"Wingshy"
By Tomi Sama

Pairing: Samifer (SamxLucifer)
minor: Destiel (DeanxCastiel), MichaelxAdam
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Smut, wing!kink, spoilers through the season 8 finale
Word Count: 20,444
Beta: Bree (BowtiesAndDeductions)
My Tumbr: talesfromperdition

German Translation By Moni here (just take out the space between fanfiktion and the dot): fanfiktion .de/s/523b692b0001493614103f0a/1/Wingshy

Prompt By: defilerwyrm

For: FYSL Hotter Than Hell 2013 Exchange

Prompt: Like all archangels, Lucifer is an untamed, furious thing, and he's especially handshy about his wings. Sam is determined to gentle him to that touch with patient persistence and associating it with pleasure.

The first time Sam saw Lucifer's wings, it had been an accident and entirely Castiel's fault.

Sam was sitting on his half of the queen-sized bunker bed, flipping through an old copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. His eyes were growing heavy. The soft pillow beneath his head and the occasional sounds from the rest of the people who inhabited the bunker allowed him to relax. Dean hadn't dragged them on a hunt for the past week or so. No quests, no adventures, just some down time where five men (well, three men and two angels in men-shaped vessels) were learning to live under the same roof together without murdering one another.

It was easier for some.

Kevin didn't leave his own room enough to actually fight with anyone. Sam and Dean had lived in close quarters all their lives. Even now, when Dean wasn't preoccupied cooking increasingly grand dinners or in his room with Castiel, he almost always inhabited the chair at Sam's desk, scrolling randomly through internet sites on recipes or car parts or whatever new thing caught his fancy. The Winchesters were masters of surviving together in a room without saying a word.

But for the other set of brothers, it was an entirely different story.

Sam's eyes snapped open when he heard a sound like a bomb going off. His bare feet hit the rug on the floor, and he ran through the door, down the hall, and followed the coughing and lingering cement ash in the air to find the bathroom wall missing. Castiel was on his back, propped up on one elbow, the other arm extended in a defensive position toward his brother. It didn't look like his trip through the wall had hurt him.

Lucifer, on the other hand, was standing above Castiel with barely contained rage. His fists were clenched at his sides, shaking with the effort to refrain from summoning his blade and ramming it through his brother's chest. His chest was heaving, though he wasn't choking on the crushed cement floating in the air, and the scowl he had on his face was more emotive than Sam had ever seen him, including back when the man was hell-bent on taking over everything for his own.

But then – Sam couldn't even believe it wasn't the first thing he saw – he noticed that both of the angels had their wings out. Castiel's were dark, lying open and submissive under him. They were corporeal, but still dark shadows, splayed out across the ground. The dust fell over them, and the appendages shook of their own accord to keep the irritant away.

Lucifer's – Sam drew in a breath and choked on the particles in the air – were white. Well, white wasn't the right word. They were luminescent. It was like Sam had too much to drink and Lucifer's wings were the light bulbs in a dark bar. He could feel that hairs had risen over his arms; the energy crackled in the room from the archangel's untamed power.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him at the sight.

"I said no," Lucifer hissed, low and quiet. Somehow, his voice still had volume. The quiet ferocity was more than outright yelling.

Castiel trembled with it, not as if he was afraid his brother would actually kill him – there were so few angels left anymore that Lucifer wouldn't strike another down unless he detected a threat to himself – but the power was absolute and Sam found himself shuddering by the force of it as well. When Castiel spoke, his voice sounded different. It wasn't authoritative or amused or any tone that Sam had ever heard in his voice before. It was almost a whine, a desperate begging. "Please, brother. I –"

"I told you not to touch me, Castiel. I don't like it when people…" Lucifer looked up. Sam didn't even realize he was coughing again until he stopped, hand still covering his mouth and nose, trying to keep the debris out of his lungs. He frowned at Sam, eyes narrowing.

The two remaining archangels were full of unforgiving, raw power. Lucifer in particular; he didn't exactly have a soft spot in his heart for humans like Michael had, although neither of them compared to the empathy Castiel had after spending time as a human. It was exactly why one of the archangels was protecting the souls of the departed in heaven while the other walked around a bunker in Kansas with no real aim or purpose to guide him.

But Lucifer was trying to contain his rage. He was trying, and that was why he was here.

For a moment, Sam thought that Lucifer's attention would switch and he'd be the one on the receiving end of the pent-up fury. He trusted Lucifer, he really did, but trainers trusted their wild animals all the time, and eventually a lion mauls. Sam held his breath.

And just like that, Lucifer regained control and he locked it inside. The change was instantaneous, and it seemed all the more unnatural and unhealthy for it. His hands relented, his body stopped shaking, and his wings were gone. The room was left dark and cold. A second later, the wall was intact and the archangel was hidden in the bathroom once again. Castiel's wings were gone too. He scrambled to his feet the same time Dean walked in from the kitchen with a spatula in his hand and a frown on his face.

"What the hell happened, man?" Dean asked, looking from his brother to the angel and back again. Sam resented the way Dean – even subconsciously – looked at him as if he were the one at fault.

In the bathroom, the water turned on. Sam went back to his room, but he couldn't focus on reading, and his mind was racing too much to sleep.

After the angels fell, the Winchesters had only one job: taking care of the new human Castiel. And it was a particularly hard one, considering Sam was too sick from the trial to move much. At least he'd woken up, but there were still moments where he wasn't sure if he was going to make it through the night. He'd wake up from a seizure with Dean standing over him, worried, and Sam hated it that Dean had to take care of a sick brother and a human angel.

To be honest, Sam couldn't imagine any of the other angels surviving long on their own. Castiel was reckless with Jimmy's body. He cut his hands frequently while making dinner and always managed to knick himself while shaving. He got burned and bruised and bloodied, but the worst part was the fact that the ex-angel didn't care what happened to his vessel.

He hadn't made the decision to fall, and he took the loss of his grace like most people took the loss of a limb and the death of a loved one. When Castiel tried to explain how he was feeling, he had said it wasn't just one loved one he lost. Simultaneously, he had lost the connection he once felt to every one of his brothers and sisters. It was like all of them died at once.

It was a miracle Dean could get him out of bed some days.

It was on the first day that Dean couldn't get Castiel out of bed, about a week after he'd fallen, that Dean decided they had to get revenge. The elder Winchester spent every moment he could spare – which wasn't much, between taking care of both Castiel and Sam – trying to find a stairway to heaven so he could gank the bastard who hurt his baby angel.

Sam's first thought had terrified him: they should open the cage. Michael and Lucifer were locked safely inside; surely, they hadn't fallen. It would take no time for two seasoned warriors – who probably were looking for fresh meat after years in the cage beating up on just each other and Adam – and either one of them would want to rip Metatron to shreds for destroying the angels.

Michael would want to do if for revenge, and Lucifer would see that there was suddenly one angel left standing in his way of his end goal all along.

And Sam was too weak to move from the couch to his bedroom on his own. There's no way he could help Dean fight Metatron, and there was also no way Dean could do it on his own.

He kept the idea to himself for almost a month. He watched as Dean struggled to give Castiel a purpose to continue on. Some days were okay. Some days left Dean outside his bedroom door, head in his hands, silently crying. Eventually, Sam couldn't take seeing the two of them in pain. He was sure he was going to die, and if he did, Dean needed to know he had one last option. He told them the plan, and Dean was so desperate for revenge – so much like their father after their mother was killed – that he actually listened to Sam's nonsense.

It took Dean another month to break after a particularly hard night were his brother's temperature spiked and his angel wouldn't even open his eyes, and Sam couldn't help but think of the torture he went through with Lucifer. He couldn't help but think that once Metatron was dead that the angels would want their vessels for the last show down. Dean and Sam were playing with their lives, but Dean always played fast and loose with his for the sake of others.

Sam just couldn't believe Dean was desperate enough to play with Sam's, especially when Sam had no way to defend himself.

When the cage opened, the Winchesters didn't even catch a glimpse of the archangels or their little brother. They waited around until Castiel fell asleep in the back seat before heading back to the bunker.

When Lucifer resurfaced, he was more than happy to clean up his younger brother's mess. His time in the cage hadn't tamed him, nor had it made him less furious, but somehow, it seemed as though Michael and Lucifer had reached some sort of understanding. Together, they stormed heaven.

Two archangels against the guy who abandoned his family so he could sit around and read books all day hadn't been much of a challenge. Lucifer was waiting outside the bunker, leaning against the graffitied cement with his arms folded neatly across his chest. They had won the battle before the Winchesters even got back to the bunker.

Sam would have expected arrogance flashing in the pale eyes or a cocky grin. He half expected an apology; he felt he deserved one. He expected Lucifer to take his body, he was so weak that Dean had to help pull him from the car and half carry him toward the door.

Dean looked like he was going to ignore the devil completely, but when Lucifer held a small, glowing vial in his hand, Castiel ran at him. Dean couldn't really be mad at the dude who gave his angel his grace back.

The elder Winchester leaned Sam against the railing in front of the bunker before running over to check Castiel over. It wasn't like Lucifer could get inside him without his consent. Sam wouldn't be hurt in a matter of seconds. But then Lucifer spoke, and something changed.

"Did that earn me a moment alone with your brother? I promise not to ask him to become my vessel," Lucifer said, looking from Dean to Sam with a controlled expression on his face. Sam nodded.

Dean even said thanks to the devil before he walked into the bunker with Castiel.

