Samifer Week #2: Thursday, October 11, 2012
Confessional (Pizza, Beer, and Sex)
Pairing: Samifer (SamLucifer)
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 7167
Summary: After Sam lets Lucifer out of his cage, he accidently joins the priesthood. (Priest!kink)
Before I begin, I would like to give melle-et-venenum on tumblr an extra thank you. I couldn't figure out who I wanted to top for my attempt at a smut, so I asked her to pick without letting her know the situation. This is what happened. Thank you, again.
There were many things that happened after Sam accidently let Lucifer out of his cage. He couldn't say he was surprised when he and Dean had their falling out. If Dean had let Lucifer out, Sam might have wanted his distance, too.
Well, no actually. No, he wouldn't. He would be there to support his brother. But that was fine that Dean wasn't like him. Sam should learn how to survive on his own. Surviving without the demon blood and his brother. His two biggest weaknesses.
His first idea was to go work at a bar to clear his head. Somehow he ended up on the step of St. Thomas' Cathedral somewhere south of the Application Mountains. They took him in without question, and they even believed whatever half-assed lie he must have come up with in his exhaustion, because when he ended up waking up in the rough bed, they were calling him Father Sam and he didn't really remember how that happened. He wasn't catholic, but he seemed to have a good cover here if the other priests would let him stay. And if nothing else, he could really use some guidance.
Apparently they believed his claim – despite how rough he looked the night he showed up – because he could speak in Latin. After a week of recovery, the other priests had let him lead small bits of the sermon. And Sam was really finding some of that faith that he lost the second Lilith's blood started circling to open the cage. The white light exploded around him and Dean, and they were on a plane.
Two weeks into his newfound priesthood, St. Thomas' got a transfer from St. Michael's.
Father Luke was taller that most of the other priests, but not Sam. He was blond with pale blue eyes and quiet. Very quiet. He rarely spoke without being spoken too – he never offered to lead any of the prayers or hymns or services. He was completely content to sit on the throne behind the altar, watching as Sam led them in anything the other priests would allow him to.
And Father Luke watched a lot.
He watched when Sam was singing with the choir, he watched when Sam was preparing meals, he watched when Sam was reading the apocrypha in the library, and he watched when Sam was in the garden, sitting underneath the tree, tending the roses.
The first time they spoke was three weeks after Sam got to the cathedral and a week after Father Luke got there. It would have been entirely unremarkable, except the careful consideration and silent intensity of the older man standing behind him.
"Do you believe in angels, Father?"
Sam turned from the roses, using his hand to shield the light. From this angle, in his black robes with his hands behind his back in an open and inviting way, the setting sun framed Father Luke's head in a stereotypical way that the divine were portrayed in paintings all throughout the cathedral.
The question didn't seem loaded when Father Luke asked it, but the answer Sam gave would have to be. He thought of Castiel – the angel who gripped his brother tight and raised him from perdition – and how of course he had to believe that angels were there.
Or is it really belief if he knew they existed?
Or was Father Luke asking if he believed and trusted in the angels and flashes of Zachariah and Uriel pinged through his memory, filed away under the label "Dickwad Angels," and Sam almost laughed at the thought of it.
Father Luke was patient – in the thirty seconds Sam was silent, searching for an answer that wouldn't give him away as a hunter (not that a priest would know anything about that anyway), Father Luke had only rocked forward on his toes then back to his heels again – but his hands switched from being behind his back to being in front of him. It made him look smaller, even from this angle with Sam on his knees before the six foot tall man. Father Luke was blocking the sun, casting a shadow over Sam. Despite the way his hunter senses should scream that Sam should stand and gain some semblance of dominance, Sam couldn't quite feel the need. Father Luke had a quiet intensity – he seemed to be filling the entire garden – but his head was tilted to the side with a look of genuine curiosity. Sam wondered with Father Luke assumed he was the expert in a church full of priests far older and more experienced than him.
"I think they exist if that's what you're asking," Sam smiled.
