Lucifer's not going to take to humanity of his own accord. He's probably never going to love humans, but Sam's not expecting him to. There's too much bad blood there, and even if most of it would be better directed at God, He wasn't here and the man who decided to litter in front of Lucifer was. (The guy was fine. Scared out of his wits, but Lucifer didn't kill him. That's progress! Sort of.) Lucifer's learning to coexist with people.
Sam's probably pushing his luck with taking Lucifer to a bar, though. It's not the most popular place, and that lack of frenzied movement and crowding elbows jamming into their sides is the saving grace of the evening. Lucifer was amiable for a little more than an hour. He even started a conversation up all on his own with a woman about her upcoming dissertation on moral philosophy. Sam's pretty sure her flirting went right over Lucifer's head, though she politely backed off when Sam came over to press a pointed kiss to Lucifer's mouth. His claim firmly established, Sam had left him alone again, heading back to the pool table in the corner where he'd left Dean.
When they finish the game and Sam goes back to Lucifer again, his conversation partner has disappeared, and with her, Lucifer's tolerance for human interaction. It's not helped by the growing crowd as the night goes on
Sam sits beside him, close enough that Lucifer can lean in. A minute amount of tension falls from his shoulders and then springs back when a raucous burst of laughter comes from across the room. Sam takes hold of his wrist. He watches Lucifer for a minute, taking stock of every tell the archangel has. Annoyed with being around people was one thing, the whole point of this pseudo-exposure therapy, but getting overstimulated by the sheer volume of people was another. Sam rubs the back of his wrist in a slow circle.
"Can you do thirty more minutes for me?" he murmurs. Lucifer breathes as Sam ducks his head, nosing at his neck. His grip on Lucifer's wrist remains firm.
"For you," Lucifer agrees. He pauses a moment. "And nothing else?" Sam smiles despite himself. Even if he knew where this was going, he still liked hearing Lucifer ask.
"If you behave, you get a reward for being so good." Sometimes, Sam feels a little funny saying stuff like that, but then Lucifer's breath hitches the moment good hits his ears and Sam can't give less of a shit about potential awkwardness.
He doesn't leave Lucifer's side again. When Lucifer tenses from another wave of laughter or yelling, Sam rubs his wrist again. When someone accidentally stumbles into him and he responds to their apology with don't mention it, Sam's hand slides down onto his thigh. It's a bit like having his hand on the leash of a tiger, terrifying and exhilarating.
He cuts the thirty minutes short when someone else comes to eye Lucifer up. Sam takes his hand and gaze away for scant seconds to catch sight of Dean, and he's yanked back violently by the seductive slur of, "So… it hurt when you fell from Heaven, angel?" Sam's head snaps back so hard it hurts. Lucifer's completely frozen, glaring at the new woman who's approached. She looks a little uncomfortable now, edging back. Sam puts a hand on the back of Lucifer's neck (skin cold enough now that it stings Sam's palm, but he doesn't let go.)
"Hey," Sam whispers. Lucifer doesn't react. "Hey, time's up." He squeezes the back of Lucifer's neck and ignores the tingling numbness creeping into his fingers. The woman on Lucifer's other side pulls back at the sight of her own breath frosting in the air. Sam tugs on Lucifer once to no avail, "Let's get out of here," and the second time, firmer, "Lucifer. We're leaving," Lucifer comes. Sam guides him out before he can ice the whole joint, but he doesn't need to worry about that too much. By the time they're outside and alone, Lucifer's dropped back to his normal body temperature, still far too cold to be a human (a living one, anyway) but familiar.
"That wasn't thirty minutes," is the first thing he says as Sam finds them somewhere quiet, dark, and relatively private off the sidewalk. An alley behind the bar where he can push Lucifer into a wall and kiss the self-recrimination that's lurking under his words right out of him.
"It was long enough," Sam says, and when Lucifer opens his mouth to argue with him, he presses their hips together and grinds his packer up against Lucifer, making sure he can feel the bulge of it in Sam's pants. What comes out of his mouth instead is a low whine, head tilting at just the right angle for Sam to bite down on his throat. Lucifer lets Sam bruise him.
Sam's got three packers. Two for everyday use, for safety in helping him pass when they go out and for making him feel good about himself. The last one took a little more searching around on the internet, a hefty price laid on one of the credit cards they were about to ditch, and a week waiting for it to show up to the P.O. Box Sam had rented. It's fine for everyday use as well, goes as unnoticed as any other dick, but it's got extra functions for nights like this.