Sam stood his ground – well, leaned his ground against the railing – a frown etched on his face. Lucifer's arms were crossed again, leaning easily against the wall. He took Sam in. The younger Winchester knew he was being looked over, analyzed, but the expression on the archangel's face was so different from what he remembered from the hallucinations. It didn't even look like the man who tortured him in hell. And even though Sam wanted to stab an angel blade through his chest for the torture he endured, he couldn't help but think something was off, wrong.

Lucifer lifted his eyebrows, leaning forward toward Sam. "That's because I didn't do that. I told you that I would never hurt you or lie to you. You didn't believe me?" And with that, Lucifer pushed off the wall and walked over to Sam. The archangel lifted his hand slowly, like he was afraid of spooking a wild horse, and when Sam didn't pull away, Lucifer touched his cheek.

In a second, the pain was gone. Whatever happened during the trials was gone. He watched as the blackness swam into Lucifer's body, just like the hallucinations Castiel took from him.

Unlike Castiel, Lucifer removed his hand and stepped back. He wasn't harmed or comatose. He didn't take Sam's crazy and make himself crazy in the process. The archangel offered a small, thin-lipped smile, and walked into the bunker.

Sam had followed him in and shut the door behind him.

The younger Winchester was lying on his stomach on his half of the bed, screaming the words to Harry Potter in his head, trying to drown out the image of Lucifer's wings from the archangel's prying mind.

"HOW EXTRODINARILY LIKE YOUR FATHER YOU ARE, POTTER," SNAPE SAID SUDDENLY, HIS EYES GLINTING. "HOW HE TOO WAS EXCEEDINGLY ARROGANT…"

But the words weren't painting a picture, not like it normally did when Sam read. He couldn't envision Snape's hatred of James, the way his mouth would twitch with disgust at the mere thought of the man. All he could imagine was Lucifer's wings, jutting from his back and crackling with power. He imagined himself on his hands and knees with one arm braced against the wall while the archangel's wings spread behind him, taking Sam from behind.

"MY DAD DIDN'T STRUT," SAID HARRY, BEFORE HE COULD STOP HIMSELF. "AND NEITHER DO I."

Sam could imagine himself on his back, knees bent, heels digging into the mattress. He could almost feel Lucifer's thighs on his side, the cool press of his skin. Sam could see his hands gripping Lucifer's hips, pulling the willing body down as he thrust his hips off the mattress to meet the archangel. Usually, Sam liked to watch the curve of Lucifer's ass as he sank down and rose up when Lucifer rode him facing away, but with his wings out… his dazzling, white wings.

"SHUT UP!" HARRY WAS SUDDENLY ON HIS FEET.

His wings would span the entire room; hell, Lucifer's wings might not fit in the bunker's bedroom at all. And Sam liked the idea of Lucifer's wings knocking the knickknacks from the wall and the books from their shelves.

"What did you say to me, Potter?"

It took Sam a moment to break through his own internal screaming of the words to realize that the line had been said aloud. The younger Winchester frowned, still propped up on his elbows, and turned to face the archangel.

Lucifer smiled at him. He was sitting in the chair like it was his own personal throne, elbows on the arm rests, hands steepled under his chin. He looked as if he meant to say continue, to ignore his outburst, but Sam scowled, "I told you I don't like it when you read my thoughts."

"I wasn't so much reading them as you were shouting them at me," Lucifer said, and Sam knew he was being honest and swore under his breath. "Besides, you have read those particular words three times now. I was getting bored. Usually, you let me watch the pictures your mind creates. They're so much better than the movies, Sam. Why were you thinking the words at me this time?"

The mention of Lucifer being bored sent shivers down Sam's spine. He knew his hallucinations had only been residue – an after taste – of hell, and he believed now that Lucifer had never been the one to torture him in the cage. It didn't matter. Some trauma died hard.

"If you have something you want to say to me, please say it. The pictures I get from the words aren't nearly as lively as yours," Lucifer said, drawing his hands away from his chin to rest them in his lap. Sam, who had become a leading expert in the archangel's body language, knew the gesture of keeping his chest unprotected was a sign of openness.

But still, Sam couldn't ask.

Lucifer sighed. "This is about the bathroom thing with Castiel, isn't it?" When Sam didn't say anything, the archangel continued. "I admit, I lost my temper, but you have a brother, so I'm sure you know how infuriating it is when he doesn't respect your personal boundaries. I'm sorry I disturbed you when I threw him through the wall."

Sam closed the book and slowly pushed himself up so he was sitting on the bed. He sat the book down on the nightstand before turning to look at Lucifer. Even when they weren't touching, there was something cold about Lucifer. It was like being in the room with the embodiment of a cognizant blizzard, a terrifying storm that would just assume decimate the land as he would blow over a town untouched. He was calculated and charismatic, and while he had thawed a little bit in the few months he'd been living in the bunker, he certainly hadn't lost the potential to explode. He imagined sitting in a room with Lucifer was like sitting through an interview with a particularly able serial killer who was caught due to dumb luck rather than any real fault of his own. He was wild but masquerading effectively as something tamed.

"You're sorry you disturbed me?" Sam asked, used to Lucifer's technical truths enough to spot what he really meant below the surface. "You're not sorry you threw your little brother through the wall?"

"I warned him," Lucifer shrugged. "He touched me anyway."

"I touch you."

"You touch my vessel. Castiel wanted to touch my…" For a moment, something flashed across the archangel's features. Lucifer knew Sam had seen them, but the hesitation, the mental preparation it took for him to even say the word aloud proved to Sam that Lucifer was sheepish about them. For a moment, the younger Winchester waited, but when Lucifer's eyes went from his hands to Sam again as his mouth closed, Sam knew he wasn't going to say it.

"Why would he want to touch them?"

"Grooming is a way angels bond, just like common primates," Lucifer said, the corners of his lips turning up just enough for Sam to realize he was changing the subject by making a jab by equating humans to monkeys.

"Dean doesn't groom me," Sam retorted.

"Lesser mammals bond in many ways," Lucifer's small smile turned into an outright grin. "Dean prefers to feed you to show his affection."

Sam frowned. "And Cas wants to brush your wings. What's the big deal?"

Lucifer's face set back into the frown instantly, his shoulders twitching as if he'd gotten a cold chill. Sam thought of the wizards who flipped their shit at the mention of Lord Voldemort's name, and the thought of Lucifer being so shy about his wings that the mention of the word made him tense caused Sam to frown. That wasn't shyness. That was trauma.

"It's a part of me… a private part of me," the archangel said. "I don't let him suck my cock. Why would I let him groom me?"

Sam's response was automatic: "You let me suck your cock. Can I groom you?"

The room was still. Even through the thick bunker walls, Sam could faintly hear Dean singing along to the record playing in the kitchen. Castiel was likely sulking in there, messing up whatever Dean was cooking for dinner by being in his presence. Kevin's room was on the other side of the bunker; he would either be doing some sort of research on the internet or sleeping, as Kevin rarely did anything other than that. And in his room – their bedroom – Lucifer was steepling his hands under his chin again, pointedly looking away from Sam.

The younger Winchester didn't expect an answer, and instead, he started thinking up something he could say as damage control. It hadn't taken Lucifer long to convince Sam of his innocence of the torture done to him in the cage. The archangel had been inside Sam's body, sharing consciousness with Sam for brief moments before the tumbled into the pit.

Sam remembered the way he had been screaming for Lucifer to stop while he was beating Dean to death in the cemetery. He remembered the way the angel pulled back, just a bit, before Sam took control of his body and took his swan dive. He remembered grabbing at Michael's wrist and trying to pull him in, feeling the archangel pull away from the human grasp before something stronger inside him rose up and took control of the hand, clamping on and dragging Michael and Adam into the cage with them. And he had remembered that moment too, when Lucifer turned up at his bedroom one night as Sam was getting ready to sleep, asking the hunter if he could stay the night in his room. Sam fell asleep to murmured stories, told in Enochian, for a week before they first kissed.

The younger Winchester was trying to remember the name of the story Lucifer had told him that first night – to ask if he could tell it again while Sam napped to get off the subject of wings for good – when Lucifer looked back up at him.

"Nobody has touched them since I fell," Lucifer's voice was quiet. "Michael tried, in the cage, after we came to an understanding, but I couldn't. The hands who groomed them threw me from my home, and I don't think…"

He trailed off again. Sam let the images of the pair of them having sex in various positions with Lucifer's wings out leap to the forefront of his mind. He knew the archangel was watching because the calm unease started burning away from Lucifer's features. The feral part returned, zapping the heat from the room. He looked hungry at the prospect of the actions, but the frown etched on his face was set. He wouldn't give in. Not yet.

Lucifer was an untamed, furious thing, and he was especially handshy about his wings. Sam was determined to gentle him to that touch with patient persistence and associating it with pleasure.

"Come over here," Sam asked, and Lucifer stood, walking the few paces to the bed before climbing onto the queen on his knees. Once he was settled in front of Sam, the younger Winchester reached out, placing a hand high on Lucifer's thigh.

"What do you want with me?"

"Would you show me?" Sam asked, letting his hand push up the fabric of Lucifer's jeans, fingers trailing under his shirt, touching the bare flesh of his stomach.

"Sam…"

"I won't touch them if you don't want me to. I promise," Sam added quickly, moving his hand over so his palm was pressing against the erection outlined on the other's pants. Lucifer's hand dropped behind him, and using it to support his weight, he rolled his hips up against Sam's hand. "I just want to see."