Father Luke offered something that might be a smile on a toddler; it was a spasm of muscles, like he was trying it out for the first time. The man's hands dropped to his sides and he tugged his pants up, getting more material to his thighs before he squatted in front of Sam, dropping down to the other man's level. Sam didn't mind getting his black pants specked with dirt, but Father Luke's clothing seemed pristine. The creases were still pressed into his pants from when they had been ironed last. His shoes were shined, and the clerical collar pressed not uncomfortably against his throat.
"As a priest, shouldn't you believe they exist?" He asked, with a tilt of his head.
Sam smirked, "As a priest, yes. Do you often question priests about their beliefs?"
When Father Luke offered a smile this time, it seemed to have come much easier to him, as if he had been practicing from just a moment ago. "No, Sam. Not all priests," Father Luke stood, his features becoming shadows in the setting sun. "Just you."
The second time Father Luke approached Sam, he snuck up behind him while Sam was on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. They didn't make him clean like this – hell, nobody even asked him to clean anything – but small things like cleaning or tending the garden seemed fulfilling. He wasn't going to stay at St. Thomas' forever; Dean would (probably) come around eventually. He liked to think that these things would last once he was gone.
One minute, Sam had been content to watch the tile change a tint darker with the addition of the water, the next he heard a voice from above him demand, "What is the meaning of this?"
Sam turned around too quickly, spilling the bucket of water he had been cleaning with all over the tiles. He picked the bucket up quickly, saving some of the water. The additional water on the floor ran through the cracks to Sam's knees, but he couldn't really say he minded getting wet. Clothes would clean. Instead, he just turned around, offered a smirk and replied, "I didn't know I needed your permission to clean the floors, Father."
Father Luke looked confused; pale eyes left Sam's face to take in the water and bucket. He didn't step back when the river of spilled suds hit his shoes. His eyes went back to the man's face, and he repeated his question with a different tone to his voice. "What is the meaning of this?" He held a Bible in his hand, which he used to gesture vaguely to the empty space around them, and it took Sam a moment to figure out that he was asking about the meaning of life. He tried to hide his smirk by returning to the scrubbing.
"I don't know if I'm the best one to answer life's biggest mysteries. The others are more experienced with talking about that stuff. Maybe you should ask one of them."
For a long moment, Sam felt Father Luke behind him, unmoving. Then, with three steps, the other priest was sitting on his knees in front of Sam, letting his pristine pants get wet. He reached for Sam's rag, and the man let him take it. Father Luke twisted his fingers around the cotton material and started mimicking the movements Sam had been doing before. After thirty seconds, he frowned and offered Sam the Bible he had been holding. Sam accepted, and Father Luke brought his other hand to the rag, scrubbing with force at a spot on the floor that Sam wasn't sure he even saw. The man's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and his shoulders lunged back and forth with effort.
"Well," he asked, looking up at Sam through his eyelashes. The younger man cleared his throat and looked away – he hadn't even been aware he was staring – but Father Luke didn't seem to notice. "They may be more qualified, but I'm asking you."
Sam sighed, watching as Father Luke continued to work. The man finally moved on from that spot and backed up a bit, moving the cloth in predictable motions over the floor. "It's not all bad, if that's what you're thinking."
"But the things people do to each other," Father Luke continued. "In the paper today there was an article about how a college freshman was murdered in her dorm room by her boyfriend. How do people respond to that? How can…" Father Luke stilled, hanging his head for a moment before summoning the strength to look at Sam. "I don't see why anything is worth it. People are so violent and sinful. I don't understand why humans are favored. Why are people worth salvation and saving?"
"I don't think everybody is worth it," Sam admitted quietly, tossing his head to the sides to make sure the other priests were still gone. "Some people kill and steal and commit adultery, but I think a lot of people try. They try to do better. But…" Sam breathed, letting his gaze fall to the floor. "But sometimes, things don't always work out. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but… but I think that most people are good. I don't think most people fall into the murderous, theft, cheater category. I just have to try and save the ones I can."
"Save them?" Father Luke asked. "It isn't your job to save anybody."
"Yeah, but if I don't, then who will?"
Their eyes met for a moment of strange intensity. Sam had tried for a flippant comment, but it was the truth and Father Luke must have picked up on it. The older priest licked his lips and turned his head at a small angle, studying Sam in a whole new light. "Then who saves you?"
