Chapter 15: Carry on my Wayward Son

Warnings: Language, explicit sexuality

We made it! Hurray! I'M SOOOO SLOW AND I'M SOOOO SORRY! But I actually had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm glad to see that a few people liked reading it. Totally an underrated pairing, in my humble opinion. So thanks for the support thus far; it's been really appreciated. I tried to write an extra long chapter to make up for my flakiness.

And now, the final chapter, in which Sam Winchester screws the devil for the good of humanity. So at long last, here is your smut, and the tying of some loose ends:

Anna dropped in on them a few days later, mostly to thank Cas and stare awkwardly at Lucifer and answer whatever questions the boys had. She wouldn't let anyone say that she was God, though she admitted she was a temp for him. They were likely not going to see much of her, she told them, but not none either—the Winchester boys had a way of being in the middle of everything important.

No one asked Lucifer when he planned to take heaven back. No one dared, not even Sam. He was regaining the trust that had been shaken by the events of the war, but he still couldn't bear the thought that for the devil, he was a vacation. A temporary experiment in the humanity he otherwise loathed.

Dean asked Castiel when he thought it would be, and Cas wasn't sure either. His best guess was that it would be after Sam died, but he suggested that they be vigilant.

Yeah, Dean could do that.

They got back on the road, though Dean instated a 'no archangel' policy for the Impala that Lucifer insisted was unfair—Gabriel had been in it before, after all. Dean ignored the fact that the devil somehow knew that. Lucifer was around less often than Castiel, though only slightly. He didn't like Dean, and he didn't intrude on Sam's dreams, and they found that he was generally more private than they had expected.

But Sam wanted to see Lucifer. Wanted him to be around. He'd let the devil in, and accepted him, and consciously decided that he would find a way to be with him. Once he'd made that choice, it was like a flood. It stopped being a desire and became a need.

Sam wondered how Dean and Cas had managed to find time alone together before, because he was having a lot of trouble finding it now. Eventually, though, he did.

Lucifer came whenever Sam called for him. He might not always be pleased about it, but he was never angry, and he always showed up. Sam chose a night when Dean and Cas were out at a bar—Dean insisted on 'teaching his angel about human decadence'—before calling the devil to their room. Sam was learning that Lucifer liked to flaunt his power in a casual way. Or maybe he just couldn't be bothered to hide it. Either way, when he entered the room, a chill ran through it, as did the anxious feeling in the air that came before a furious storm.

"Hi Sam," the devil greeted simply.

Sam nodded in reply, crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Hey." He felt stupid.

Lucifer smiled obligingly and stepped forward, sliding hands to rest unashamedly on Sam's ass. He gazed up at the hunter with that perpetually amused smile. "No need to be shy, Sammy. You can tell me whatever you want to say."

The younger Winchester believed that he could. It was odd to note the contrast in how Lucifer dealt with people—with Castiel and Michael, he had been reluctant and regretful. With Dean or Bobby, he ranged from irritation to barely-contained fury. But with Sam…the hunter believed the archangel would truly give him everything if he asked for it.

"I want…to know what you can feel. From me," Sam replied slowly.

The archangel raised an eyebrow and squeezed at the handfuls of ass still under his palms. "You'll have to be more specific."

Before allowing himself to proceed, Sam decided very pointedly that he would not get an erection during this conversation.

"Can you feel anything from my soul? I know angels can read them or something, and I think you have a backstage pass," he clarified with a stiff tone.

Rather than reply, Lucifer smiled and closed his eyes. Sam stood awkwardly still, the silence dragging on more and more conspicuously. He was about to say something when he felt it. It was like the surge from days ago when Lucifer had shared some of his grace, only even more overwhelming, if that was possible. His senses all focused to the peak of his ability, goosebumps running across his flesh and hair standing on end. It was like his senses were being assailed, and the feeling was not at all unpleasant.