Rocking his hips against Lucifer is the best kind of torture for both of them. All too much anticipation and not enough sensation to satisfy them. Lucifer takes it, twisting to try and get more friction on his cock through his jeans. His legs spread further to let Sam work, and Sam holds him steady against the wall.
"I want you on your knees," Sam says. Lucifer's eyes are already starting to go hazy, focused entirely on what Sam wants from him, relaxing as he trusts him to take control. Sam lowers him, hands sliding up his body from his waist to his shoulder to his hair as Lucifer goes down. Sam pulls, and the remaining tension drains out of Lucifer as his head is yanked back and held there. Sam could hurt him much worse than that, and Lucifer would love it, but that's not the plan tonight. He promised Lucifer a reward.
"Stay there," Sam says, as though Lucifer has anywhere to go with Sam trapping him up against the wall. (But then, he's all coiled archangelic strength under his skin, enough to break Sam in half if he wanted. He doesn't move because Sam tells him not to. The rush is intoxicating.) Sam unbuttons his jeans, two quick flicks, snapping sounds in the relative quiet of the alley. He pulls his zipper down slow, even as he sees Lucifer's jaw work impatiently. He still doesn't move a muscle from where Sam put him.
Sam rests his hand over the bulge his packer makes in his boxers, partially to adjust it, partially to tease Lucifer. He stares as Sam sets the packer a little lower, the harness it came with rubbing against his sides. He's used to the ones he can tuck into his boxers and forget about, but the harness opens up all new possibilities. Like tugging his boxers down until the silicone shaft of the packer shows itself. Lucifer shifts forward an inch, and that's all the warning Sam gets before Lucifer tries to get the packer in his mouth. Sam grabs him by his hair again, pulling harder.
"I told you to stay still," he intones. He tightens his grip to watch Lucifer's eyes roll back, mouth falling open around a pant.
"I'm sorry," Lucifer says when Sam relaxes again. He doesn't sound particularly sorry.
The packer hangs flaccid at Sam's crotch, useful for passing without looking like he's got a constant boner but not what he wants right now. He's felt the small rod that he can insert into it poking him in his back pocket since he put it there, and now he can finally pull it out and put it to good use. The whole process takes a few seconds. Lucifer's gaze is hungry, and Sam's hard, and he finally gives permission, "Get your mouth on me."
Despite how he lunged for it earlier, Lucifer plays coy now. He presses a kiss to the head before trailing his tongue slowly up the shaft. Sam wishes more than anything that he could feel it, but the slight pressure of the packer back against his dick and the sight of Lucifer getting the shaft nice and slick is more than enough for him. It's spit-shiny when Lucifer's done lapping at it.
"Back," Sam says. He can see Lucifer's reluctance to obey in how he mouths his way back down the shaft before leaning away again. "You're not allowed to touch yourself until I say so." Lucifer's legs are spread, enough for Sam to narrow his eyes and add, "or rub yourself against my leg or the hem of your pants." Lucifer pouts, caught before he can enact his (not so) clever plan.
"Open your mouth." That, Lucifer does without hesitation. Sam rests his thumb against Lucifer's bottom lip. It's cool and wet. Lucifer's tongue darts out, tips curling playfully around Sam's thumb. Sam gives him what he wants, presses it back into Lucifer's mouth. Lucifer's eyes shut, and his tongue slides along Sam's thumb like he's already sucking his cock.
Sam indulges him, thrusting it back and forth into Lucifer's mouth. Imagining how all that wet pressure would feel against his cock, sinking in until Lucifer's tongue was pressed flat to the bottom of his mouth and his jaw ached.
One day, Sam's going to facefuck Lucifer with a dick he can feel every inch of, but for now, he's still got plenty of inches to feed down the devil's throat.
He pulls his thumb free. Lucifer whines again, but Sam shuts him up again with two fingers jammed deep into his mouth. They reach further than his thumb can, and Lucifer makes a choking sound at the sudden intrusion. "Thought you liked having something in your mouth. Can't you take that?" He withdraws his fingers slightly before he has Lucifer grabbing at his hand and nodding. Then, he fucks them right back in.
Lucifer's always too controlled, composed, calm, but Sam's seen him fight and relish in the bloody chaos he can cause. Sam's felt him under his skin, a shifting mass of giddy excitement at freedom and new experiences and the focus he needed to keep himself on track. There's no more Apocalypse for him to guide himself towards.
There's only Sam, and Sam wants Lucifer all messed up.