"It isn't all bad," Sam insisted, aware he was changing the subject as he tugged the cloth from the other priest's hands and started scrubbing once more, avoiding his gaze. "I swear it isn't. Some days, I have my brother for company. On good days there's pizza and beer. And the sex is just…"
Sam's eyes snapped back to Father Luke and when the fuck did he learn to give a look of amusement like that? The younger man didn't mean to say that. He hadn't meant to be so open. He hissed and started making excuses, but Father Luke beat him to it.
"I think I would like to try pizza and beer," he was completely serious about it, too. Even more so when he added, "and sex."
"You took a vow of celibacy to join the priesthood," Sam hissed. "Or did you forget that? Are you even a priest?"
The man leaned in, and Sam wasn't exactly sure when they got so close. The smile was still gracing his features and even though he hadn't stated that he wanted to have the sex with Sam the younger man's mind went there instantly. Sam was much better at withstanding sexual temptation than Dean, but he'd be lying if he didn't think the man was attractive and smart… and really really close right now.
"I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I, Father?" And with that, Father Luke offered another smile, stood, and left. Sam dumped the cloth in the bucket and stood on shaky legs, completely convinced this was a test he somehow managed to fail.
He'd pack his bags and be ready to leave at the first sign that Father Luke had told anyone about anything.
He didn't tell, and Sam wasn't sure why that made his heart pound in his chest whenever he saw the man. He'd never really seen Father Luke eat before – he never really studied any of the priests as potential threats – but since the pizza, beer, and sex fiasco, Father Luke tried everything that was placed in front of him.
Needless to say, the priests were good at combating gluttony by making mostly porridge, stew, fruits and vegetables, and bread. Father Luke took to apples, but he couldn't even stand the smell of oranges. He actually choked on the taste of the porridge the first time. It touched his tongue and the reflexes on his taste buds wanted the abomination out. He held a hand over his mouth and gave a pained attempt at swallowing before he found a napkin and spit the porridge out. Sam tried not to laugh, but when Father Luke shot him a dirty look across the dining room, Sam couldn't quite hold it in.
And it took Sam way longer than it should have to notice that he had seen this behavior before. For a week, Dean tried forcing his favorite foods on Castiel. The man pushed grease and pie down the angel's throat until Sam came to the rescue and convinced Castiel to trade bacon for a chicken salad and he liked that much better. He remembered M&Ms and coffee and spaghetti and then it stopped. Dean and Castiel must have fought over something, because the angel didn't eat any longer and Dean never pushed again.
And there was really only one angel who would hide among some priests to get closer to Sam, only one who would ask questions about people and what they were worth. Though if this was Lucifer giving him everything for setting him free, Sam failed to see how two conversations and some amusement was everything.
But despite this, Sam couldn't bring himself to leave. Maybe he needed to stay now more than ever. Things were going to get bad – Sam couldn't take on the freaking devil by himself! – but if Lucifer was here, trying to bake communion bread with a little more flavor and occasionally bothering Sam, then he wasn't out there actively starting the apocalypse. Sam had to ride this as long as he could, didn't he?
The third time the pair of them had a conversation, Sam managed to sneak up on Father Luke as he was pulling a bread pan out of the oven without potholders. He sat the scalding metal down, then looked at Sam like he couldn't figure out why the man was giving him such a look, before he looked back at his hands, shook them and gave an unconvincing, "Ow."
Sam turned on the cold water, grabbing the man's wrist and guiding the not-burns under the water to sooth the pain that wasn't there. The man indulged in the water for a moment, before he sighed and shut off the faucet, giving Sam an unreadable look.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. People tend to respond poorly when I approach them as dead lovers and tell them I'm Lucifer and that I'd like to use their bodies to seek revenge against my Father."
"That's what you did with this guy?" Sam asked, poking at Lucifer's vessel in the chest.
The angel nodded, swatting Sam's hand away, "His name was Nick. His wife and child were killed and he wasn't doing so well," Lucifer admitted. "I burned him out, so he could be with his family before the end."
"So why me?" Sam frowned. "Dean is Michael's vessel. I'm sure he's more valuable to you than I am."