"They aren't what they used to be," Lucifer admitted, tongue loosened by the longing for friction that seemed so human on a being who, for the most part, still despised the species because of a power struggle that happened a couple millennia ago. "The fall, the hellfire, the time without proper grooming has left them shabby. You don't want to see them."

Sam unbuttoned and unzipped the archangel's pants; Lucifer lifted his hips and adjusted his body so Sam could remove the jeans and underclothes. He struggled to rip his own shirt up over his head in his anticipation, but once he managed and Sam had not resumed touching him, his look turned dark and ferocious. But the hunter just smiled, leaning forward to place a kiss on Lucifer's neck, just under his ear.

"Oh, I do. I really, really do."

Lucifer might have said he would never trick Sam, but the promise had never been made the other way around. Besides, Sam didn't count it as a trick. It was more of a bit of begging. If Lucifer was that uncomfortable, he would drop the subject. He wouldn't tease his ferocious archangel lover. Not for long, anyway.

But when a few seconds passed and Sam's hands didn't return to Lucifer's body, he relented. With a long suffering sigh, like Sam had asked him to cure cancer instead of show him one of the few private things in his life, Lucifer leaned forward, capturing Sam's lips with his own.

The kiss didn't last long. Just like last time, the room changed with the wings exposed corporeally. The room was charged, crackling with raw power that seemed almost electric. Sam moved back, his hands finding the sides of Lucifer's face to keep from reaching out and touching them after he promised not to. They were white, dazzling white, and huge. They could easily take up the entire bedroom, but Lucifer kept them close to his back, as close as they could be without being uncomfortable.

Sam licked his lips, and the wings spread out slightly. The hunter looked at the archangel's face. His neck had flushed – though it seemed with anger rather than embarrassment or modesty – and Lucifer reached out, a scowl on his face, and forced their lips together once again.

This time, Sam returned the kiss, matching Lucifer's nips at his bottom lip with ones of his own. They had kissed enough for Sam to know what the archangel enjoyed the most. The force of heavenly wrath liked when Sam put up a fight for dominance; Lucifer liked the chase.

The hunter let his one of hands run over Lucifer's shoulders, careful not to touch any feathers as he brushed over Nick's borrowed flesh, digging his short fingernails into the muscle and pulling him closer. His other hand went to Lucifer's chin, angling his face exactly where he wanted him. When the archangel pushed back, Sam ducked his head, aiming instead for kisses and nips to his lover's neck.

Sam spared a look at the wings. Likely, unbeknownst to the archangel at all, they started to spread out across the room. They trembled – or at least, the feathers were shaking – but they weren't propelling Lucifer forward. They made a soft sound, the feathers moving, but what was more surprising was when some feathers brushed lightly against some clothes hanging in Sam's open closet and Lucifer's eyes shut and his mouth opened, slightly, to let in more air he didn't actually need.

"Are they sensitive?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Lucifer breathed. Experimentally, he moved the wing against the clothes again. He let out a sound that could have been a whimper from anyone else, but to Sam, it sounded more like a growl. "I… they aren't in this plane often. Everything is…"

But Sam didn't let him finish. Instead, the younger Winchester bit down at the meat on Lucifer's shoulder – harder than the other playful nips had been – and the archangel made a wild sound, hand finding the back of Sam's head to keep him in place. Sam licked over the flesh twice before he said, "You should let them out more."

"I –"

But again, Sam didn't allow Lucifer to answer. The hunter licked his hand, then wrapped it around the archangel's erection. The proud being had never indulged himself using the vessel's flesh before Sam. It had been an ego boost then, seeing how quickly Sam could take the devil apart and have him writhing in pleasure. It didn't take long until Lucifer's hands were bracing himself against Sam's shoulders. They were forehead to forehead; Sam was breathing in every little moan he could get from the archangel.

"Sam," Lucifer said, trying to angle their lips so they could kiss again. He must be close. When the hunter ducked him a second time, the voice hardened, sounded more like a warning. "Sam."

"It's good, isn't it?" Sam breathed against Lucifer's cheek. "It's better with your wings out. Imagine what it would feel like if I was running my hands over them."

Lucifer let out a groan, but Sam's free hand was gripped around the back of Lucifer's neck and he pulled him in, kissing the archangel through his orgasm. His hand slowed and eventually stopped, but the pair of them remained kissing for a long moment until Sam had to breathe.

The blond hunched over slightly the second Sam wasn't supporting him, his wings dropping to the floor as if he was too exhausted to hold them up. He allowed Sam to clean him silently, and for a long moment, they sat together on the bed.

Lucifer's wings stirred before his body did.

Almost as if he had forgotten they were out before, they rose up and folded as neatly as he could get them against his back. With his mind preoccupied, he had let them out shamelessly. Once aware again, he drew back in. But he didn't get rid of the wings – he could send them back to whatever plane they usually existed on, called the experience a mistake, and that would be that – but he didn't.

He was still ferocious, one snap could paint this room in Sam's blood and chucks of flesh, but he didn't do that either. Instead, he waited for whatever Sam would say next, and when words failed the younger Winchester, Lucifer looked up through his eyelashes and asked, "Do you want me to take care of you now?"

The wings opened – just slightly – as if they, too, were interested in the proposition.

But before Sam could answer, there was a knock on the heavy door, and Dean yelled, "Dinner time. It's fucking lasagna so get out here while it's still hot."

The wings were gone in a second, and Lucifer crawled off the bed and stood. He was grinning despite the initial discomfort he had about showing his wings, and Sam took that to be a good sign until the archangel said, "Don't want the food to get cold. Rain-check."

Lucifer had promised never to lie or trick Sam. He hadn't promised he wouldn't tease him.

The blond disappeared behind the door – his own little revenge for the discomfort he had faced – and Sam groaned.

Sam let a week go by before he brought up the wings again. He didn't want to push Lucifer into shutting the option down completely (or accidentally murdering Sam in a fit of rage), so he knew he had to go about it delicately. He needed to calm the rageful giant, soothe the wild beast within him before he asked again.

So naturally, Sam blurted out, "Will you take your wings out?" when he was on his back, knees bent but open, Lucifer's borrowed body between his thighs, taking Sam's entire erection down his throat without gagging because apparently angels didn't need to breathe or throw up or whatever because Lucifer certainly didn't have a gag reflex.

He made a surprised noise that sounded like a gag, however, after Sam lost control of his mouth and when he pulled up, he was frowning. He wasn't coughing or anything – he wasn't actually hurt – but he didn't look happy.

"Why?" Lucifer asked, his tone set and hard, like he was accusing Sam of some great crime.

The younger Winchester nearly had tears in his eyes. He had been so close. He tried to reach up and drag Lucifer's head back down, but the archangel was immovable when he wanted to be. He glared down at his lover.

"They're beautiful," Sam answered honestly. "I want to know you. Every part of you. What's the point of this if you're keeping secrets?"

He was given some small relief when Lucifer's hand closed over his cock, stroking lightly, absentmindedly. The hunter whined, canting his hips, trying to thrust up into the fist, but Lucifer just used his other hand to hold Sam's hips down against the mattress. "You know about them; they aren't a secret."

Sam's mind raced, his primary objective was to get Lucifer's talented mouth back around him. Fuck the wings – he had been so close. "You've touched every part of me. I let you touch me, even if I don't like what you're doing."

"Your ticklish thighs don't compare to my wings," Lucifer said, running his fingers over Sam's thigh for emphasis.

"Don't," the hunter hissed, kicking his leg out blindly to get the archangel away. Lucifer just grinned, held his ankle still, and placed a few soft kisses to the inside of Sam's knee as an apology. Sam relaxed once again, but he was frowning.

Lucifer, the asshole, thought Sam's baby human temper-tantrums when he didn't get his way endearing if not completely adorable, which only made Sam angrier.

The archangel licked his lips and leaned back over Sam's body, nipping at his hip bone before lowering his mouth onto Sam's erection once again. He didn't push all the way down – and Sam was secretly thankful because he hadn't gotten far enough away from the edge to last long if Lucifer did that again right away – and as the archangel's tongue swirled around the head, tonguing at the sensitive flesh, Sam felt the familiar fullness of the room and opened his eyes to see Lucifer's white wings.

Sam pushed himself up to his elbow so he could get a better look.

His shoulder blades seemed to have expanded, the muscles there even stronger than when it was just Nick's flesh. Sam admired the way they looked from this angle – the way the wings connected to the human form to look like some experiment crossbreeding of people with birds – and Sam sat himself up just a bit further.

Surprisingly, when he reached forward, Lucifer didn't jerk away. Instead, he opened his throat and took Sam in completely. The hunter dropped his hands low on the back of Lucifer's neck, between his shoulder blades but not low enough to brush against the tops of the wings. Lucifer repeated this two more times before Sam tensed up, crying out as he came.

He let his hand slip from Lucifer's back as he went to lie back down. His chest heaved with the effort of pumping oxygen to all of his deprived cells, but Sam just put his arm over his forehead, loving the way Lucifer's wings were silhouetted by the light in the room but still seemed to be impossibly brighter than it anyway.

This time, Lucifer didn't draw his wings to his back, but let them push out, extending from one side of the room to the other. Sam wasn't sure if it was a display of aggression or if it was an angel mating call, but Sam let his free hand rub over Lucifer's forearm, the only thing he could reach while he was too blissed out to sit up, and said, "Beautiful."

