A Very Unoriginal Sin

Michael really hadn't known what to expect when he'd answered the summons. He'd recognized his brother's voice; it hadn't changed in the centuries since they'd seen one another. But he'd had no idea what his vessel would look like, or what he would look like after all those aeons in the Cage. Now, standing before him, Michael could see that while his vessel—Nick—wasn't holding up so well, Lucifer himself was as radiant as ever. All eight wings flared around his frail vessel, slipping from dimension to dimension; reflecting and refracting and absorbing light at every flick and shift of the powerful limbs. The rest of his brother was condensed down and hidden inside Nick's body, though a tiny glimmer of his true self was visible behind his blue eyes.

"Hello, brother." Lucifer's voice was soft in this vessel; quiet, low, and intense. He was leaning against a dusty old workbench, deceptively relaxed. But Michael could see the coiled spring beneath. And those eyes... fixed on him; predatory.

"It's good to see you, Lucifer." He wasn't afraid. He knew his brother wouldn't attack him. It wasn't yet the chosen day, nor was it the chosen field. But he still wasn't sure if he meant those words. Because he knew that in a few days time he would have to kill him. His own little brother. He would have given anything to change that fate. But it was written, and it was not his place to question.

"Who's the boy?" Lucifer asked, cocking his head to the side and studying his brother's vessel.

"His name is Adam. The Winchesters' half-brother."

Lucifer sneered at the name, but continued to appraise him nonetheless. It was strange to see his ancient and powerful brother in so young and slender a form. Michael's Grace was barely contained within the boy's skin, and his wings were so vast around him that wingtips disappeared into the floor and walls when he spread the limbs. Seeing them now brought up a flood of memories; the very same recollections that had kept him relatively sane throughout all his centuries of confinement.

Those wings, wrapped around him like a cocoon, comforting him. The same wings flared before him as they both raced through the sky. The days when they'd been happy. The days before their father had decided to tinker with the apes' evolution and mould them into something that could think and speak... rebel and blaspheme. Before Father had made his angels bow before the monstrosities.

"I'm not surprised that Dean said no," Lucifer remarked conversationally, pushing off from the bench to circle Michael. "Those Winchesters have no respect for fate."

"Nor do you, brother." Michael's eyes followed him as he sauntered in a wide circle, Nick's body passing through the spread of his wings with no resistance. Lucifer brazenly brushed his own wings against Michael's as he passed; an intimacy that no other angel would have dared attempt. And though Michael did his best to conceal the effect of such a gesture, his vessel escaped his control. Lucifer noticed the quickening of his pulse and the stuttered, involuntary gasp. The way his pink lips parted slightly as a flush crept into his cheeks. He smirked as he passed out of Michael's field of vision.

"Oh, I respect fate," Lucifer replied. "I just don't hide my distaste for it."

"I don't like it either, but it is not our place to question what Father decides."

"Why not?" Lucifer completed his circle, meeting Michael's gaze. "He's gone. He doesn't care."

Michael frowned, anger flaring in his eyes like the flames that Lucifer knew were just below the surface. "Is this why you called me here? To insult our Father and tempt me into defying my destiny?"

The grin that spread across Lucifer's face was truly terrifying to behold; ear to ear and full of dark promise. He stepped closer, his wings spreading to their full span.

"I called you here to tempt you, yes." His eyes glinted in the dim space of the abandoned factory. "But not to defy destiny."

Before Michael could brace himself, Lucifer surged forward, using his vessel's superior size to force his older brother backward into the cracked concrete wall behind him. The air left his lungs with the impact and pain shot up and down his spine. Lucifer was upon him in a second, one hand sweeping down his side and up underneath his shirt, the other grasping his throat, holding Michael's head still as he pressed himself against his brother. Michael's mouth opened in a silent gasp and Lucifer swooped in, forcing a rough, possessive kiss.

Lucifer smiled inwardly at the delicious way Michael's pretty young body squirmed and struggled against him. He knew better than anyone that it was all show. If Michael really wanted to be released, he wouldn't need to struggle. No one could do anything to the Prince of Heaven that he didn't want done. So instead of backing off, he broke the kiss and inclined his head, biting and sucking at the soft flesh of the archangel's neck.