"No, Sam," Lucifer reached out a hand. It was still wet when his fingers pressed to the skin at Sam's wrist. It was delicate, soft. For a second, Sam thought he'd make a great lawyer until he shook his head and thought duh, adversary. "It is you. It always had to be you."
"I don't understand."
"Your big brother is my big brother's true vessel," Lucifer's thumb slid down over Sam's wrist. The water felt like it was freezing to Sam's skin. "It is fitting, then, that you are mine."
Sam ripped his hand back, "No."
"No, what?"
"No, I'm not letting you in. You need my permission, and I said no. There's no way you're wearing me to your apocalypse dance party," Sam crossed his arms in front of him. "So you can forget it."
Lucifer offered the man a smile before going back to the bread. He managed to get it out of the pan without it crumbling into nothing, and he sliced it with a knife Sam should have been more worried about him having in his hand. "I haven't even asked yet," Lucifer's tone was light, and Sam thought it would be so easy to say yes to him. The angel buttered two slices and offered one to Sam. He took it and bit into it before he even thought that accepting something from the devil was probably even worse than accepting candy from strangers.
"I think I would like to try pizza and beer before I destroy the world," Lucifer added thoughtfully, as he bit into his own slice.
"This is better than what the other priests make," Sam admitted.
"And sex."
The fourth time they spoke was the most important. From the second the door on the other side of the confessional opened, Sam knew this was going to be a defining moment. It was late, the other priests were eating dinner and getting ready to go to bed, and Sam found the priest's side of the confessional comforting. Nobody else would think to look for him here, and he thought a quick prayer, begging for the strength to say no. He didn't want to be the devil's meat suit. He didn't want to watch the world burn as somebody else pulled his strings.
Sam couldn't see him through the screen, but he heard the man shuffle, then kneel, and the familiar voice whisper, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
"I'm not a real priest," Sam said. "And you're the devil."
"That is typecasting, Father. I am an angel. I'm a son who had a disagreement with his Father and was thrown from His home for it. All I want is a shot to make everything right. Might I confess my sin now?"
Sam sighed. He'd never been allowed to work the confession box before, and he tried to remember what priests say in movies. "What is your sin, my child?"
"Although I have never been ordained, I have been acting as a priest for a month. I have sinned twice in that time."
"Twice?" Sam asked. He had sinned more than twice a day since arriving here. Pretending to be a priest made him better, more conscious of his sins, but he was still human. Nobody was perfect, but apparently some (fallen) angels held themselves to a pretty high standard.
"Well, I'm not sure the first one is a sin, because I am not as well versed in the priesthood as I used to be. But today I left the Cathedral and found a place that sold pizza and beer, and I sampled. The pizza was delicious, but I did not care for the beer."
Sam frowned, "I'm not sure if that's a sin, either. I haven't left the Cathedral since I got here, but other priests do. I'm not sure if pizza and beer is really that bad. But just in case, I absolve you." Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief, like Sam's forgiveness actually meant something to him. "What is your second sin?"
"I haven't committed it yet."
"I think the point of confessing is that you have to be sorry. If you haven't done it yet, just don't do it," Sam felt like he was begging for humanity's life. "You don't have to do anything."
"I have to do this, Father. Please, just absolve me."
"What are you going to do?"
Lucifer was quiet for a moment, and Sam saw a shadow block the light coming through the screen from the other side. The angel had put his head against the screen.
"I'm going to tempt a priest."
Sam frowned, "What do you need them for?"
"No," Lucifer sounded annoyed. "I meant you. I'm going to tempt you."
"I'm not a real priest."
The partition between them was suddenly gone. Sam was sitting on the bench, and Lucifer was still kneeling before him in the dim light. The younger man frowned, turning toward the angel, but Lucifer caught his knee in his hand, keeping him from moving. He crawled forward the few inches to be kneeling before Sam, looking up at him through his eyelashes again. "Then you have no excuse to say no."
"Wha –"
Lucifer's mouth found Sam's with extreme accuracy, but it was lacking in skill. He sat there, closed mouth, like he was waiting for something to happen. Sam couldn't think straight at first, until he remembered telling Lucifer three things worth living for: pizza, beer, and sex.
Sam pushed at the angel's shoulders, and Lucifer gave him some space.