If Lucifer heard him, he didn't let it show. Instead, he pushed himself up to his knees and straddled Sam's hips. He put his hand around his own erection, pulling at with purpose. For a moment, Sam didn't stop him. His cock twitched feebly at the sight – the dominate position of the wings, Lucifer pleasuring himself over Sam's naked body with the intent of marking Sam's sweaty chest with his come – but before Lucifer finish himself, Sam reached up an arm and wrapped his fingers over Lucifer's wrist.

"Wait."

It hadn't been a command, but it was taken as one. The second the word spilled from his mouth, the archangel stopped, growling at the interruption, but still looking down at Sam as if waiting for further instructions.

"Can I touch them?"

"Sam," Lucifer said as his face fell. But it hadn't been a no and so Sam sat up. With Lucifer on his knees, Sam reached to the archangel's borrowed stomach. He kissed the cool flesh several inches higher than his bellybutton before wrapping his arms around Lucifer's back, between the flesh and the wings, careful not to touch the large feathers. His fingers found a spot just below where the wings jutted from his back, and Sam dug his nails in and dragged them down.

It wasn't enough to break the skin, but Lucifer cried out, his free hand clenched at the hair at the back of Sam's head, keeping his face pinned against the archangel's stomach. Sam smiled against the flesh, letting his fingertips rub gently over the scratches that would be healed long before they every turned into raised flesh and welts.

Sam waited until he could feel the skin smooth back over before he reached up and clawed at his lover's back again. This time, Lucifer's hips pressed forward, desperately seeking friction. His cock found Sam's sweat-slicked chest, but it wouldn't provide enough to get him off. The frustrated growl sent shivers down Sam's spine.

Again, Sam waited for the flesh to heal over before he put his hands back to the spot he had started scratching both times before. Lucifer was ready for it – Sam could feel him brace himself – and instead, the hunter raised his hands, letting his fingers stroke over the muscles that connected the wings to the archangel's back.

Lucifer howled, but it was from surprise more than pleasure, and he lunched forward, away from the touch. Unfortunately, Sam was there. The hunter leaned back, giving his lover space to escape if he wanted to, but Lucifer just leaned forward slightly, so he wasn't touching Sam's front, nor were Sam's fingers touching his back, and breathed.

Or, what appeared to be breathing.

After a few more seconds of silence, Sam wasn't sure if he had made a mistake or not. His fingers settled on Lucifer's hip – a safe place, but it caused the archangel to jump, like he hadn't been expecting it – and he looked up at his lover and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

For a moment, Lucifer looked down at Sam and the hunter thought he was going to be yelled at or worse. Their trust, at least at some level, must have broken and surely Lucifer would make him pay for it. There was something wild in Lucifer's eye a moment later, and he crawled on his knees a few paces toward Sam. Leaning back like that took all of Sam's leverage and height away. His mouth was level with Lucifer's cock, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what the archangel wanted.

Sam looked up at his face for a moment and watched as the angel put a hand against the wall to steady himself. Unlike the archangel, the human had a gag reflex that he hadn't been able to suppress yet. When he spoke again, he couldn't quite keep the terror out of his voice, "I'm sorry, Lucifer. I…"

"Keep your mouth open, Sam," Lucifer said, although not unkindly. After a moment's hesitation, the hunter opened his mouth and Lucifer guided himself toward Sam, but he didn't force himself on him. Instead, he waited for Sam to push himself back up a fraction of an inch and take him in his mouth.

The archangel rocked his hips, but the thrusts were shallow and never enough to gag him. The position left Sam straining to hold his torso and head up in the position, which didn't allow him to take back any control. After a minute or so of this, Lucifer's hand left the wall to hold the backside of Sam's head. It took the pressure off holding himself up, so he put his hands on Lucifer's hips, trying to help guide the thrusting in and out of his mouth.

"Sam," Lucifer breathed another moment later. "Touch me. Touch them."

His hands slid up without waiting for his brain to make a plan and started rubbing at the point where his back met the feathers of his axillaries. Lucifer let out a strangled sound from above him, and Sam could feel the difference in his thrusts. He wasn't pushing in deep – Sam trusted the archangel not to choke him – but there was a purpose behind it, not just lazy movements like they had been before.

Sam had no idea where the wings would be sensitive or how Lucifer would like to be touched, but the mindless petting seemed to be enough. It didn't take long for Lucifer to tense. He let go of Sam's head, allowing him to pull back if he wanted, but the hunter surged forward, wrapping one hand around the base of Lucifer's cock that he couldn't take into his mouth. The other hand gripped the feathers of the under-wing harder, and Lucifer came, Sam's name ringing in the air on the devil's breathless voice.

Not long after that, the pair of them were both lying down, a mass of limbs tangled together. Lucifer pressed his head against Sam's collarbone, his fingers running low over Sam's stomach, but not low enough to brush against the younger Winchester's second erection.

"Would you like me to take care of it for you?"

"No," Sam said. "Too sensitive. It'll go away. Just stay with me for a bit."

But the request was ridiculous; Lucifer stayed with Sam all night every night and had for months. The archangel smiled against Sam's neck, and as the hunter fell asleep, he felt something drape over his body. By the time he figured out Lucifer still hadn't put his wings away, Sam was too far gone to sleep he couldn't say anything about it. He fell asleep seconds later.

Although Lucifer would never say so, he took pleasure in things outside of the bedroom as well. The wings, while certainly erotic to Sam, were probably not meant to be a way for an angel to seduce a human, but the nephilim were created somehow. If Sam had been a pretty human girl and Lucifer flashed his wings, Sam was sure he would hike up his skirt faster than any of the human girls Zeus bedded when he turned into golden rain or animals to get in their pants.

Anyway, the wings served a purpose and had a function. Sam was determined not to just turn them into a novelty in their sex life.

They were alone in the bunker one day – Dean and Castiel were off doing God knows what and after bribing Kevin to get out and go see a movie or something – Sam walked out of the bunker's door to find Lucifer sitting on the metal railing by the door. The archangel spent many dawns and twilights out here, watching the sun rise and set over the forest across the street from the bunker. It was a secluded spot due to the nature of the Men of Letters, and the archangel preferred nature to the cement bunker anyway.

He admitted once that it felt too much like a prison sometimes. Sam could relate.

The hunter leaned against the railing besides the blond, watching the tree line across the meadow to see if any deer were stirring within. He couldn't see any, but that didn't mean that Lucifer couldn't.

Instead, Sam dropped his gaze to the new flower beds that lined the sidewalk to the road and the railing. One day, Sam had walked outside to see Lucifer gardening. The flowers were the only tell that this place could possibly have beings living inside. Dean had been furious at the potential breach in security, but Castiel pointed out that nearly nothing could get in and get past the archangel who was playing house inside so they didn't have anything to worry about.

It had been a true statement, but it just pissed Dean and Lucifer off: Dean because it made him feel weak in comparison, and Lucifer because he was a wildling and certainly not playing house with a couple of humans.

Lucifer said he wouldn't lie to Sam. He never said he wouldn't lie to himself.

"It hasn't rained," Sam said. "But the flowers look nice."

"God invented the watering can for a reason, Sam," Lucifer said, and the human wasn't sure if it was a snippy joke or not so he just stayed quiet. After another moment of silence, Lucifer turned toward Sam and said, "Kevin isn't going to the movies."

"Then where is he?" Sam asked, trying not to sound panicked.

"He's fine. He is eating an ice-cream cone in front of a library in town. There are no demons around here. They know better than to step foot in Kansas," Lucifer said, almost with a bored expression, and Sam remembered the last time a demon came looking for her god.

The Winchesters got home from a witch hunt to find the body of a woman nailed to an inverted cross. Dean rushed in with his gun drawn – like that would do any good against the archangel – to find Lucifer lying on the couch watching the beginning of a movie. The pale eyes shifted from Dean to Sam, then rolled back to the TV. Lucifer shrugged and said, "I don't care for lawn gnomes."

Dean freaked out, yelling about satanic rites and summoning demons before Lucifer snapped his fingers and Dean fell silent. For a moment, Sam thought he had used his powers against his brother, but Lucifer said, "There, it's gone. The demons got the message anyway. They know where I am and they know what'll happen if they step foot over the Kansas boarder. Now, can you shut up? This is my favorite part."

Satan shoved a pineapple up Hitler's ass, and Lucifer laughed.

"I assume," Lucifer started, still looking out at the forest even though the sun was high in the sky, "that you wanted privacy for something or you wouldn't have sent Kevin out of your care."

"He'll be okay, right?" Sam asked.

"Of course. I'm an archangel. If the prophet is threatened, then I will know about it."

"Then let's go inside for a bit," Sam said, and without another word, Lucifer got off the railing and followed the hunter into the bunker.

There were plenty of things that Lucifer liked to do when he thought nobody was watching. He enjoyed reading the thick tomes in the library with Castiel as long as his brother wasn't trying to groom him. He liked cooking but treated it like it was alchemy, always measuring out the perfect amount the recipe called for to exchange for an equal amount of delicious food, then getting frustrated when Dean's willy-nilly addition of whatever turned out better than his. Sam knew Lucifer's favorite record in the bunker was the one that had A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square by Vera Lynn. One of Sam's favorite moments alone with Lucifer was when the archangel put on the record and pulled Sam into a dance, and he could imagine asking Lucifer to recreate the moment now with his wings out.

He just wanted Lucifer to enjoy something for himself, something that wasn't sex, with his wings in this plane.