"Lucifer, what are you...?" Michael's words dissolved into breathy moans as Lucifer slid a thigh between his legs. Firm muscle brushed his groin and he shuddered as sparks danced along his vessel's nerves.

His hands scrabbled for purchase, gripping fistfuls of soft fabric. He could feel his brother's tongue on his clavicle; his teeth scraping his Adam's apple. Lucifer's hips ground against his and he felt the hard ridge of his arousal.

"We shouldn't..." Michael rasped, despite the growing tightness of his jeans.

"We've done this many times, brother."

"Never in vessels."

Lucifer met his gaze, his eyes dark with lust. "I won't do any permanent damage." His knee pushed Michael's legs apart, and he pressed impossibly closer.

Michael's mind whirled. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to push his brother away and flee. He felt vulnerable in this body. Lucifer's vessel was larger, stronger, and had thus far easily overpowered him. But with their bodies pressed so close together, he began to think that perhaps it wasn't so bad. Pleasure seared through him with every grind of Lucifer's hips. His heart was pounding. He still struggled—albeit half-heartedly—but he couldn't tell anymore whether he did it to escape or because they were both getting off on it. The more he did so, the more Lucifer pressed in on him. He tried to use his wings, but Lucifer's own held them prone. He was at his brother's mercy. It was terrifying... and wonderful.

But still...

"Lucifer, wait..." he began, but his protests died in his throat, because, good grace, he was good with that tongue.

"Do you want me to stop, brother?" Michael could hear the smirk in Lucifer's voice. The hand that had been beneath his shirt swept down again, this time massaging his thigh. Warmth pooled in Michael's gut, and the denim around his hips became unbearably tight.

Say yes! Tell him to stop! Michael's conscience screamed inside his head, begging him to pull away; to stop before it was too late. Tell him to stop, push him away! Tell him to stop!

In his indecision, he said nothing, and Lucifer didn't wait. His mouth returned to Michael's throat, and his hands travelled to the fastenings of his jeans. The button was popped free and his zipper drawn down, and still, Michael's mind warred with itself. You don't want this. He's going to force himself on you! Just stop him!

But when Lucifer's thigh pressed up flush against his throbbing groin and began a slow, hard grinding rhythm, Michael didn't push him away. He didn't order him to stop. Instead, he bucked his hips in time with his brother's; pressing harder into that glorious pressure. Letting his brother use him, take his pleasure.

Lucifer growled low in his throat, rutting against the other angel's hip and revelling in the wanton sounds that erupted from the elder's throat. He raised his gaze from where he was busy sucking a welt into Michael's neck and watched his eyes flutter shut and his mouth drop open as he groaned. He maintained his pace, rubbing up and down, again and again until Michael was panting and keening. Just as he was about to tip over the edge, Lucifer stilled his hips and bit savagely into the join of his neck and shoulder. He felt his teeth pop through the smooth skin and tasted the first drops of blood on his tongue just as Michael's scream reached his ears. Lucifer hummed in pleasure at the parallel, especially when he noticed his brother's wings jerking and shaking as if he'd just come.

Hmm... Alastair was right. Pain and pleasure are awfully similar.

He removed his teeth from the wound slowly, watching the blood cascade down Michael's collarbone. Just as it reached the hem of his shirt, Lucifer snapped his fingers, removing the garments and leaving his brother's torso bare. The blood trickled down over his chest—crimson on cream—and Lucifer leaned down, licking the fluid from the archangel's skin.

As if awakening from a nightmare, Michael jerked into motion, shoving Lucifer away. Just when he thought he'd gained the upper hand, his brother caught his wrists, wrenching his arms up over his head and pinning them.

"Don't make me force you, Michael." His voice was nothing more than a deep growl, his lips brushing the shell of Michael's ear. He expected an angry retort, or to at least find himself suddenly transported to another state, but when he looked into those bright green eyes he didn't see anger or fear. He saw challenge.

He smirked and claimed another brutal kiss, letting Michael taste the blood in his mouth. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of both his jeans and boxers, he drew them down, sliding them over his hips and waiting until his flushed erection popped free to snap his fingers and remove them.