"You meant tempt me like…"
"Yes."
"So you're not going to ask me to be your vessel?"
Lucifer frowned, like Sam was ruining the mood or something, then said, "Well I haven't decided yet. You say that people try to be good, but all I see in them is filth and sin. But you told me you can deal with that with pizza and beer and sex. As I see it, there is a 1-1 tie. I would like for you to have sex with me, so I can determine whether or not I want to continue on with my plans."
Sometime in the speech, Lucifer's hand had dropped to Sam's crotch and he rubbed. The younger boy hissed at the friction, gaping, "That's not really going to be the deciding factor, is it?"
"Of course not. But I would still like to try."
"Why me?" Sam demanded. "Nick isn't an ugly guy; we can go get you a girl. Probably any girl."
"No, Sam. It has to be you," Lucifer kissed him again. "Or, rather, I want it to be you. You are my true vessel, and there is a connection between us. However, if you are uncomfortable, I'm sure that…"
The thought never crossed Sam's mind to deny Lucifer this. Despite how wrong and blasphemous it was – they were in a confession box in a cathedral, and Sam was about to have sex with the devil – Sam couldn't deny that he wanted this. He wanted this badly, as Lucifer could already tell from his persistent rubbing, and Sam threw an arm around the other man's neck and tugged them together. Lucifer's mouth opened in surprise, and Sam took that to be an invitation.
It took a few moments of struggling in the confined space for Lucifer to lift a knee to the bench Sam was sitting on. It gave him some leverage, and he pushed down into the kiss. As he had been with everything else human, Lucifer was a quick learner. He started pushing his tongue back against Sam's and making surprised sounds when the wet organs slid against each other. Sam wasn't sure how much of a buffer Nick would be – would Lucifer even feel this? – but the little noises that escaped the angel were answer enough. He moaned like a twenty-some year old virgin finally realizing what she'd been missing in her life.
Lucifer's fingers clung to Sam's shoulders, and with an unsteady jostle, the angel brought his other knee to the bench as well. He nearly lost his balance in the small space, Sam's hands went on instinct to Lucifer's hips to keep him from falling, and the angel settled himself on Sam's lap. Sam slid down the bench as much as he could – his knees knocked against the confessional's door – but the two of them were even now, reaching across to kiss. And it felt so equal, like neither one had the upper hand. Lucifer tilted his head, pushing at Sam, and Sam pushed back, fingers tightening on the angel's hips and pulling him forward.
If the response from the kiss was twenty-something virgin, the response from their erections rubbing together would seem like show. Nobody would toss their head back and let out a sound like that after the small amount of friction, but Jesus was Lucifer genuine. His face was too red, despite the way the heat had been zapped from the confessional like an air conditioner was running. His chest heaving too hard, despite the fact that Sam was sure the angel didn't actually need to breathe. The shutters running through Lucifer's borrowed body were too real – it didn't seem like a man who could barely form a smile a week ago could have studied the intricacies of porn acting to make Sam feel better – and when Lucifer's pale eyes opened, his pupils blown with lust, Sam knew he wasn't faking it.
"You really haven't had sex before?" Sam tried to keep the amazement out of his voice. "I mean, in all the years you were making demons? You never slept with a human witch before her soul was yours?"
Lucifer's reddened cheeks turned paler, his eyebrows frowning with anger, "You know why I fell. Do you think I would touch one of them after what they did to me?"
"I'm one of them," Sam answered softly.
"You are so much more," Lucifer answered, looking down at their laps. He rocked himself forward, causing Sam to hiss this time. "You are my true vessel, Sam. We were made for each other."
Who could deny bedroom talk like that? Sam's fingers started working on the angel's belt and Lucifer waited a heartbeat before mimicking Sam's actions. Belts were discarded, buttons were opened, and flies were unzipped. Lucifer huffed when Sam lifted him to his knees and pushed him back enough to where he had to put his feet back down to stable himself. Then the taller man was lifting his hips, working his own pants down like if they didn't do this soon, the world would blow up.
But Sam was starting to doubt that was actually the case.
