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It usually took Sam a while to fall asleep. He had always been envious of Dean, who seemed to be able to pass out the second his head hit a pillow, but logic’d it away by knowing that Dean was basically always running on almost no sleep. Unless he was also running on almost no sleep, it took him at least a good fifteen minutes to finally conk out, usually more like thirty, sometimes over an hour if he was particularly unlucky.
He was having one of those unlucky nights despite being pretty tired after finally getting back to their motel room at one in the morning. The adrenaline of taking down one of the nastiest witches he and Dean had ever encountered had worn off, so he should be close to sleep. He was not.
Laying on his back hadn’t been working. He rolled over to his left, facing the wall, his eyes picking out any slight difference in texture. Maybe if he stared at it long enough he could bore himself to sleep.
He lay there, eyes half-shut, thinking about nothing, twitching at the occasional snore from Dean’s bed, until he was interrupted.
“Can’t sleep, hm?” There was suddenly a weight behind him, an arm snaking around his waist, a body pressed against his. “If only I could help.”
You’re more likely to keep me awake, Sam thought wearily. No need to speak aloud to a figment of your own traumatized brain.
“Mh, I’m feeling magnanimous today.” Lucifer nuzzled into Sam’s neck, making him shudder. Even as a hallucination Lucifer’s body was cold, and he flinched at the feeling of his forehead, his nose, his lips all touching his shoulder. “I’ll let you sleep.”
When?
“I’ll think about it.” Lucifer’s other arm pushed under his head and he locked them together around him, strong as a vice. Sam struggled feebly but didn’t fight beyond that. He knew it was useless. If Lucifer wanted to hold him, he would hold him. It was simple. Devastating.
“That’s right. You’ve learned that by now.” One of Lucifer’s hands slid up his shirt and he twitched, barely stifling a quiet, pained noise. “How do you really know this isn’t the cage, Sam? I can do whatever I want to you here, just like I could down there.”
He touched the space between Sam’s pectoral muscles, ice-cold trails running across his chest, tracing the contours. “Mm, but this is new. I didn’t touch you like this in the cage, did I?”
Sam was frozen stiff, his breathing short and stifled, this was wrong wrong wrong but there was something about how delicately Lucifer touched him, his little hums of approval, how his lips brushed his neck, that he was, unfortunately, reacting to.
“I bet I miss you,” Lucifer said, his voice muffled. “The real me must be so lonely there without you. You must miss me, too, since you went to all the trouble of creating this version of me.”
Sam felt a bolt of anger and his hands balled into fists. Go to hell.
“Not without you, buddy boy.” Lucifer’s hand ran down his stomach, tracing the lines of his muscles there, too. “Not without you.”
The room was too hot, the blankets were too hot, or Lucifer’s hands and face were too cold, and Sam shifted in discomfort. He wanted to take the covers off, but he felt like he couldn’t move, like moving would disrupt something, would make things worse somehow. So he lay there, motionless, just waiting.
Waiting for what? For it to be over? When would it be over?
“When I want it to be over,” Lucifer replied patiently. “I said I’d let you sleep, Sammy. I don’t lie. Not any version of me.” He was still holding Sam and touching Sam’s chest and stomach in ways he hadn’t been touched in a while, gentle and slow and almost reverent. Sam’s breathing grew heavier and his jaw clenched as his fingers twitched.
Lucifer hummed and Sam felt it against his neck, inside his body. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he murmured. He ran his hand down Sam’s arm, pressing at his biceps, circling around until he reached his wrist. “It’s too bad I couldn’t have spent more time inside of you.”
Sam swallowed, his heart lurching forward and speeding up, the double meaning not lost on him, not with Lucifer touching him like this. He wished he wished Lucifer’s presence wasn’t doing anything to him but God, he couldn’t help it, could anyone help it in this situation? Soft hands on his body, soft voice in his ear, soft lips on his neck, what the fuck is wrong with you? he demanded of himself, burning with shame.