Michael shivered as the cool air hit his exposed skin. Rough denim brushed his bare inner thigh as Lucifer moved and he moaned. His brother was everywhere upon him; his lips working away at the bite, lapping up the blood. His hands roamed, rough palms caressing his ribs; cool fingers digging into his hips. One hand slipped between them to stroke Michael's cock, wrenching a cry from him.

"Needy, are we?" Lucifer's tone was mocking. He kissed his way back up Michael's bruised neck and nipped at the corner of his jaw. The hand on his hip disappeared, and he heard the drag of a zipper. His brother's wings fluttered against his, sending jolts of tingling pleasure with each catch of feather on feather.

Michael arched his back, pressing himself against his brother and looking up into his glinting, hypnotic blue eyes. He still wasn't sure whether he really wanted this, but he couldn't bring himself to argue. Not with that hand pumping him, fingers pressing in all the right places, or those wings intertwining with his in the ultimate intimacy for an angel. It had been far too long since they'd been this close.

Lucifer smiled, not breaking eye contact with his older brother as he reached down to push his jeans off his hips—just far enough to free his own straining cock. He watched Michael's sparkling green eyes cloud with lust—the perennial sin of their species—and wondered idly what their Father would say if he could see his eldest son now.

He swept his hand along Michael's thigh, drawing it up around his hip and the other angel followed his lead, hooking the other leg around. He shifted his stance, pressing his brother further into the wall, his cock sliding against the cleft of his buttocks.

Michael growled in his ear, nipping at the soft flesh just below it as he felt Lucifer line himself up. With a lascivious grin, the younger archangel spit into his palm, reaching below them to slick himself. Then there was a pressure—an aching, throbbing pressure as Lucifer began to push in. Michael tried desperately to relax his vessel's muscles, but to no avail. He wailed pitifully as the throb became a burn.

Lucifer chuckled. "My goodness, brother. So tight..." He slid in further, stretching his brother's youthful vessel open around himself. "I barely fit." With a quick, brutal thrust he sank completely into Michael.

The archangel howled as pain lanced through him, his head thumping back into the concrete, eyes screwed shut. He grit his teeth, wondering why in all hell humans would choose to do this.

"Relax, Michael. You'll hurt yourself." He shifted, pulling out slightly before rocking forward again, almost gently. "Relax," he said again, nuzzling into Michael's neck. His left hand moved from his hip up his side, soothing trembling muscles.

The caresses began to have an effect. Michael felt his vessel relaxing; the slow, rocking thrusts getting easier. The pain was receding and Lucifer was sliding deeper. The heavy push and pull was starting to feel good. Maybe these humans do know what they're doing.

A low, growling moan escaped Lucifer as he thrust home again, his face buried in the other angel's shoulder. Michael was so tight around him. The warm slide was unlike anything Lucifer had ever felt. He wanted more. He wanted to pound into his brother until they were both screaming; wanted to make his brother come again and again until he was nothing more than a sated puddle on the floor. He wanted their Grace to mingle as it once had, so long ago; wanted to be inside his brother while his brother was inside him, their wings meshing in that perfect moment of ecstasy.

The soft sounds leaving his older brother were starting to sound less like pain and more like pleasure. Lucifer looked up, watching his mouth work silently as his face washed with bliss. He aimed his next thrust carefully, his eyes locked on Michael's face as he slammed into the little bundle of nerves he knew was there.

Michael roared as pleasure seared his every nerve. His wings jerked, his hips bucking into Lucifer's as sparks danced in his vision. He dug his fingernails into his younger brother's cotton-clad shoulders.

"What...? What was that?"

Lucifer wolfishly grinned at him. "Just a little something Father gave human men for just this purpose." He slid out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, hitting his prostate again. Michael whimpered and moaned, shuddering. Sweat beaded on his skin.

He could feel Lucifer sliding inside him. It was so unlike anything they felt in their true forms. It was no more pleasurable, but there was something very... erotic about the feel of flesh slipping within flesh.

He liked it.

Lucifer quickened his pace, driving in and out, slamming Michael's prostate on every inward thrust. Heat was building in the pit of his stomach, throbbing and tingling, and he could barely breathe. His vessel had never been stretched in this manner before and Lucifer wasn't exactly small. But the pain had definitely receded; there was nothing but pleasure now as his brother drove into him.