Sam just wasn't sure which things would be hindered by the wings. Cooking would be out – Sam didn't want Lucifer to burn them – and Sam was a terrible dancer. Reading sounded boring, but before he could decide, Lucifer's hand reached out and touched Sam's shoulder. "I can get popcorn," the archangel said. "We can watch a movie, if you'd like."

The hunter could never tell if the blond was reading his thoughts or not. He claimed he didn't often, only when Sam was reading because he had permission to watch the words turn to pictures and when Sam thought too loudly for Lucifer to completely turn it off. This could be a latter moment, and Lucifer was saving Sam by offering a suggestion or it could just be a suggestion which might end up turning into a hindrance to the end goal.

"What do you want to watch?" Sam asked, but the archangel shrugged and started walk toward the kitchen.

"The one with Indigo Montoya."

By the time Sam had the movie on the title screen, Lucifer was walking in, shirtless, with popcorn – not the microwave kind but the authentic movie theatre kind – and he must have flown to get it. His wings were out but pulled to his back like a bird kept them at their side, looking annoyed like he almost couldn't believe himself for indulging Sam's obsession with his wings.

Neither the hunter nor the archangel said anything, as they sat next to each other on the couch and watched the movie.

Even though this was his fourth time seeing the wings, it was the first time where shock and sexual gratification weren't on the forefront of his mind. He noticed now that the wings spread out from his shoulders in a double joint. The coverts looked thick, covering the hollow bone jutting from the shoulder with white feathers, but were likely a lot lighter than they appeared… not that feathers ever looked particularly heavy. The overlap of the feathers while folded in like that looked like it would be uncomfortable, but the archangel showed no sign of pain from their position, so Sam didn't say anything either.

He thought back to when Lucifer said they weren't what they used to be. Every so often, in the bunches of the tertials that covered the point where his wing met his back on the outer-side, Sam noticed feathers that weren't all completely well taken care of, but Sam could barely scratch an itch if it was in the center of his back. He couldn't imagine trying to clean and groom feathers back there without any help.

"Are you going to watch the movie, Sam, or are you just going to study me?" Lucifer asked, but he pushed the popcorn bucket toward the human and said nothing else once Sam turned back to the movie.

It was around the time that Westley was tricking Vizzini into drinking the cup with the iocane powder that Sam felt a light weight settle over his shoulders. He turned to look at the archangel, but both of his hands were still in his lap and he was watching the movie with far too much concentration for the number of times he had seen it in the past several months.

"Did you just fake yawn so you could wrap your not-arm around me?" Sam asked, clearly amused.

Lucifer frowned, but he didn't look at Sam. "I didn't yawn – fake or real." However, a moment later, Sam felt the alula shift slightly so the wing was wrapped around Sam's arm and it pulled the human closer. After a minute of rustling and shifting, the pair of them were lying down on the couch together, Sam the little spoon despite his size, with the wing wrapped around the both of them.

Even though they got settled just as Westley was tumbling down the hill shouting 'As you wish,' Sam was sleeping before the pair of them left the Fire Swamp. When he woke up, Westley was preventing Buttercup's suicide with a line that Dean found particularly awesome, but had never managed to use successfully to pick up a chick of his own. Behind him, Lucifer groaned, stretching his back and legs before his wing. When the wing extended to stretch, the feathers rustled and shook, and Sam grinned at the sight of it.

Especially when Lucifer decided he hadn't had enough sleep, pressed his forehead between Sam's shoulder blades, and let the wing fall back over the hunter. Sam decided to keep napping too, but the second he shut his eyes, there was a loud bang, and this time both of them sat up to see what was wrong.

"I forgot how adorable you were all matted from sleep, little brother," Michael said, putting the wooden spoon into the pot he had banged on to wake the pair up and put them both on the table before crossing his arms. Sam remembered Gabriel to use that same grin that was now painting Michael's face, and other than the dicking around in the lives of humans, Sam had never noticed similarities between the archangels before.

But now, he could almost see their family resemblance past their borrowed vessels.

"I wasn't sleeping," Lucifer lied, trying to pat down his hair despite the words. "I was just lying down. You've never seen me sleep."

"Sure, I have. You always slept on your side and bunched up your secondaries," Michael added, pointing vaguely to Lucifer. "How many times did I smooth them back into place for you? And I wondered why you were denying our only living brother the chance to groom you. You've got your vessel doing it, don't you?" Lucifer's wings were gone and an angry look settled over his face. "I told him as much. I bet the Righteous Man worships those big black wings of his. Tell me, Lucifer. How is Sam at handling yours?"

Lucifer was standing before Sam could get a hand on him and try to hold him back. The pair of them reached an understanding in the cage, yes. But Lucifer had never completely forgiven Michael for throwing him out (nor denying to return to his side in the cemetery that night), and took the harmless teasing between siblings to be a challenge.

Sam would have thought that by watching the things Dean said to Sam, it would have opened Lucifer's eyes to the special way older siblings treated the younger ones, but apparently not.

Despite standing, Lucifer didn't seem to have an actual come back. He just stood there, wingless in front of his brother, with the same level of rage he had when Castiel had tried to touch his wings without permission. Michael waited, a very Dean-like smirk twisting from the grin he was holding, and Sam spoke up before the truce was shattered over something stupid.

"Just popping in for a visit, or did you need us to do something for you, Michael?"

Lucifer threw an angry, betrayed look in Sam's direction as if ever helping Michael to do anything ever again was an act of high treason. Michael shot a similar look that Sam interpreted to mean the elder angel thought it was cute that the boy with the demon blood thought himself so high and mighty that he could actually be of assistance to the King of Heaven.

The blond archangel scowled at Sam, who must have thought that too loud, but he said nothing to defend Sam's self-worth in front of his brother.

"Perhaps, a bit of both. Kevin, I see, is at the library, but where are the others?"

"I would imagine having semi-public sex," Sam said, and to his surprise, Michael laughed.

"What would Father say if He knew there were only three remaining angels in all of existence and each one of them is in an intimate relationship with the three Winchester kids?" Michael wondered aloud. "But the reason I came was just for an update. The souls are all sorted out, finally. Without you or Crowley in Hell, the entire system has turned into gang wars with your little demons scrambling to be the new king or queen. I've hunted down the remaining reapers who took good souls to hell on Crowley's word, but I can't seem to locate the old king himself."

"Fascinating," Lucifer lied again.

"Well," Michael said, standing up a bit taller. "Dean asked for status reports and considering all he did for me, I thought I owed him that right."

"Bullshit," Lucifer hissed. "Adam sent you. You hate Dean almost as much as you hate Sam."

Michael opened his mouth to deny it, but Sam cut in instead. "What did Adam want to tell us?"

The archangel looked angry – hell, both of them were letting their careful masks slip and show their true nature – but he crossed his arms over his chest and said. "He wanted me to tell you they've all found each other. His mom, your parents, Ellen, Jo, Ash, and Bobby. They're all hanging out in the Roadhouse in Heaven. They wanted you to know they were happy together, that Mary treats him like he's her own son, and she wanted me to tell you both that she loves you."

The updates on his dead family weren't new. Dean had asked for them, though, not Sam. Michael brought news whenever Adam found someone new… Bobby was the last one to be rounded up. He couldn't imagine Mary and Adam together, not with Adam's mom shooting looks at John, and Sam wondered how awkward the Roadhouse in the sky was because the three of them alone.

Adam was a good kid, he really was, but Sam's idea of heaven wasn't sitting at an awkward family reunion for all eternity.

On some level, Lucifer must have understood Sam's discomfort at the topic, because he asked, "Is it awkward that you've taken the form of John Winchester when you visit them?"

Once again, Michael laughed. "You have no idea. Mary dropped her drink the first time she saw me, and she still gets flustered. John hates it, of course, especially if I drop in to see Adam."

"That poor human child," Lucifer admitted. "Fucking an angel who looks exactly like his dad did at his age for all eternity."

"Thems the breaks," Michael said, shrugging, but he looked a little angry about it. If Sam had to guess, that was a point of contention among the lovers. "Oh, and I don't know if you care, Lucifer, but Nick's with his wife and kid. He found them."

An unreadable expression crossed over Lucifer's face, but instead of staying and risking the conversation staying on that train of thought, Michael was gone with the familiar sound of wings.

Lucifer swore at the sound, then he marched off and left the bunker through the front door.

After getting caught by Michael, Lucifer stopped exposing his wings. Sam was starting to think that the reason he was handshy about his wings was more than going millennia without any bonding or grooming.

He took the next week off from pestering Lucifer to check this theory.

If there was one thing Sam Winchester never ever in a million years wanted to do, it was spy on his brother and his angel when they were being intimate. However, if Michael's theory was right – if Castiel let Dean worship his wings – Sam would know that it wasn't just a way of bonding between the angels. If Castiel let Dean, then all angels weren't handshy about their wings, just his.

And if he was so against it, something must have happened to turn him against it. Some trauma. Sam had been right when he thought it early on.

Thank God it didn't take long hours of creeping on Dean to get his answer. Dean and Castiel did share a more profound bond and if the pair of them were left alone for more than two seconds, one would push closer to the other – sometimes with sexual intent, but often just for the feeling that being physically close to someone brings – and more than once, Sam saw Castiel's wings manifest to nudge Dean toward the refrigerator in the kitchen or curl around the both of them as they squeezed into one of the library's chairs to read together.

It was there in the library, Sam sitting behind the rack of books, watching Castiel's wings close around Dean, that Kevin snuck up behind him and whispered, "What are you doing?"