Sam pulls his fingers back. They're coated in spit, and he doesn't even bother with wiping them off before he grabs his cock. Lucifer's leaning back against the wall now, head tilted like he's offering himself up and mouth held wide open. Sam feeds the head of his cock to him, watching his lips close around it. His eyes are half-shut. All that tension from earlier, every twitch and jump at the reminder that he was surrounded by humans, it's all gone now, filtered out to make way for this lust-heavy daze. Sam strokes Lucifer's lip as he pushes more of his cock in, feeling all the unconscious movements Lucifer makes to accommodate him. It's not a big cock, but it's still more than enough to take all of his focus to swallow it down.
Sam swears he can almost feel the inside of Lucifer's mouth, as impossible as that is. He's so in tune with the steady push into Lucifer, catching every shift of his jaw as he opened wider and bob of his throat as he swallowed, that it's not hard to imagine the wet clutch of it around his cock. Lucifer's tongue moves, and Sam can feel it in the slight shift of his cock. He shivers like it slid right over a sensitive nerve. He can feel how wet he is beneath the packer and his actual dick, swollen hard and teased by the pressure. Sam gives one last push, another few inches, and Lucifer makes a noise close to a choke as it all slides in.
Sam doesn't pull back for a minute. He leans forward against the wall, one arm braced on it, his forehead pressed to it. His skin feels overheated, especially where Lucifer tentatively folds his hands over his hips. How his palms are still cold when Sam's caging him in like this, pinning him with his cock down his throat, is beyond him. Sam rocks forward unconsciously, phantom sensations of the cool wetness of Lucifer's mouth surrounding his cock ringing up his spine. Lucifer chokes again, but he doesn't make any attempt to push Sam back. He doesn't need to breathe. The thought makes Sam groan, stifling it as best he can against his elbow.
He pulls his hips back. Lucifer stays where Sam pushed him into the wall, and Sam's cock drags back out of his mouth, just as slow and messy as he wanted. Lucifer doesn't make any move to wipe the spit off. Sam's cock rests against his bottom lip, Lucifer's tongue lapping against the head. His eyes flick up towards Sam, and there's the smallest spark of frustration still there under the haze. Sam smirks, dragging his cock back further to tease him, and Lucifer whines at the loss.
Sam laughs, can't help himself. He's got the devil on his knees, begging to choke on his dick. Lucifer's eyes narrow, and Sam silences himself immediately. There's little that can snap Lucifer out of his headspace once he's trusted Sam to drop him into it, but the perception that he's being mocked stings at his pride too sharply. Sam drops a hand, carding it through Lucifer's hair until he relaxes again, eyes shutting as he leans into the touch.
"Not making fun of you," Sam reassures. "Just enjoying how desperate you are to suck my cock. You're so good at taking it." Lucifer's hips roll against nothing. There's a delicious thrill that goes up Sam's spine knowing that Lucifer can't get hard unless Sam lets him reach down and squeeze his balls, pump his erection up. Until then, he has to stew in it, getting needier without any real method of release.
Sam thumbs Lucifer's mouth open again. His cock slides right back in, and he can hear Lucifer moan. Sam can't take his eyes off of him, watching his dick push back and forth into Lucifer's mouth. The power of it is intoxicating, but the euphoric joy of it being his overwhelms even that. It doesn't matter that Sam can't feel all of it because it's his cock Lucifer wants, it's him fucking Lucifer's mouth, and knowing that is pushing him closer to orgasm than anything else could.
Sam fucks Lucifer's face slow, like he's got all the time in the world to indulge. "Fuck," he breathes out. He drags Lucifer into each thrust, bottoming out deep. Lucifer takes it. "You're so good, Lucifer. Go ahead. Touch yourself. You earned it." Lucifer doesn't make any move to, not until Sam slows a little. He blinks like he's coming back to himself. "You still with me?" Sam asks, pulling back.
"Yes," Lucifer answers. "Mostly," he amends after a moment.
"Keep going?"
"Please." Sam lets him collect himself enough to pull his own cock out. Lucifer gets himself hard with a few squeezes, and as he begins stroking his cock, Sam puts his own back between Lucifer's lips.
His focus is split between chasing his own pleasure and witnessing Lucifer's. Every time he presses into Lucifer's mouth, the packer pushes back against his dick, the end of the rod he inserted rubbing up against him. Below, he can see Lucifer working himself up. His touch is more practiced now, attuned to the sensations his body responds to, but Sam can still see some of the earlier clumsiness he used to approach his own pleasure with in his movements. Sam thrusts in, and Lucifer's hand slides to the base of his shaft. Out, it slides up.