“Then again,” Lucifer continued, now with his mouth against Sam’s jawline, “if I was inside of you in that way, I could only touch you with your own hands. That’d be fun, but it’s not the same.” He left Sam’s arm and moved over to the lines of his hips, trailing his index finger across them, moving dangerously close to the rim of his sweatpants.
Then one of Lucifer’s legs tangled with Sam’s and their bodies were flush together and Sam’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, exhaling out of his mouth, shaking, because somehow the Lucifer his brain had invented was rubbing against him, very obviously hard. He hated the tiny rush of excitement deep in his gut, overshadowed by the feeling of humiliating dread. The last time he’d been with a man was fun, thrilling, someone hot who’d bought him a drink and invited him home. This was so much different and so, so, so much worse.
Stop, he thought, feeling sick. Stop, how are you even…?
“I don’t know, Sam, you’re the one who invented me.” Lucifer kissed his neck, then nipped it, making him flinch. “Do you think this means you want it? You want me?”
“No,” Sam croaked aloud, seized with terror because what does it mean if that’s not what it means? He wished he could kick Lucifer away, but he was still frozen solid, and he knew that wouldn’t do anything anyway. He was utterly powerless to the hallucination touching his stomach again, grinding on him like an object, using him.
“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Lucifer admonished him. “You aren’t an object. You’re my vessel. You’re the only human I care about. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Sam.” Despite everything, Sam’s breath caught in his throat and heat glowed in the pit of his stomach. “You’re perfect for me.”
Lucifer buried his face in Sam’s neck. “You’re mine,” he said, so sweetly, so loving, and maybe if Sam closed his eyes and tried not to think about it he could enjoy this, imagine it was someone else holding him and wanting him -
“Really, Sam? You’d think about someone else? I’m hurt.” Lucifer sank his teeth, unnaturally sharp, deep into Sam’s shoulder, and he only just held back a pained sound that was way too close to a moan. “If I’m here, it’s because you’re thinking about me.”
Sam ducked his head, tried to move out of reach, and ended up staring down at himself. Guilt flooded him from head to toe seeing how he was just as hard as Lucifer, feeling that ache to touch himself hovering underneath, but no, I can’t, I can’t, it’s wrong wrong WRONG -
Lucifer tutted. “You make me do everything, honestly.” He reached down past Sam’s sweatpants and wrapped a hand around him, and this time Sam had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from moaning or gasping or making some other humiliating noise. Shame, shame, shame, but he was touching me, he thought, desperately trying to justify it to himself, he was touching me and talking to me like that -
“I know, I know, I’m great at seducing you.” Sam had tilted his head back and Lucifer kissed his neck, so delicately, below his hairline, then up to his ear. “I wasn’t even trying, believe it or not. I was just in a touchy mood. But you have an open mind, don't you? Thinking about me like this.”
Sam wanted to snap back, wanted to do something, anything to fight this, but he knew any attempt would be fruitless. Feeling wretched, he leaned into Lucifer’s cock rubbing against his ass. Just get it over with.
“Getting into it now, are you?” Lucifer sucked a hickey into his neck as he sped up, barely enough to notice, stroking Sam’s cock in the same rhythm. “You’re going to make me feel so good, Sam,” he murmured, nipping his neck again. “And I’ll make you feel good, too.”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to back out of it, all of it, intentionally dissociate from what was happening, just get out of this fucking room with his hallucination getting off on him and touching him, but he should have known that was impossible. All he could think of was Lucifer, of his lips against his neck, his hand on his dick, so much better than his own and better than anyone else’s, too, why did his brain have to do that, make his tormentor’s hand so nimble, make his voice so husky, make his lips so soft -
Sam felt another shudder of humiliation when Lucifer let go of him to tug his sweatpants down, and a painful little thrill ran through him at the feeling of Lucifer’s cock rubbing against his bare ass. Lucifer’s quiet, content little noise only made him want it more, no no no no, I don’t want it, I don’t want this -
“If you don’t want this, then why is it happening?” Lucifer murmured delightedly, and he sucked on Sam’s neck for a few moments before adding, “I could be doing anything else right now, but I’m doing this. You’re getting off to this. It’s beautiful, what I’ve done to you.”