It had felt familiar several days ago, as it did now. The difference was that he could actually place the feeling now—it was like he had felt when he had been Lucifer's vessel. He had fought then, rebelled against Satan. He hadn't allowed the feeling to wash over him as it did now. It was the feeling of his soul being enveloped by an archangel.

"Sam," the devil coaxed, leaving the sensation intact but calling Sam's attention away. The hunter was then able to notice the feeling of the grace itself. It was like feeling emotions for another person. He felt Lucifer's joy, his momentary contentment, his unrepentant arrogance, his haughty power…everything as if it was his own.

Then the feeling slowly ebbed away. Apparently Sam had started breathing heavily at some point, because he was still doing it now. "That's what you can feel from me. All the time." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Lucifer replied simply.

"This is what you wanted from me, at least partially. This was what you were trying to tell me."

"Yes."

The feeling of Lucifer's grace, and the knowledge that it was so close, threatened to drown Sam in some supernatural blend of ecstasy and peace. However, he couldn't help focusing on what he'd felt from the archangel; anger. Disappointment. Betrayal. He hadn't lied when he'd said the apocalypse was simply on the backburner. It didn't matter that Sam and Dean were safe, or that the world could relax for a few decades while Lucifer was distracted. That wasn't what he and his brother had spent their entire lives fighting for. It was a consolation prize, and that wasn't near good enough.

Lucifer felt Sam's hesitation and stepped back, hands sliding away. "Sam, you can never understand how important you are to me," he said, his voice a gentle, sad murmur. "But other things are more important still. Justice, freedom, vengeance. You will never change my mind or drag me away, and it will only hurt you to try. My brother couldn't persuade me, and neither could my Father. Humanity is a mistake, and I must be the one who corrects it."

That was exactly what was irritating Sam so thoroughly. It was what was keeping him from giving over every last inch of himself to Lucifer. "Why?" He demanded. "How could you find me so special and see nothing in any other human that's worth saving?"

"You're different, Sam," Lucifer insisted, seeming sad that he couldn't make Sam understand his point of view.

"But I'm more similar than I am different. There are people in the world who are better than me. Hell, Dean is a much better person than I'll ever be."

A sigh escaped the archangel's lips. "Maybe we're not so similar, you and I. I'm willing to correct people when they're wrong. Judge them for their mistakes. I don't feel a false sense of duty to people I've never met, and I understand that in the natural order, some lives are simply worth less."

The hunter had to fight not to tell the angel that he didn't seem to have a sense of duty to anyone. To say so might have been a death wish, even for Sam. Instead, he settled for asking the devil why he couldn't believe that God might have been right and that humanity deserved to survive.

"That's just it; I could tolerate it if humans could live on their own. But they are weak, and fragile, and destructive, and arrogant. Human's don't just survive, they demand. They need constant care. That the angels should bow to humans, and love and serve them more than our Father himself? I refused. The idea that humanity deserves our reverence is a joke I'll never understand." Lucifer's expression had grown noticeably darker at the topic, and Sam wondered if he should proceed.

"I remember you said to Michael that God knows everything. That he must have wanted for there to be a devil," Sam began carefully. Lucifer held his gaze intently, but the archangel was silent, allowing Sam to continue. "I know God can be a dick, but I seriously doubt he would set up the world to have a devil for no reason."

"Someone needs to be sure the assholes are punished," Lucifer said dismissively by way of explanation.

"Right, but why not just make a king of Hell to start with? Why set things up to have an archangel rebel?" Sam continued.

"I don't see how this is relevant," Satan interjected with annoyance.

"God gave people free will so it would mean something when we did the right thing, didn't he? Then how would it mean anything if you were just mindlessly obedient? After killing angels, and humans, and gods, and leviathans…after being a part of this stupid war, can't you see nothing he made is perfect? We're all messed up. None of us deserves to have anyone kneel for them just because of what they are. But some of us actually try, and those are the people we try to protect. Those are the people Cas, and Gabriel, and Anna, and even Balthazar were loyal to. Not God. And I think he knew that you would need to actually see all of that, rather than just do what you were told. I think that's why he loved you most. I think...that's why I love you most."