That only encourages Sam to fuck him faster. Lucifer's hair is pulled tight in his grip again. Lucifer's eyes roll back as the pain crosses the pleasure, but he never fails to follow Sam's rhythm. He doesn't choke anymore when Sam pushes too deep, like he's forgotten his body is supposed to have a gag reflex.
It's seeing Lucifer treat the packer like it's an extension of Sam, hearing Lucifer moan around his cock, knowing he need to get off because having Sam in his mouth feels so good, all of that sends Sam hurtling to the edge, lackluster friction and pressure on his dick barely a factor.
"You can come," Sam gives Lucifer permission. A louder moan, a few more strokes, and Lucifer seizes and shudders. "Come from getting your face fucked. Good- So good, Lucifer. So perfect." Clear come spurts down Lucifer's cock, sticking to his hand. When he lets go of himself, strands of it stick until he shakes his hand and breaks them. Lucifer's eyes flick up to meet Sam's.
Sam loses control without warning. His orgasm hits him. He shoves forward, knocking Lucifer's head back against the wall. He grinds against the packer, chasing the ecstatic thrill until he's worn it out. When he stops, Lucifer lets his cock fall from his mouth without a fight. He stays where Sam shoved him, head tilted back and lips parted, panting softly as he recovers. Sam lets him stay there, soothing the sting in Lucifer's scalp with gentle petting.
"That was perfect," he reiterates. "You took everything so well." Sam's hesitance from earlier to spill sincere praise over Lucifer is long gone. "You're good, Lucifer. You're very good." The way Lucifer looks at him when he says that, it's as though he'd fall on his knees and worship Sam with his mouth a thousand times over. Sam's never going to be used to seeing him like that.
When enough time has passed and Lucifer makes to stand again, Sam helps him up off his knees. He's still unsteady on his feet, gaze a little out of it. Sam helps wipe up the mess he made. Lucifer reaches down. His hands fumble with Sam's packer for a moment before Sam realizes what he's trying to do. Sam slides the rod out himself, but Lucifer is the one who tucks the flaccid again packer back into his boxers. Lucifer gropes him through the fabric, too, making sure it's set where it should be (or because he wants an excuse to touch Sam more. Sam doesn't mind either way.)
"So," Sam says, "what do you say we try and hit the full thirty minutes next time? Or even forty?" Lucifer snorts. It's as subdued as the rest of him is coming out of his headspace.
"Do I have to talk the entire time?"
"Only if you find another interesting conversation partner. Otherwise, no disintegrations. That's all I'm asking." Lucifer grabs the front of his shirt and tugs him into a kiss. His lips are bruised from being fucked. Sam thinks it's agreement, that they're done for the evening, but then Lucifer speaks softly against his mouth.
"Don't leave me again." Sam's hand settles on the back of Lucifer's head, very close to where he'd held on as he fucked him.
"You could have come and got me. I was right across the bar," Sam says. The evidence of their encounter plays out across Lucifer's body, the tender bruises on his neck, the unsalvageable mess of his hair under Sam's fingers, and the vulnerable tinge to his voice as he pushes into Sam's space.
"I don't want you to leave," Lucifer repeats. Sam recognizes the plea for what it actually is, nothing to do with abandoning him to mill among humans and everything to do with how convinced Lucifer is that no matter how hard he holds on, Sam will slip through his fingers. Right now, Lucifer's on unstable ground, and he needs Sam to hold him up.
"I'm not going anywhere." Sam pets his hair. He pushes Lucifer back until he hits the wall again, his skull cushioned by Sam's hand between it and the bricks.
Gentle and attentive, Sam tidies him back up. Lucifer's erection needs to be pushed down before the mechanism inside kicks in and drains the implant. Sam tucks him away and straightens his clothes out. He even combs his fingers through Lucifer's hair a few times in an attempt to make it orderly again. His hand finally comes to rest at Lucifer's jaw, massaging where it would ache the most if he was human.
All of this is what Lucifer needs to separate what they've just done from how they'll continue to be with each other. Sam needs it, too, and the reassurance that Lucifer is okay.
Lucifer smiles, leaning into his touch. His eyes are more focused now. Sam will miss his submission, but earning it, for both of them, is a reward in of itself.
"Are we letting Dean drive back alone?" Sam's thumb rubs right at the hinge of Lucifer's jaw.
"You just want me all to yourself," Sam says back, but there's no sting to it and with a tilt of Lucifer's head, he admits to it. "Fine. Take me away." There's a barely there tickle that brushes the back of his neck.
One moment, if someone looked in, they'd see the two easily, holding each other.
The next, there's nothing to show they were ever even there.