Sam's pants were around his knees, but it took a lot more effort and maneuvering to get Lucifer free. The angel's hands were shaking, and he got his pants down to his thighs before he realized he was still straddling Sam. For a moment, he tried lifting his left leg to join his right on the other side of Sam's lap, but only managed to stumble. Sam leaned forward, grin plastered on his face as he stabled the angel. It was cute, seeing the devil frustrated over a pair of pants and Lucifer must have caught on because he was suddenly fire and brimstone again, pants gone with a thought, and his knees were back on the bench, his hips lowered to Sam's lap once more.
"Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to smite you?" he hissed. "A snap of my fingers and you'd be bloody chunks, you know?"
"Yeah," Sam didn't even try to hide his grin. He found Lucifer's erection and his hand slid easily from the base to the head and the brimstone was turned to something else, but the fire was still in his eyes. "But then you'd have to find someone else to do this and I'm right here. It just seems like a hassle."
"You are infuriating," the angel hissed, pushing Sam's hand away. When Lucifer's bare hand wrapped around Sam, the man winced with how cold the angel's hands were. Everything was cold, and the more turned on he seemed to get, the colder things seemed to be running. Goosebumps erupted on the human's thighs from the temperature; everywhere contact was made between bare skin, heat seemed to seep from Sam like Lucifer was an endothermic reaction. When Lucifer wrapped his hands around the both of them, moving his hips in time with his hands to thrust against Sam, it was the human's turn let his head fall back against the wood of the confession box.
Lucifer seemed overwhelmed by the feeling, by the heat Sam was creating, and his eyes slid shut. He was rocking to a set tempo, and it was really good, but it wasn't fast enough to accomplish the end goal. And nine times out of ten, Sam wasn't the type of guy to rush to the end, but there was something different about this – about sex with the devil in the confessional of a cathedral full of priests – that screamed that they should hurry before they were caught, and with the blasphemy added to the threat of being found meant that Sam wasn't going to last long anyway.
So why should Lucifer?
Sam couldn't slink down anymore – his knees were already pushing painfully against the wooden door – so he tugged at the angel's hips again. This time, when he tugged, Lucifer's hands went to Sam's shoulders and he stood without question or complaint. His eyes opened, and he looked down at Sam with lust and curiosity standing out in the blue. Sam's left hand stayed at the angel's hip, and he licked his lips and leaned forward, letting the head of Lucifer's erection slide past his lips. Instead of shaking or moaning, Lucifer gave a contented sigh, put a hand on the wall above Sam's head to steady himself, and let his chin slink forward to his chest.
When Sam pulled back, he added his hand. Starting at the tip where it was already wet with saliva, his palm slid over the skin. The man's mouth followed, then pulled back. With each bob of Sam's head, his hand grew wetter, the slides becoming easier, and the friction becoming more intense.
Lucifer's hand dropped to Sam's hair. Since he started growing it out, every one of his lovers found it. The younger Winchester didn't mind – that was half the appeal of growing it out anyway – but the angel didn't thread his fingers through it, he didn't grip it and use it to tug Sam closer, he didn't do anything but feel. His fingers tentatively tucked the stray hair behind his ear, but the motion caused it to fall out again. Lucifer was gentle when he pushed it back and held it, holding the curtain back so he could watch Sam.
So when Sam pulled back, he twisted his wrist, adding more stimulation. A sigh escaped the devil.
Sam was painfully hard, and he was dying to get off. When he pulled back and raised his eyes to the angel, he was surprised at the lack of complaint. Lucifer didn't buck forward, he didn't even whine, he just looked down at Sam, waiting for whatever was next.
"How do you want me?"
When Lucifer tucked the hair behind Sam's ear this time, it stayed. "Want you?"
"Yeah," Sam licked his lips and looked across the box. With the divider gone, he could probably lean with his hands against the wood and let the angel take him from behind. That would give them enough room. He couldn't really see how else it would work. "How do you want to fuck me?"
Lucifer froze for a moment, before slowly lowering himself to Sam's lap once more. He was careful to put enough distance between them so they wouldn't accidently brush together – much to Sam's dismay – and he placed soft kisses to the younger Winchester's lips. Three of them, then he pulled back far enough so Sam's eyes were in focus, but that was about all he could see, and he gave a small smile, "Is that you saying yes to letting me in?"
