like ice. Sam almost screamed, half-sobbed, attempting to press up against him as if any lack of contact between them was suddenly agony.

It hurt. It really hurt, being in his body alone was torture. His cock was throbbing, straining against his underwear, already wet and leaking.

Lucifer whispered to him, vague words Sam couldn't make out, possibly not even in a language he knew. He groaned, falling back on the mattress as Lucifer shuffled out of his jeans and let them fall to the floor.

The scarring was all over his body, like a rash. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

Lucifer shook his head, stroking his hair lovingly, brushing it away from his face. "What you will give me, Sam, is all the apology I need."

He kissed him again, cool hands easing his underwear down his legs, leaving him bare and exposed. He ran a hand down his chest, lovingly, admiringly.

"You are so beautiful, Sam." Lucifer gave a sort of affectionate sigh, shuffling out of his own boxers. He pushed them away without a thought, attention fixed on Sam, leaning down so their forms were pressed flushed together, chest to chest, hips to hips, legs entangled. Lucifer rested up on his elbows, kissing him as Sam whimpered and gasped into his mouth.

Every point of contact of their skin was like an electric spark. He was clawing at Lucifer's back, all semblance of self control long gone, gasping the devil's name like a prayer. He let Lucifer maneuver him, positioning Sam's legs so his feet were flat on the bed, raising his hips enough so Lucifer could have access to his entrance, gentle fingertips ghosting over his skin, teasing his hole before carefully pushing inside.

He squirmed, writhing at the unfamiliar sensation, gasping as it sent another flash of heat to his groin, cock twitching against his stomach.

Lucifer eased another finger into him, his other hand stroking Sam's thigh, gaze fixed on his face with a kind of rapt fascination.

Sam groaned, whimpered, let his head roll to the side, gaze fixing on the bottle of lube he was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. Maybe this room was his heaven, and he could have anything with just a thought. Lucifer probably would have given him riches should he only ask, but he didn't care for such things. All he wanted right now was sat between his legs, fingers moving gently inside of him.

He picked up the bottle, despite his shaking hands, flicking open the cap and lathering his palm in the cool gel. Casting the bottle carelessly aside, he reached for Lucifer above him, wrapping a hand around his length and stroking.

It was to his great satisfaction that Lucifer groaned slightly at the touch, his steady composure crumbling as Sam continued to move his hand. He watched the Adam's apple flex in Lucifer's throat, the little twitches of his muscles, the tension in his strong arms as he pushed another finger inside of him, scissoring him open.

Sam writhed against the mattress, one hand gripping the sheets, the other still working Lucifer's length until finally the archangel gently took hold of his wrist and moved his hand away. Sam noted with a shaky grin the sudden flush of Lucifer's skin and the pre-cum now leaking from the head of his cock.

Lucifer took hold of his hips, positioning him so the hunter's legs wrapped loosely around his waist. He paused briefly, meeting Sam's eyes, lips slightly parted, hair mussed, before he carefully eased inside of him.

Sam stuttered something between a moan and a gasp at the unfamiliar penetration, but pushed closer to it all the same, desperate for more, desperate to be closer to Lucifer.

Lucifer's hands held his thighs, firm but gentle, pushing deeper, grip tightening when Sam clenched around him. He adjusted his position a little, sliding his legs slightly outwards and back on the sheets, leaning over Sam as he parted the hunter's legs further so he could push inside fully.

Sam cried out, back arching. He didn't know what he was feeling. It was uncomfortably tight, more intimate than anything he'd ever experienced, but when Lucifer shifted inside of him he swore he nearly passed out from the pleasure. His cock was leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum glistening on his abs, already drenched in sweat. His hair was sticking to his face, his hands shaking, clawing up Lucifer's chest, gripping his shoulders.

Hands grasping the sheets either side of Sam's torso, Lucifer began shifting his hips, pulling back and thrusting deeper in, feeling a heat, a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time build inside of him. From the way Sam continued to shiver at his touch, his skin remained outwardly cold, but there was something warm running through his veins, burning in his lower stomach. His breath was stuttering, interrupted by deep moans, intermixed with the soft, keening sounds slipping from between Sam's lips.

"Lucifer..." He slipped his hands round to grip Lucifer's back, throwing his head forward, pulling them closer as they moved together, forehead against Lucifer's shoulder. "Will it..." His words dissolved into groaning, the sounds pulling themselves out from his chest, choking from his mouth around his attempts at speech. "Will it be like... like this?"

Lucifer made a noise that sounded like a laugh between breathy moans, tilting his head back as Sam clenched around him. "Better," he gasped.