Sam jumped, but he would swear to his grave that Kevin had ever gotten the jump on him. The teenager looked between the cracks in the shelves to see the hunter and the angel, and Kevin rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't watching them."

"Your own brother," Kevin said, shaking his head, but for once he looked amused. He nodded his head away from the couple, and Sam followed him back with Dean's fingers running through Castiel's feathers burned into his mind.

Kevin led the younger Winchester back to his bedroom, which looked less like a bedroom and more like a FBI profiler's office that happened to have a bed in it. Post-its and print outs lined the wall, pieces of different colored string connecting to various pictures or occasionally to a map of the United States. There were so many connections to follow that Sam would get lost in the tangle, but he was sure that Kevin didn't even need them. Likely, he had them memorized just in case.

"So get this," Kevin said, pushing his own MacBook down the bed and onto a bible opened to Ezekiel. "The demons are leaving."

Sam frowned. "Leaving?"

"There are no traces of demons anywhere in Kansas thanks to Lucifer's garden gnome fiasco, but there haven't been reports of any demon-like activity in Oklahoma, Colorado, Nebraska, or Missouri for over a week. Sam, the demons are fleeing."

"Michael said that there's a turf war in Hell right now, so maybe all the loyal subjects are being dragged back to fight," Sam said, looking around for a place to take a seat but even Kevin's bed was covered. He crossed his arms instead, but it made him feel too much like a superior trying to hold dominion over his subordinates and Kevin was a friend, not an employee, regardless of what Kevin himself thought.

Kevin made a face. "Demons don't tend to be particularly loyal, except Lucifer's die-hards like Abaddon. I can't imagine them pulling out of five states – the ones that just happen to boarder us, might I add – to fight for a bunch of war lords."

For a moment, they were both quiet. When Kevin looked up from his bed and bit his lip, Sam knew where the conversation was heading.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know," Sam shot back. "I'm not my boyfriend's keeper."

"Oh, so he is your boyfriend now? You had a sit down talk and you're going steady?" Kevin asked, and Sam just rubbed a hand through his hair. "Everyone loves a reformed sinner, Sam."

"You think he's planning something?" the younger Winchester asked.

Kevin looked around his room, then back at Sam. "I don't know if it's good or bad, but he's definitely planning something."

Whatever Kevin said about Lucifer and a couple of demon-free states, Sam still had a different primary objective as a short-term goal. Sam had dropped a couple of hints, but the archangel would pointedly change the subject or be sure to finish Sam off quickly so he couldn't actually ask for it.

The hunter didn't know if Lucifer would deny him if he straight-out asked, but it was hard to ask for something when it was obviously something that Lucifer didn't want.

And it wasn't exactly like sex without the wings wasn't still great; no, Sam still had fun with the archangel and still enjoyed the feeling of their skin rubbing together, but something had changed. Lucifer had never exactly been forthcoming about his thoughts or feelings before, but something had shut down after Michael had caught them.

Lucifer knew everything about Sam. For just a little bit of time, Sam felt he knew something about Lucifer, too.

"You're upset."

Sam turned around, not that he needed help identifying Castiel's voice. It was hard to believe that Castiel had ever been human once. The days where he would lie in bed were months behind them, and even when Castiel did manage to get out of bed back then it was obvious he was human. He hunched over more, like the weight on his shoulders was too much, and he avoided eye contact.

The angel Castiel carried himself at his full height always, almost like he was still overcompensating for his brief fall, but his eyes seemed full of an understanding that had never been there before.

"You're not supposed to read my mind, Cas," Sam said, turning back to the dishes in the sink.

"I wasn't. I wouldn't. You just cleaned that plate for five minutes and while I know you appreciate cleanliness, that's a little excessive, even for you," Castiel said, walking forward to grab a dish towel. He started drying the plates in the drainer.

Sam smiled despite his frustration, and for a long moment, the two of them worked silently at the task at hand. Lucifer was either watching the sunset from his garden or secretly doing something with his demons that made them abandon five states for no apparent reason, and Sam didn't have a clue were Dean was.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Castiel asked, still looking at the plate he was drying. "I assume it's about my brother since you haven't confided in Dean or I about it yet."

"It… yeah, Cas. It's about Lucifer," the younger Winchester said, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about it. It was private. It wasn't Castiel's business. Sam didn't want to betray Lucifer's trust. "Are your wings really sensitive?"

The plate shattered in Castiel's hand from the grip. The angel mumbled his apology and set to work cleaning up his mess. When he threw everything away, he stood at the garbage and said, "Yes, they are. But why –"

"You, uh… You and Dean. When you – you know – do you… have them out?"

"Yes… um, sometimes."

"What's your favorite part – er, I mean – what feels the best when he touches them?"

This was more awkward than the first time Sam walked in on Dean having sex by a long shot. This wasn't a nameless chick his brother picked up somewhere shady – this was Castiel, who was a damn good friend of Sam's – and asking about his sex life, his sex life with Sam's brother, made the younger Winchester feel like he had to take a bleach bath to get the stain off him.

And Castiel tried to answer like he was being asked what time it was, but the modesty Dean had taught him while he was a human hadn't left.

"Angels were never meant to procreate. We flew and sometimes, feathers were ruffled. Our closest brothers and sisters would help soothe bent feathers. It was a bond of love and trust; the warriors like me did it more frequently barracks because we were injured more. It helped camaraderie. I heard that the angels who held office jobs – so to speak – rarely bonded with many of the others. They usually formed pairs. I imagine they thought we were scandalous," Castiel said, still standing near the garbage can and away from the human.

"No way you were a wing slut in heaven, Cas," Sam said with a grin.

At that, Castiel gave a small smile. "Slut is not entirely accurate. Warriors need grooming because we were somewhat reckless with our wings and we needed to trust each other. I didn't groom any more than anyone else, but the warriors were certainly – for lack of a better phrasing – wing sluts compared to the angels like Lucifer. And I was wrong to try and bond with him, Sam. I hope you both will forgive me."

"What? No, I didn't… I wasn't trying to reprimand you or anything. It's just that, for a little while, we… and now, since Michael, I can't get him to… I just thought if I could show him how pleasing it could feel, he'd – you know – open up to me more."

Castiel looked down into the broken shards of ceramic in the garbage can and took a deep breath. "The bones can be effective handles if gripped from behind. The joint where they meet the flesh is sensitive. The insides are fine for trailing fingers over, but nothing ever beats the grooming. When it's more than pleasure – when it serves a real purpose – that is where the true bond is formed. There is nothing quite like that, and trust me, we've tried a lot."

Without looking up at the younger Winchester, Castiel turned and left the room. Sam turned back to the dishes, his neck and chest uncomfortably warm, wondering how he would be able to incorporate any of that advice if Lucifer wouldn't ever show him his wings again.

Sam begged to a God he was sure wasn't there anymore that the most uncomfortable conversation of his life wouldn't be for nothing.

It turned out to be less of an issue than Sam originally thought it would be. A month after Michael's impromptu visit, Lucifer had Sam on his back in their bed. Lucifer's hands held Sam's wrists above his head – not with superhuman strength, but Sam knew he could struggle all he wanted and not break free – and the archangel's knees pressed against Sam's sides.

There wasn't much space between them: Lucifer was keeping himself low to lick at the sweat pooling in the dip of Sam's collarbone and Sam didn't have the space to thrust up into his lover with the archangel refused to let Sam back out again. The small thrusts the hunter did manage were shallow, paired with a slight rocking of Lucifer's hips, which slid the archangel's cock over the hunter's belly. He hissed, but whether with the control or the minimal amount of friction, Sam wasn't sure.

Lucifer's borrowed torso was shorter than Sam's. For the archangel to suck against the flesh just below his ear meant they were chest to sweaty chest, and Sam groaned, turning his head to the side to allow his lover easier access. After a few seconds, however, Lucifer's mouth let up. Sam expected him to lick over the budding bruise, but instead, the archangel surprised him by murmuring against his neck: "I know you still think about them all the time."

Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he made a desperate move to thrust up into Lucifer, but whined when the angle and Lucifer's weight still only allowed for a shallow thrust. It wasn't enough, and Sam felt like he had a fever.

Sure, he thought about it all the time, but to be honest, he hadn't been thinking about it right that second. He thought in private moments – in the shower, when he was supposed to be reading – only when Lucifer wasn't around to overhear him. Or at least, when Sam thought he couldn't overhear him.

Suddenly brought up, however, Sam had little choice but to imagine the appendages rising to the ceiling, the trembling feathers sounding like waves. The air they fanned over Sam's body would evaporate the sweat and cool him. The very tips of the primaries would ghost over Sam's skin, worshiping the flesh like Sam longed to worship the feather.

Lucifer pushed himself up so their chests weren't touching any longer, using the momentum to push himself back, letting go of Sam's hands, and pushing Sam into him with the thrust had been looking for. The hunter kept his hands above his head, fingernails pressed into his palms, and he cried out.

The archangel raised himself up again, so just the head remained inside. He adjusted so he could have more leverage, his feet pressing against the mattress instead of his knees. He held there for a moment, catching Sam's eyes and daring the human to thrust up into him. Sam held the look, his body shaking with the feral need to bury himself in another body but he held back. He let Lucifer decide the pace.

After another moment, the archangel grinned, rubbing his hands down Sam's chest, pausing at his sides. "What would you do," Lucifer asked. "If I let them out right now?"

