There's a weight on Sam's chest. He struggles to breathe under it, forcing air into his lungs. They expand with difficulty, the pressure increasing to crush the air back out of him. Sam tries to open his eyes or flail out a hand, but no other muscle in his body responds. He can't even call for help, though Dean's got to be only a few feet over, asleep in his own bed. Sam's trapped in leaden flesh, slowly suffocating.
He hears a chuckle from above him, low and far too amused with its own antics. The weight lifts, and Sam gasps in air greedily. He can feel more now, thighs pressed into the sides of his torso, a warm hand splayed over his throat. He's supposed to be cold, used to be cold, but the details are getting jumbled. The way his thumb slides against Sam's Adam's apple is still the same, such short relief when this warped image of Lucifer is as likely to caress as to choke him.
"I know you're awake." Sam curls his hand into a fist and presses his nails to where the scar was. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Lucifer turns his head towards that, both of them waiting. He can hear Lucifer smiling when he says, "You aren't getting rid of me. Open your eyes."
Sam wants to say no.
He forfeited the right to do that in Detroit.
Lucifer's thumb has been rubbing back and forth over his throat, but it pauses. Not smoothly. There's a twitch, a jump, and when he speaks, it's softer, more familiar. "You will say yes to me"—Sam sucks in a shaky breath.—"but in your own time. I can wait for you, Sam. I always have." Stuck between interacting with this version of Lucifer, the one that's so close to the real thing, or waiting for his hallucination to degrade into his own guilt and self-hatred reflecting back at him... That's not really a choice either. Sam opens his eyes.
He's not all that surprised by what he sees, though Lucifer is naked and so is he, the sheets pushed back to the tops of his knees. Lucifer shifts further back, easing off of where he was sitting on Sam's chest. He feels real, solid, but still too warm. When Sam's eyes drift up and past him, the motel ceiling is the one he fell asleep tracing the cracks on last night. This isn't the Cage, isn't one of those spare, gentle moments that they spent together between Hell tearing into them. Sam turns his head to see if Dean is there. Lucifer stops him, a hand against his cheek.
At some point, the rules of this changed. Sam still can't touch Lucifer, but Lucifer can touch him. It's torture and a miracle, rolled into one.
"Look at me," Lucifer murmurs, sweetly jealous. Sam follows his touch, turning his head back to gaze up at him. He's rewarded with a kiss, something he hasn't had in so long that his throat tightens. He wants to kiss back, to drag Lucifer down against himself, but all too soon, Lucifer's pulled back. He shifts back again, rubbing himself back against Sam's cock.
That feels real, too. As real as fire on his skin, as a hand at his throat, as the lingering pressure of a kiss. Sam bites down as his lip to keep from making a noise. Dean is there, even if Lucifer won't let him look for his brother, and Sam really doesn't want to explain this to him. Waking up in the middle of the night screaming was one thing, but wet dreams (hallucinations?) about the devil were not going to be as easily swept under the rug.
"Do you miss this?" Lucifer asks. He's found a rhythm, a slow roll of his hips that drags all along Sam's cock, coaxing him harder.
"Yes," Sam whispers. He can barely hear his own voice. Lucifer's a grounding weight on top of him now, not a suffocating one. Sam wants to thrust up against him, feel the head of his cock catch on Lucifer's hole as he grinds against his ass, but he can't. Lucifer's choosing the pace.
"And me?" Lucifer clenches, makes the slide up between his thighs and cheeks even tighter.
"Every day," Sam gasps.
"But you won't come back to me," Lucifer says, disappointment dripping from his voice, another roll of his hips that fuzzes out Sam's ability to think before he can remember what going back to Lucifer would require him to do. "I miss you, Sam. It's been longer for me. Decades already. Maybe centuries."
Sam knows the distortion of time in Hell very well. He's been deliberately avoiding thinking about it, about what leaving Lucifer alone in there for the months he's been on Earth means. But it's like being told not to think about pink elephants. Even if Sam could manage it, his subconscious won't let it go.
He doesn't want it to. He deserves to be blamed for that. He abandoned Lucifer, and that was all Lucifer ever asked him not to do.
"Don't cry," Lucifer says. Sam wasn't aware he was, but there's a hot tear running down his cheek. It feels like blood. Sam looks up at the ceiling past Lucifer's head again. "You'll find your way back to me eventually. You might not even have to try. Hunting is dangerous." Lucifer's voice curves, a half-hidden suggestion to be more reckless. Sam can't tell if it still sounds like the real him or more like Sam's own distressing thoughts.
It feels like him. That has to be enough. He's all that Sam has left.