The whine Sam made in response had something so purely wanton about it that it caused Lucifer's breath to hitch, knowing their thoughts were the same, both lost in the beloved fantasy of how they would soon be one, how soon it could be like this always.

Sam knew now there was no doubt. From the flush over every inch of his skin, from the burning ache throbbing in his cock, from the pure exhilaration. How could he have ever doubted? It seemed laughable now, that he had ever believed he could live without Lucifer. Of course they belonged together, now he felt with every touch, every thrust all the empty parts within him filled, their souls melded. This wasn't simply sex. He didn't care that this was a borrowed body Lucifer was using, because he could feel his very essence, something more than physical. He was something else, too. He wasn't even sure his heart was still beating. He could have died and not noticed, he wouldn't have even cared.

His orgasm hit him with such intensity the cry he gave choked into silence, his whole form trembling, breath catching in his throat. He felt come splatter over his stomach, his vision blurring from the pleasure. From a moment the whole room seemed to be dissolved in light. No. Were those wings?

With a final shudder and throaty moan, Lucifer came inside of him, seed filling him with a strange sudden wetness. His head dropped forward as he finished, chest heaving with gasped breaths. Sam wondered if he'd forgotten he didn't need to breathe.

Lucifer all but collapsed on top of him, their damp skin touching, his come sticky between them, though neither cared. The wings, if that's what they had been, were gone, having spread themselves for an instant and vanished.

He whimpered as Lucifer pulled out of him, scrambling closer when the archangel rolled over so they were lying side by side. He needed to be near to him, needed to bury his face in Lucifer's shoulder, their legs entwined under the covers, their tired breathing in sync.

He already missed it. He was crying again, pressing himself up against Lucifer in a frantic need to be closer to him. It didn't feel right being separated from him, it suddenly felt like being blind and deaf, like he couldn't feel enough.

Lucifer stroked his back as his cries almost dissolved into panic. The archangel let him cling and sob and mutter into his shoulder, holding him close, this precious being made for him. "It's okay, Sammy." He leant back a little to press a kiss to his forehead. "I've got you, just like always."

Sam sniffed, curling into his hold, hair tickling Lucifer's face. "I don't want to leave you," he whispered, voice thick. "Dean'll worry," he continued, almost rambling. "He'd be so mad at me if he knew. He doesn't get it. No one gets it. Why don't they get it?"

Lucifer shushed him, stroking his hair, pushing it away from his face. "Hush, Sam. It's gonna be okay. I've got you." He pressed their lips together, softly, savouring each precious moment before it came to an end. "Tomorrow, you'll come back to me. You can say anything you need, anything Dean needs to hear, it doesn't matter. After that, you'll never have to leave again."

Sam swallowed back his tears, meeting Lucifer's gaze with still damp eyes. "You and me?"

Lucifer nodded. "At last." He kissed him again, lips brushing together, tongue teasing its way into Sam's mouth, drawing tired moans and desperate whispers from him. He kissed him until Sam could take the lack of oxygen no more, drawing back with a final caress and a gentle smile. "Not long now, Sam."

His tiredness was creeping up on him. His eyes felt heavy, head lolling back against the pillow. He hadn't felt the duvet being moved from under him, but it was suddenly around them both. He shuffled up close to Lucifer until there was as much physical contact between them as possible, before letting his eyes fall shut.

"I love you," Lucifer whispered to him as he faded out of consciousness. "I love everything you are and will be. I love us, Sammy. We'll be together soon."

The hazy sunlight filtering through the net curtains crept over his face, making him wince, before reluctantly forcing his eyes open. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling; peeling, off-white. He could see the edges of the walls; striped green and cream wallpaper. He could smell musk and whisky, the scent of old books. He was in one of the spare rooms at Bobby's.

He flung himself upright, looking around frantically, but the room was empty. The only reassurance he had was the soreness of his backside, evidence that it hadn't all been a dream.

His clothes had been left neatly folded on the wooden chair beside his bed. The clock on the bedside table said it was just past six, though he could already hear someone moving around downstairs.

He shuffled out of bed, ignoring the tenderness he felt as he stood, vaguely noting he was still naked, though he'd been basically wrapped in a sheet too purely white to be anything of Bobby's. His skin was covered in marks, a map of evidence of the night before.

He washed and dressed, covering himself, covering what no one could be allowed to see. He stopped in front of the mirror, sucking in a deep breath, plastering on the face of worry and doubt Dean needed to see, before heading downstairs.

Several hours later, he said it. "Yes."