Sam took a sharp breath in and tried to push the angel further away. He didn't budge, and for the first time, Sam realized how much Lucifer was letting him take control. The man was an archangel, the devil after all, and it was stupid of Sam to think that he ever really had it in the first place.
"I didn't think so," Lucifer grinned. Wrinkles jumped out at the corners of the angel's eyes, and Sam couldn't believe he never noticed them before. It didn't make him look old as much as it made him look genuinely happy, even handsome. "So how about we wait until I ask for you to say yes. Besides, I can't expect to ask you to let me in, if I won't let you in me." His eyes were dancing with mischief, like he had planned to be taken this whole time. Sam wasn't going to look this in the mouth – he was so hard and ready for this – he just nodded and put his fingers in his own mouth.
Lucifer watched with curiosity as Sam swirled his tongue around the digits, getting them as wet as he could get them. "Stand up, again," the human ordered, and the angel obeyed.
"Try not to buck forward and choke me, okay?" Sam asked. He waited for Lucifer to nod – maybe a little too seriously – before he licked his lips again and started sliding his mouth over Lucifer's shaft again. The sigh turned into a soft moan, and Sam let his pointer finger rest over the angel's hole. He wasn't met with resistance – not like the other first time bottoms Sam had had. It had taken a lot of coaxing and encouraging words and lube with them – but Lucifer relaxed under Sam's fingers. He pushed against the finger for a second to open himself up (and Sam wondered how he would know to do that with no experience) but he took Sam with a groan that had less to do with pain and more to do with the strange feeling of something foreign in the body.
Sam was gentle, pushing in and out with a finger – pressing up against the sides in search of something – in the same rhythm that his mouth used. Lucifer was murmuring something, and when Sam opened his eyes and glanced up, the angel's arm was shaking from where he was holding himself up against the wall. Sam pulled his fingers out – Lucifer opened his eyes in fury – but they slid shut with an unholy groan when Sam's middle finger was added with his pointer.
With two fingers searching, he managed to find the bundle of nerves and rub against it. Lucifer's eyes exploded open. His head fell back and Sam wasn't completely sure if he was going to be able to remain standing. It must be overwhelming, feeling all of this for the first time, and Sam was sure if the roles were reversed, it would be too much and he'd beg for his partner to stop. Lucifer just took it in stride, looking up at the sky and murmuring something in a language Sam didn't know. Maybe Hebrew or Arabic – possibly Enochian.
Sam had barely been touched, but if he didn't hurry, the sight and sounds alone were going to get the job done for him. A few more moments past before the third finger was added, but even that wasn't really enough preparation. There really wasn't anything that could prepare a person for something pushing itself into his body, but it was all Sam could stand, and if he didn't get Lucifer sitting soon, the angel was going to crumble.
When Sam removed his fingers, Lucifer didn't wait for a cue. He let his legs guide him down, letting all of his weight rest on Sam's thighs. He was panting, but he still cupped his hand around the back of Sam's neck and kissed him. They were soft, adoring kisses, and Sam's heart clenched in his chest when he pushed the man back and asked if he was ready.
Lucifer nodded, and Sam spit in his hand, rubbing his palm over his erection. It wasn't enough to make it painless – it was always painful at the beginning, even with lubricant better than spit – but it was all he could do and hoped it was enough. Lucifer got on his knees again, and between Sam's hand on his hip, and Sam's hand on himself holding him still, Lucifer felt the pressure start.
Sam didn't force him down. Once they were lined up, Sam's hand came to the side of Lucifer's face and he guided him in. The kisses turned from something tentative to sloppy and wet in a few moments, and when Sam felt the angel relax, he guided him down, bit by bit. They paused and took breaks. Lucifer never winced – he never showed the pain like that – but Sam could feel his arms tense when he grew uncomfortable, and devil or not, Sam stopped and let him adjust. It didn't take long until Lucifer was sitting on Sam's lap again, the fingers of one hand digging into Sam's shoulder, the other on the back of Sam's head, keeping them kissing, keeping them close.