Lucifer slows. Sam's cock rubs up against his perineum, smearing precome against skin he can't touch. Lucifer reaches back to guide him inside, and Sam bites down on a, "Wait-" as Lucifer takes him.
He's not real, and Sam couldn't prep him if he wanted to. It doesn't matter. He's slick and opened up, exactly how Sam remembers him feeling, and far too hot, which is all pleasure but also isn't Lucifer. He's supposed to be cold inside, waiting for Sam to warm him up, to fill him, or it's the other way around, that Sam is burning and Lucifer soothes him. This is neither, and it isn't right, and Sam's still choking on moans anyway.
Lucifer puts his hands on Sam's chest and pushes down. Fear rushes Sam's brain, but he reasons it away. Lucifer's not trying to hurt him. He needs leverage to ride Sam, that's all, to drive himself down onto Sam's cock over and over. If Sam's struggling to breathe again, that's not Lucifer's fault.
Lucifer smiles. It's not gentle or proud. It's got too many teeth. It vanishes as soon as Sam sees it, and he's not sure he did see it. He sucks in a breath. Lucifer forces it back out on another thrust.
All of Sam's energy goes towards keeping quiet. He wants to moan for Lucifer, or scream. He could do both in the Cage. No one would hear him but the devil, and Lucifer wanted him to. He wants it now, but- Sam tries to turn his head again to remind himself why he has to stay quiet. Lucifer grabs his chin and turns him back. "No, look at me," he demands with jealousy that digs its claws into Sam and doesn't let go.
He's still beautiful.
Lucifer rides him hard and fast, and Sam can do nothing but take it. It feels so good. Sam's cock never fully slips out, Lucifer sitting up until the head catches right at the rim of him hole but never letting Sam loose. Lucifer doesn't touch himself, all his focus on driving Sam in deep. Sam would get a hand around his cock, but he's so close, doesn't want to risk shattering the illusion of Lucifer fucking him by reaching for him and feeling him slip through his fingers.
Sam throws his head back. His breathing is too loud. He's going to get caught. Lucifer doesn't help. He has no reason to keep quiet, and he doesn't, pleased groans rolling out of him each time he buries Sam inside him.
He drags a tiny moan out of Sam.
"Careful," he taunts. Sam shuts his eyes. His tone is all wrong, and before his words even come out, Sam knows they will be too. "Don't let Dean hear you whoring yourself out to the devil." Sam shuts out his voice, focusing on what he has left.
It doesn't matter how much a ghost once loved you. The longer they stay on Earth, the more confused they get. Sam knows this. Sam has put so many of them to rest. Burnt bones and cherished items, severing whatever kept them here.
And Sam is cherished. Sam is Lucifer's bones, and blood, and flesh.
He's dizzy with the need to come. Cruelty is falling on his ears, jabs at him being too weak to tell Lucifer no, the word addiction cutting deeper than anything else Lucifer can come up with. Sam keeps his eyes shut, no matter how many times Lucifer tells him to open them. Every breath is a fight, but Sam holds his own.
If you were here, you'd apologize, Sam thinks.
"You don't believe that."
If you were here, you wouldn't lie to me.
"You don't believe that, either."
Lucifer's voice catches on the last word. It becomes a grunt and then a sated exhale as he comes on Sam's cock. Sam feels his come splash onto his stomach, spilling from Lucifer's cock as he grinds back against Sam a few final times. His hole spasms around Sam, yanking him into an orgasm as well, milking out every last drop of pleasure until Lucifer is finally done with him.
Shivering, Sam tries pressing his nails to the scar again.
"It's really sad you think you can make me go anywhere I don't want to," Lucifer drawls. Sam's still half-buried in him. He swears he can feel his come leaking out of Lucifer around his softening cock. "But if I stay, you're going to get needy, aren't you?" Sam swallows. He presses the scar again, uselessly. It doesn't even make him feel better anymore. Lucifer makes a noise of disgust. There's nothing about him that Sam recognizes anymore by the time he disappears.
Sam's suddenly freezing without a body on top of his own. He can breathe again, and he does so, savoring the easiness of it. He runs a hand down his body, and he finds come still drying on his stomach. His heart stops for a second, but then his mind rights itself. He's not covered in Lucifer's come. It's his own. Of course it is.
He glances over at the other bed. Dean is snoring.
Sam looks back at the ceiling.
Wet heat on his face. Not blood. He shuts his eyes. Not blood. He wipes the tear away.
Sam gets up to take a shower. He avoids looking where Dean left their guns resting on the counter, shiny and clean and always loaded, because they never knew when they might need to shoot something in the middle of the night.