"Harder..." Michael panted, meeting Lucifer's thrusts, moaning when he complied. Every groan, every cry, and every slap of skin on skin echoed in the empty old building. Lucifer was grunting with exertion, his hand drifting to Michael's weeping cock and pumping it in a tight grip.

Michael jerked and twitched into his brother's hand. "Ahhhh, Lucifer!" He clenched around Lucifer's cock, making small whimpery noises in the back of his throat. His breaths grew shorter, turning to desperate gasps and his wings began to quiver. He was so close and Lucifer delighted in watching his brother come undone. He could feel his own orgasm building. It wouldn't be long now. Especially with how much Michael was tightening up.

One, two more thrusts into the vessel's prostate and Michael was coming, spilling himself over Lucifer's hand. He cried out, the velvety muscles inside him clenching down hard on Lucifer's cock. His lithe body shuddered and jerked, his wings flapping and twitching uncontrollably as if he were trying to take off. It took only one more thrust into the impossible tightness of Michael's vessel for Lucifer to follow him over the edge.

He buried his face in the nape of Michael's neck, moaning brokenly as he sheathed himself to the hilt within his brother and spilled deep inside. The moan became a howl of pleasure as his wings merged with Michael's, grace mingling with grace and setting their nerves alight. Their lips met, the gulf between them forgotten in the haze of pleasure. Lucifer could have remained there forever in Michael's embrace; safe within the shelter of his wings.

Time seemed to slow, but too soon for either of their liking, their orgasms subsided. Their wings stilled, separating and resting against each other, each brush of feather on feather sending tingles through their sated bodies. Lucifer was panting against Michael's sweat-slicked neck and could feel Michael's warm breath against the side of his head—fast and shaky.

Lucifer carefully pulled out, Michael whimpering at the loss, and eased his older brother's legs from his hips. For a long while they stood there, forehead to forehead as their breathing returned to normal. Lucifer released his hold on Michael's wrists and a moment later his arms were looped bonelessly around his shoulders.

The air around them was thick with the scent of sex. It was the only human smell the Lucifer actually liked; the heady, musky scent of semen. Of sated pleasures and spilled sins. He brought his hand up, licking the ropy fluid from his fingers. Michael's vessel tasted sweet, but underneath was the sharp electric tang of grace.

Michael's eyes followed his fingers as he cleaned them, and with a smirk, Lucifer dove in for another kiss, letting Michael taste his vessel on his tongue. The older Archangel moaned into the kiss, his weary body pressed close to Lucifer's. He briefly considered taking his brother again, bending him over and fucking him from behind, but it had been too long since his last meal of demon blood, and he doubted he had the strength to wring another orgasm from his vessel. Another time perhaps.

Breaking the kiss, Lucifer backed away, leaving Michael to sag against the concrete wall. He snapped himself clean and did up his jeans, smiling wolfishly at his brother's debauched state. With so youthful a vessel, Michael looked like a deflowered choir boy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick was screaming at him for everything he'd just thought and done. After all, Lucifer thought with a smirk, Michael's vessel was young enough to be Nick's son. And up until today, Adam had been a virgin, and Nick a faithful widower... So much for that.

The boiling mixture of grief, rage and guilt banging around in Nick's mind made Lucifer chuckle.

"You should clean yourself up before the Host comes looking for their Prince," he said, his tone casual, as if they were talking about nothing more than the weather. "You wouldn't want them to find you like this."

Michael met his gaze, a profound sadness rising in his eyes. He snapped his fingers and in a split second his clothes returned, clean and untouched, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just been stripped bare and fucked like a whore in a dusty old factory.

Lucifer held his brother's gaze for what felt like an eternity before taking wing and leaving the factory behind. Michael watched as those eight magnificent limbs beat the air, pulling his vessel into an adjacent dimension and taking flight. A moment later he was gone, leaving only the ache and the warm fluid inside Michael as evidence of his presence. His violation.

He knew that in a few hours he'd feel like the whore that he was, and the guilt would eat him alive. But he also knew that if his brother came calling again, he'd give in. He'd offer himself like a sacrifice, and he'd enjoy it. And there was a reason Lucifer had never asked permission. Because he knew that Michael would grant it...

Every time.