Sam let out the tiniest muffled groan in reply. He reached for himself, jerking off quickly, thinking again just get this over with, just finish this.
Lucifer clearly didn’t have the same idea. Seconds dragged into minutes as he grinded against Sam slowly, then shifted Sam’s leg up to slide his cock against him, slotting between his legs and nudging against his hole, and every muscle in Sam’s body tensed at once. His back arched unconsciously, unwittingly, and Lucifer’s content little hum accompanied an easy thrust against him, then again, again, God, so close to sex, so close to what Sam knew would break him. Lucifer withdrew, grinding on his ass again, and alternated between the two at ease.
Hurry up, Sam thought weakly. Please, he added for good measure.
“Asking nicely helps. You don’t want your brother waking up to this, do you?” Lucifer nipped at the crook of his neck, then over a vein. “But just in case he does, I want you to say my name.”
Sam felt sick, a vile stirring in his stomach. No.
“Mm, you know I don’t take that for an answer, Sammy,” said Lucifer, smiling, his lips curved against Sam’s neck. “Say my name. Tell the world who’s going to make you come.”
Sam wanted to bury himself underground. He wanted to lock himself in a room and die there. He wanted this all over. He wanted it done. He wanted to fucking scream, shout, cry, beg for escape, beg for something.
His own hand moved faster, just let me come, please, just let me come, just end this. “Lucifer,” he mumbled, barely audible.
He hated the rush that ran through him when he spoke, how his hand had clenched around his dick, white-hot jolts of want coursing through him with every movement, and how turned on he was by the body pressed against him. What is wrong with you? he demanded of himself again, again, again. Shame washed him from head to toe. What the fuck is wrong with you?!
“Louder, Sam.” Lucifer was still grinding on him, he felt the head of his cock pressing against his hole, but he could tell from the slick noises that he was jerking off too, and he hated hated hated how it made his dick twitch in his hand.
Sam grit his teeth. “Lucifer.” Somehow too quiet and too loud in the silent room. His heart lurched and his cock twitched in his hand as he heard Dean shifting barely six feet away.
“Louder.” Lucifer dug his teeth into Sam’s shoulder just above his collarbone, his other hand clutching at Sam’s bare hip, fingernails cutting into his skin, pushing at his hole as if asking to just let me in, Sam, let me in -
“Luci-fer,” Sam choked out, apparently loud enough because he felt a sudden wetness against his ass just as he came into his fist, hips bucking up, then flexing back, pressing against Lucifer’s cock. His head fell against Lucifer, his whole body was trembling, it was the best orgasm he’d had in ages and it was thanks to a fucking hallucination his poor, fucked up, broken brain threw at him as some form of self-flagellation.
Lucifer was kissing him, all over his neck, his shoulders, nipping at him, his hands wandering across his stomach and chest and down to his dirty fist. “Good,” he said gently. His other hand ran through Sam’s hair in a gesture that would have been comforting if it came from anybody else. “See, don’t you feel better? Isn’t it nice to be touched like this by the one person who’ll never, ever leave you? I’ll let you sleep now.”
He backed away, then let out one last pleased sound. “I should mark you up more often. Sure, nobody else can see it, but you can feel it, can’t you?” He ran a hand down Sam’s shoulder to his hip. “See you tomorrow. I’ll think of some other fun thing for us to do.”
Then he was gone, and Sam was left tired but stinging with despair and the intense desire to shower, even though he knew that what had been left on his back wasn’t real.
He cleaned up his hand, then pressed his face against the pillow. Lucifer was true to his word and Sam felt close to sleep, but horrible, awful, violated. What else was he supposed to feel? It was the only acceptable thing to feel. It was all he would let himself feel.