"Anything," Sam groaned, digging his heels into the mattress to help him raise his hips but Lucifer's fingers tightened, holding his lover down. "Whatever you would want me to do."

Lucifer sank down slowly, and Sam's eyes slid shut. "I think you misunderstood the question. I didn't mean to ask what you would owe me," Lucifer raised back up and Sam's toes curled. "I meant, what would you do to them?"

"My answer stands," Sam said, trying to open his eyes past the pleasure to watch the way the archangel – one of the most ferocious being in all of existence – pleasured himself using Sam's cock. "Anything, Lucifer. I'd do anything for you. Anything to make you feel good."

At that, a deep sound ripped itself from Lucifer's throat while two things happened simultaneously: the archangel seated himself completely down to Sam's lap much quicker than the times before, and the wings manifested themselves violently – almost as if they were ripped from that plane to this plane too quickly – and arched wide.

Sam thought that the wings added something to his own personal gratification, but this time he knew, without a doubt, that their presence changed something in the way sex felt for Lucifer as well. No longer holding Sam down, the archangel's full attention went to the pleasure he found in his own flesh, using one hand on Sam to stable himself, the other fisting around his own erection.

Lucifer wasn't holding back anymore – he wasn't teasing – he was determined to finish, and Sam was just as ready to get there. His hands went to Lucifer's hips for a brief moment, trying to take back some control over the rhythm. The moan that had been half out of the archangel's mouth turned to a scowl, so Sam wrapped one hand around his lover's waist and pulled, changing the angle. Lucifer's back arched slightly, a breathy, "Yes, Sam. Perfect," escaping his lips. But the change of angle left the wings within reach, and Sam reached out with both hands, letting his fingers trail over the secondaries on the inside of Lucifer's wing.

In a matter of seconds, something hit the floor and smashed to Sam's right, Lucifer's fingers gripping Sam for support tightened a little too hard, and the archangel came across Sam's belly.

Much more complacent after an orgasm, Sam let his hands move back to Lucifer's hips, meeting his movements with thrusts of his own and it wasn't long before Sam held Lucifer to his lap, buried inside him, as the hunter groaned through his own orgasm. The archangel leaned over, kissing Sam's chest and neck through it, not able to reach his mouth without pulling away from Sam's lap.

After a second, Sam's fingers started soothing over the grip he had, and the archangel moved – wincing as Sam slid free – and laid himself down beside Sam, curling into his side as if it were his birthright.

The two of them laid panting for a long moment before Sam turned his head and saw the broken shards of glass on the floor. Despite himself, Sam felt the happiness bubbling in his stomach, rising up, until he was laughing.

"Shut up," Lucifer said. "You're destroying my bliss. That was… That was certainly one of my favorites."

"You broke my picture frame," Sam said, rolling away to grab some tissues, then rolling back to clean the pair of them up. "You owe me at least three dollars to have that replaced."

"Money is the root of all evil," Lucifer said lazily, wrapping his leg around Sam's, tangling them together until it would be impossible for one of them to leave bed without waking the other. His arm draped easily over Sam's chest like he was clinging to him, trying to soak up all the heat from the sex into his own body. After a moment he sighed, a contented thing. "I'm sorry about your picture. I'll fix it in the morning."

He didn't sound sorry at all. But Sam didn't care. He felt the wing drape over his body, and he felt the archangel's breath even against his neck. Once he was sure Lucifer was asleep, Sam put his hand over the wing and rubbed the feathers until he, too, fell asleep.

Something had been undoubtedly different that time, and Sam was reaping some serious benefits. They had times where the wings weren't present during sex, but more often than not, they would make an appearance long enough for Lucifer to break something.

Even more, Lucifer would take them out on his own accord, sometimes as a seduction technique. Sam would be sitting on his bed reading, and he'd hear the wings rustle and assume the archangel left the room. Instead, Lucifer would be sitting there – pretending he hadn't done anything by ignoring Sam in favor for whatever book he had been reading – with his wings out.

Then, Lucifer would look up, a look of primal lust on his face, and Sam was surprised how quickly they could get undressed without Lucifer just snapping the clothes away.

Once, Sam even saw Lucifer with his wings out when he was alone and as far as Sam knew, it was the first time he'd taken them out without sex involved or Sam explicitly asking for God knows how long.

The sun had already gone down – Lucifer usually came back into the bunker by that time of night – so Sam went out to see what was up. On occasion, Lucifer spotted deer walking across the field, and he liked to watch them. When Sam slid out of the heavy metal door, he noticed the archangel wasn't at his usual perch on the railing. Frowning, Sam leaned against the metal and looked out over the field.

There were a ton of fireflies out that night, producing chemical light to attract a mate or prey. They flickered on and off like a moving city from a distance, but as Sam scanned the line between the field and the trees, something else caught his eye.

Lucifer's wings weren't bioluminescent like the fireflies were. His wings didn't glow. But their whiteness reflected the light from the moon, making the wings look like they were glowing. He could barely see Lucifer's body in the moonlight, but he could make out the faint outline of the vessel, reaching a hand out to a doe. She was sniffing his hand as two fawns moved toward the archangel.

Sam watched as the wings grew lower to the ground as Lucifer dropped slowly to his knees. One of the fawns pressed close to him, and the archangel ran his hand over the spotted coat. The mother – who already realized Lucifer, the archangel who would have risked half of the world to win a war against God, was no threat to them – dropped her head and started eating.

The hunter had watched them for a long moment before he went back in the bunker to give the archangel some peace.

A week or so after the incident with the deer – which Sam never brought up and Lucifer never mentioned – Sam went on a morning jog. He went most mornings, but because the bunker was on a back road where the psycho drivers drove sixty around too-sharp corners, needless to say half of the people who lived in the bunker were not pleased by his decision.

He could almost understand Dean's concern. The demons were still running; most of the mid-west was completely demon-free and Kevin was struggling to find sightings as far west as Nevada. ("Nevada, Sam. Freaking Nevada. There aren't any demons in the City of Sin.") Demons weren't the root of all evil, but without demons making deals, there were a lot less witches. In fact, the known covens were packing up and leaving too. Once, the two hunters and the two angels went to raid a coven and found all four of the ex-witches in a church, praying for the restoration of their souls.

Dean added insult to injury by yelling at them. Castiel played good cop and comforted them. Lucifer sat in the back pew with his hands over his face. Sam could read the crow's feet at the borrowed eyes. The archangel – former devil – found the entire situation hilarious.

Even Sam cracked a smile when he went to shake one of their hands as the four of them left and the woman screamed and ran from the church like something in her recognized something in him.

But anyway, with the lack of demons and witches – and all sorts of other supernatural creatures that used to run rampant – Dean didn't have anything better to worry about than Sam getting hit by car on his morning jog.

The real surprise had been Lucifer, who insisted he would go with Sam, so that if he was hit, the archangel could heal him as it would be so much easier to heal what life was left than to try and drag Sam back from a reaper or Michael. Lucifer had taken any little bit of violence against Sam to be a massive wrongdoing to himself, and the hunter couldn't help but feel a little bit bad about that shapeshifter who got a good punch in while Sam was preoccupied.

It was one of the few mornings Sam managed to sneak out while Lucifer was preoccupied – the archangel didn't need to wash himself, but he seemed to fall in love with the water pressure in the shower – and as Sam was running past the pond about a mile away from the bunker when a shadow passed over him.

It was quick, and it wouldn't have even gotten Sam's attention at all if it hadn't circled in again, lower this time. The shadow wings were massive, and Sam stopped to watch. As it flew away from Sam up the road, the hunter could see the way the primaries moved slightly to change the angle of flight. Sam tried looking up, but the sun was too bright and he couldn't see what was causing the shadow. For a moment, he stepped off the street and toward the pond to watch the shadow circle toward him. A moment later, there was a rustle of wings behind him.

"It's hard to land when going that slow," a voice said, and Sam turned. Lucifer was standing there with his arms over his bare chest, wings still spread in the sunlight. He was frowning, his hair was windblown in a way Sam never noticed it to be whenever he flew anywhere else, and his jeans weren't buttoned. He probably wasn't even fully dressed when he realized Sam was gone, and for some reason, the hunter was grinning. "It's foolish to stand and watch the shadow of anything that has a wingspan like mine. Something my size could eat something your size and still have room for dessert."

"You want to eat me and go for dessert?" Sam asked with a grin. "As far as size goes, I am a couple of inches taller than you, you know."

"I show concern and you mock me," Lucifer said, taking a step toward the hunter, his arms leaving his chest in favor of a more aggressive stance.

"Your concern is appreciated, but there aren't birds of prey with wingspans like yours, Lucifer. This isn't Jurassic Park. It's one thing to put mild concern in someone hitting me with a car. It probably wouldn't happen but there's a small possibility that it could. It's something completely different when you think a giant bird is going to carry me off," Sam said as he tried wiping the smile from his face. "Besides, you were just trying to show off your impressive wingspan."

The anger turned into something else almost instantly. "No, I was–"

"Yes, you were," Sam took a step closer. He reached out, letting his palms press into Lucifer's exposed hipbones. He let his hands wander past his sides and rest against the small of the archangel's back. He pulled him closer until their bodies were almost touching one another. The hunter's voice dropped. "You said it yourself. You were flying too slowly to land. You didn't need to keep circling around me like a vulture to move in for the landing."