A silence hung between them, and Sam heard his heart drum in his ears as he searched the deep lines of Lucifer's frown for any sign that he had just horribly, fatally offended the most powerful angel in existence.

The devil slowly and carefully moved back toward the hunter until they were an arm's length from each other. He never took his eyes off Sam's. The Winchester remembered all of the things Lucifer had done to his family, to his friends, or to perfect strangers. The angel loathed humanity. He despised heaven. The attempt to convince him to feel otherwise had seemed feasible at the time, but staring into Satan's glare now, Sam realized that it had been both arrogant and naïve.

Lucifer finally broke his glare as he closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Maybe you understand after all," he said to Sam finally.

Then, slowly and reverently, Lucifer dropped to his knees before Sam Winchester, and whispered the words "I love you."

It was the most bizarre scene imaginable, as the human stood above the humble form of the archangel. The moment that passed felt like an eternity to Sam, and like the most fleeting moment to Lucifer, but these feelings were shared between them until they were indistinguishable from one another. The hunter felt uncomfortable with it; he of all people didn't deserve to be looked at with so much love. He didn't know what it would take for anyone to be a saint anymore, but he was certain he was a sinner, and he couldn't bring himself to be above Lucifer.

So Sam bent down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he ran his hand up into the angel's hair and pulled him gently forward into a soft kiss. Lucifer was still with shock for a moment before sighing deeply and reciprocating. Those familiar chills slid along Sam's lips again, prickling his skin with sensation. His mouth had to move on its own, because he lost complete control of himself in the feeling. He noticed himself leaning farther forward, pushing the angel back until Lucifer was looking up with icy blue eyes from the motel carpet. Sam crouched over him, breathing heavily and staring back. Lucifer raised a hand, likely to pull the hunter down. Sam grabbed his wrist, collected the other in his grip, and pinned them on the floor. The devil chuckled indulgently, and the sound was muffled as Sam dropped into another kiss.

It took a while for the hunter to realize that the feeling at his chest was that of his shirt slowly being unbuttoned. He realized that one of Lucifer's hands had snaked its way free of his grip at some point and was now moving on to work at the fly of his jeans. He gasped as another shiver of anticipation worked its way along his skin. It seemed that as he stared deeper and deeper into Lucifer's eyes, he just grew hungry.

In his head there was a blurry need to be closer to the angel. His angel. He needed every part of himself to be touching every part of Lucifer—he thought he would explode with that need. He was tearing at the angel's shirt in the next moment, fumbling and growling with impatience. Lucifer grinned up at him with something beyond his usual amusement, and it just made Sam more impatient. After far too much time—if anyone asked the Winchester, anyways—the two were pressed against each other, warm human flesh pinning down the cool skin of the archangel. Sam couldn't help pressing his hips down into Lucifer's, eliciting appreciative little growls. The angel bucked up in reply, and grabbed Sam's lower lip in a rough bite.

"I'm getting all these little hints from you," Lucifer said, smoothing a hand over Sam's erection to punctuate his statement "but I'd like it if you were straightforward. What do you want, Sam?"

The hunter glared at the angel. Was he being mocked, or just teased? Either way, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "You know what I want," he replied simply.

"Oh, I don't want to make any assumptions. What if someone accuses me of taking advantage of you?" The devil replied with a grin.

Sam had an odd moment of clarity, in which the world seemed to grow still and hushed, waiting for him to say words that were beyond even his own comprehension. "I want to fuck you," he whispered.

"A bit of enthusiastic consent please, Sam."

Sam leaned in until his hot breath panted over the devil's ear. "Lucifer, I'm going to fuck you," he growled.

A wolfish smile was the only reply.

What remained of their clothes was removed in a flurry. Sam didn't remember it, as clothing was never once the focus of his attention.