When they finally broke for air, Lucifer was clinging to Sam in a way that seemed way too human. Way too vulnerable. Sam kissed the man's forehead and asked if he was ready.
They worked well together, and Sam believed it when Lucifer had said they were made for each other. They seemed to know each other's buttons. Lucifer tossed Sam's clerical collar aside and unbutton the shirt, kissing and sucking at Sam's neck, just happening to leave a mark at the base of his neck where it met the shoulder. Soon after that Lucifer's top just vanished and Sam's hands trailed up the angel's back, noticing the way the man started writhing when he got to the base of his shoulder blades. Sam wasn't going to last long. Not the way Lucifer used his knees to push himself up and let gravity pull him down at the exact moment that Sam thrust up. And soon, Sam was tugging at Lucifer's erection, trying to make this a race, trying to count backwards and imagine things that would postpone his orgasm because he had to get the angel off first.
It turned out not to be a problem. He didn't ask any questions about the pent up pressure building in his abdomen and how to let go. Even if he hated humans, he must have been curious – he must have watched – because he didn't put up a fight. He gave a whine, a strange sound that Sam thought was pained until he looked up and Lucifer was kissing him like he would combust if he didn't. The angel didn't let out any grace – he didn't burn white or blind Sam – but he gave another long moan, and Sam felt the tremors run though Lucifer's body from his orgasm. It painted Sam's black shirt, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Lucifer clenched around him, and Sam let go, too.
Sam tried to pull the angel off, but he slid down, panting and resting his head against Sam's shoulder, effectively burying Sam inside himself. He made another low sound at the feeling of being filled like that, but it didn't seem unpleased as much as it did satisfied and they rested there for a long moment.
They couldn't stay like that forever, though. Sam helped Lucifer off his lap before pulling up his pants and assessing the damage of his shirt. He doubted he'd be able to get it clean without taking it off and washing it, but he wasn't sure if he'd be staying here much longer either. When he was as cleaned up as he could get, he looked over at Lucifer. He was sitting beside him on the bench, completely dressed in his perfectly pressed priest clothes, but his chest was still heaving and he was running a hand through his sweaty hair. If nothing else, his hair completely gave him away.
Lucifer turned to face him, blue meeting hazel, and he asked, "What?"
"Nothing," Sam said, and he wasn't sure why he did it, but he slung an arm over the angel and pulled him to him. He kissed his forehead before pressing their lips together. It was brief, but Lucifer pressed back and didn't seem to mind that in this poor excuse for post-sex cuddling, he was submitting in a traditional sense. He even rested his head on Sam's shoulder until his breathing returned.
They stayed like that for a while. Eventually, Lucifer turned his head and pressed his lips to Sam's neck. "I still don't see why humanity is worth it. I don't see why my Father wanted me to bow down to you before I bowed before him. Most of you are stupid and lazy, worthless and violent, and many of you make me sick to my stomach to look at. I'd rather smite them than talk to them."
Sam frowned. He would argue the opposite. Many were stupid and lazy, some were even worthless and violent, but many more of them tried. Or at least made an effort. He opened his mouth to give his side – assuming Lucifer had made his decision before the pizza, beer, and sex to use Sam to start the apocalypse. It just got much easier, Sam hated to admit, their connection was undeniable now.
"But I can't imagine giving that up. This. You. If you become my vessel, this could never happen again. I've waited millennia to start the apocalypse," Lucifer turned to Sam and offered him a grin. "I can at least wait until I grow bored of you."
The jab didn't sting at all, because Lucifer wasn't fooling Sam. They were made for each other, after all. That made it a lot easier to see through the cracks.
"Well hey," Sam shifted, running his fingers through the angel's hair. "You know you don't need to be inside my meat suit to be inside my meat suit. We've only explored half the possibilities. I don't think you'll grow bored anytime soon."
Lucifer smirked, giving Sam a once-over. "Perhaps if we are going to continue these exploits, we should leave St. Thomas'. There is no need to add further accounts of blasphemy to our sins."
Sam grinned, placing a kiss on his angel's lips and murmured, "I absolve you."
"I absolve you too." And luckily, they didn't run into any priests on their way back to their rooms or the way out of the cathedral. Sam didn't want to have to try and explain the stain on his shirt.