They kissed frantically, passionately, madly. The link between them made it so Sam felt echoes of every touch along his skin in humming ripples, and every graze against Lucifer's skin sent a corresponding jolt of frost. A part of him wanted to revel in the exploration forever. The devil had been forbidden for so long, and now here he was, laid out willingly and inviting every kind of touch.

But even stronger than the desire to linger was the hunger for more. Sam wanted to give Lucifer everything.

The younger Winchester had never done this before. He was academically familiar with the sort of necessary prep involved, but by no means an expert. He also couldn't bring himself to ask Lucifer if he, perhaps, was more familiar with anal.

He didn't need to ask, it seemed, because the angel was gently tugging at Sam's already urgent boner, coaxing him down and toward his hole. Shock must have registered in the hunter's expression, because Lucifer's narrow-eyed grin returned. "I'm going to have all of you Sam, and you're going to enjoy it," he explained in a fatalistic tone.

Sam felt that warm-yet-cold sensation on the edge of his dick as it was pressed against the opening of Lucifer's ass. The human hesitated, certain that any pain on Lucifer's part could end the world. But the angel rolled his hips purposefully, and Sam found himself pushing back against the pressure. Just pushing felt good, in fact, but he could only enjoy that realization for a moment before his dick slowly entered.

He gasped. His brain couldn't register the feeling. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing. Yet Lucifer continued to push up against him, sliding farther and farther up Sam's shaft with singular focus. The devil growled low in his throat, and the sound echoed through the room. Sam's brain, almost entirely on autopilot, decided that it liked the sound. He rolled his hips forward and down, then pulled back up at a tantalizingly slow pace. He managed to draw another growl from the angel, this one punctuated by a laugh.

"Sam, Sam," he said with his usual suppressed smile. "I enjoy your enthusiasm, but if you're too impatient, you'll spoil the ending."

The hunter's hands clenched into fists on the carpeted floor on either side of the devil's head as he made a conscious effort to control himself. He took up a slow, rolling pace with his hips, panting deeply with each movement. As he pushed against Lucifer, his mind searched for the connection the two had. Once he had located the feeling in the back of his mind that felt like Lucifer, he pushed himself against it with the same rhythm as his body was using. He heard the faintest groan from the angel, and knew that it was working.

Sam would reflect, later, on the fact that his whole life had brought him to this point. His birth had been arranged by heaven, his blood mixed with a demon's by Azazel, his safety guarded by Castiel, his choices pushed—but never decided—by the heavenly host, his psychic powers trained by Ruby, his sense of duty perfected by Dean. No other person could have gotten where he was. No other person would have made the same choices, good and bad. He and Lucifer were fated to be together, pressed against a motel floor, feeling the edges of each others being. His life had led up to this moment, and this moment in turn would lead to something more. It was a realization he would come to later, but the feeling that would lead him to it was budding as he pressed his sweating torso against the devil's crisply-cool skin. He pushed deeper, faster, somehow dividing his focus between the motion of his body and his mind, the feedback loop it caused, and the hungry look in Lucifer's eye as he pushed back in harmony.

And even with his attention divided as it was, yet another sensation slowly burned its way into the forefront of his mind; he was about to come.

The younger Winchester had a slight moment of panic. He had no idea what the etiquette for coming—or not—in the devil's ass was.

"I..." he began with an insufficient amount of composure.

"Perfect," the devil purred. One of his hands snapped up and pulled Sam's head down by the hair, trapping him in a voracious kiss.

Sam would not be able to remember the feeling of going over the edge, once it was over. It was beyond description, and far from the sorts of feelings he could categorize. It was like nothing else, and so could not be spoken of. If he tried, the closest thing he could say would simply be 'Lucifer.' He felt Lucifer, in every possible sense of the word.

Thanks very much for reading, everyone. I hope that was alright. Probably not 6 months worth of writing, but hopefully sufficient. Please review/share/whatever if you enjoyed it. Maybe other people will get Samifer feels and write something else?

Well, thanks again!