"Sam…"

"You were showing off," One of Sam's hands moved back to the front, trailing against the length of Lucifer's torso before coming to rest at the back of the archangel's neck. He pulled him in for a kiss, but it was only a soft press before he moved back. Lucifer frowned at the lack of passion. "You arrogant…" Sam pressed a kiss to his lover's neck, "… prideful being…" the hunter turned his attention to the same spot on the other side, "… with enormous, beautiful wings."

When Sam captured Lucifer's bottom lip between his own, he captured the soft moan that came with it. They kissed there by the pond for several minutes, slow and passionate, until the archangel's hands pushed Sam's shoulders away enough for him breathe some words into their shared space: "Twenty feet to the woods or am I zapping us back home?"

The hunter grinned and started pushing the archangel toward the woods on the side of the pond. The pair of them were laughing, trying their hardest to make it to the shelter of the trees without breaking the kiss or tumbling over each other. Lucifer was trying to tear Sam's shirt off.

It was a long time after they broke through the safety of the trees, a long time after they returned to the bunker, that Sam realized that Lucifer had called this place home.

Sam was sure that Dean would say it was girly of him, but the word home hung in the back of his mind just like the images of the wings had after he first saw him. To be honest, Sam himself felt like he was reading too much into it, that he was amping up to be the clingy psycho who would hit an ex-girlfriend with a car if she suddenly showed up and tried taking his lover away. Sam had never been that guy – he had never been one who read into words like home and took it to be more than a place – but he became obsessed.

He thought back to Kevin, and how he had asked if the two of them had ever talked about it… about being exclusive and going steady. To be honest, Sam never thought they had to. What was Lucifer's alternative other than Sam? He still despised most of the humans – he completely loathed the demons – and there was still animosity hanging in the air whenever Michael showed up. Lucifer, Sam knew, would be with him until the hunter died if the archangel would even allow a natural death to happen.

But up until Lucifer said the word home and meant the two of them – their bunker with their brothers, their bedroom – he had always thought it was more casual than that for the untamed force. They were sleeping together, sure. Lucifer would stay by Sam's side always, sure. But for the first time, Sam thought the archangel – the freak snowstorm that would devastate a coast in a matter of hours in the middle of summer – might want to be there with him. Sam wasn't just the only person Lucifer could tolerate in a world full of intolerable distractions.

Sam thought Lucifer might actually need him. And that seemed like so much more than love to the archangel.

"You are not where you should be," the borrowed voice teased lightly, biting down on Sam's bare shoulder. For an unmovable force, Lucifer's weight was comfortable on the back of Sam's thighs. His thighs, still covered in jeans, pressed up against the hunter's sides as the archangel leaned over, working his cold hands over the tense muscles at Sam's back. "If you're bored, we could skip the foreplay."

Sam smiled into arms which were acting as a pillow as he lay out on his stomach on their bed. "'m not bored. You're just so good at that I'm actually relaxing of once."

"The tissue is hypoxic from poor posture. You spend too much of your day hunched over a book or your computer. Luckily, you eat properly and exercise regularly. Your brother must have a lot of pain and discomfort. He is older than he thinks while you could easily live to be in your nineties or later," Lucifer said, thumbs pressing into the muscle to rub out the kinks and allow oxygen to flow more freely to the clump of tissue.

"Nineties or later," Sam repeated, his voice sounding too relaxed to his own ears. "I'd be an old man."

"You would."

"Gray, maybe bald," Sam said, and Lucifer snorted at the thought of it. "Wrinkled, arthritic, possibly demented. Hunters don't get old. If the survive physically, they lose the mental battle long before ninety."

"You will survive, physically and mentally," the archangel's voice was even and set. It left no room for debate. Lucifer's hands left Sam's back moments before the weight lifted off of Sam and the bed moved as Lucifer stood up.

"How could you possible know that?" Sam twisted, turning to look over his shoulder at his lover. For a moment, their eyes caught. Lucifer's eyebrows rose, then his hand reached behind his back, bunching the shirt between his shoulder blades and lifting it up and over his head. The shirt hadn't even touched the floor before his hands dropped to his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping in quick, efficient movements.

Sam knew he should roll over and finish undressing his lower half, but his eyes were trained on Nick's body – was it Lucifer's body now that the human was burned out of the vessel? – and Sam wondered how he could know a body so intimately and not the person within at all.

The rest of Lucifer's clothes dropped on the floor, and the archangel turned to their nightstand to grab whatever he thought they would need. Sam knew Nick had three moles on his back that angled the same way that Orion's belt did. He knew there was a scar on Nick's thigh, but Sam had no idea what it possibly could have come from. Sam had kissed and licked and violated Nick's flesh, and he didn't know what Lucifer looked like. Not really.

When Lucifer turned back toward Sam, he deposited the bottle on the bed and reached out for the hunter. He pulled him up so he was on his knees. He wrapped his arms around Sam's stomach, Lucifer's front to Sam's back, palm pressing into the bulge in Sam's pants for just a moment before moving up to unbutton and unzip the hunter as well.

"Lucifer, how do you know?"

The archangel's hands rested on Sam's skin, fingers just blow the elastic band of Sam's underwear. Lucifer kissed Sam's shoulder from behind and leaned up to breath in his ear: "I know you because I assure it. If your mind goes, I will find it. If your body aches, I will heal it. Nobody will ever touch you again; you're safe with me. Michael can't have you until I say he can. You are mine, Sam. And I will take care of you."

Lucifer's hands stayed on Sam's skin; he made no move to continue undressing the hunter. He kissed the side of Sam's neck, the back of his shoulder.

Lucifer had said that nobody would ever touch Sam again. The words were a threat – a threat of those who dared touch the human – and a promise to never let the human leave. Sam didn't know if Lucifer would let him leave if he wanted to, but the hunter couldn't foresee a time when he would want to anyway.

"What if I need to go?" Sam whispered. "There are things worse than death."

For a long moment Lucifer was silent. There was a tension in the room, and Sam couldn't tell if Lucifer was furious at the prospect of ever being without Sam or upset. Lucifer didn't play by human rules. He made up his own. But when Lucifer spoke, his voice had a hint of confusion leaking into the usual steady cadence: "You can leave whenever you want, Sam. You can leave, but nobody else can take you from me. The demons, the drivers. Nobody can take you from me but you."

"What will you do when I'm gone?"

Sam could see it. Furious and untamed, hating all the humans all over again. This time, not because he was asked to love them, but because he did and their weak bodies were ephemeral. Love, Sam thought, could be far more blinding than rage, than hate. What could Lucifer do?

Would he take back control of hell, raise armies of demons and try to reclaim heaven? Would he accept the loss and move on, or drag Sam's soul back from wherever it was – make his body over again like Castiel had done for Dean – and let him live a thousand more lives?

Lucifer shifted behind him, putting his chin on the man's shoulder. "I never thought about it. What would you like me to do?"

Sam didn't understand what it was about the wild mass of celestial intent asking for his opinion, but Sam's hands found his pants and started pushing them down his thighs. He pushed back against the archangel, and Lucifer laughed. The hunter leaned forward to put his hands on the mattress, pressing his feet down to lift his knees, then raise his feet. The archangel tugged the jeans off and Sam heard them hit the floor seconds before he felt teeth nip at the exposed muscles.

He heard the bottle top open then close, then felt the press of a cool, slick finger against his entrance.

Then, the flutter of his wings being pulled onto this plane.

Lucifer could read Sam's body like it was a book in a language that only he knew. He knew when to add a second finger; he knew to press kisses and bites to the muscles on the small of Sam's back. He knew if he draped himself over Sam's body – making the angle awkward and uncomfortable for himself – to press kisses against his neck and shoulders Sam would arch his back, making his shoulder blades stand out as if he had a pair of wings waiting to escape too.

And Sam had never been with anyone who knew him so completely.

Two turned to three and if Sam was desperate for it before, it didn't compare to when he caught sight of their reflection in the mirror. Lucifer's wings were spread out across the room, twitching with anticipation and Sam begged, "Please."

But Lucifer said Sam was safe with him. He was even safe from himself.

The hunter's eyes were fixed on the mirror when Lucifer's fingers pulled out. He watched the archangel take himself in his hand, stroking more of the clear liquid over him. He watched the way Lucifer's eyebrows furrowed while he lined himself up. He could feel it, the brush of the head against the hole, and watched as Lucifer pushed in.

The archangel's gaze stayed downward, watching himself sink into his true vessel's body. Sam groaned at the sight of it.

He kept watching them, almost voyeuristically, seeing Lucifer thrust in the mirror, but feeling it inside him. He saw Lucifer gripping his hips, but he could feel the clench of the fingers, too strong against a fragile human body. He watched his lover's muscles flex with the thrusts, the way Lucifer's eyes scanned Sam's back before dropping down to watch him disappear into Sam's body again and again.

Lucifer's wings swayed with the thrusts, flexing out when the thrusting became deeper, then more erratic. Sam was close too, holding himself up on one arm to reach between his legs and pull himself to completion when Lucifer's eyes snapped up from Sam's body for the first time.

Their eyes caught in the mirror, and Sam came against their mattress. He felt Lucifer trembling over him, pulling out and pushing in lazily, filling Sam. The hunter folded his arms and rested his head on the bed, and the archangel pulled out.

Lucifer cleaned them. Sam was nearly asleep by the time Lucifer crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around him, the wing resting over them like a blanket. It was commonplace for them to sleep like that now.

Sam's breathing evened and grew shallow. He was almost asleep when Lucifer's voice stirred him awake again.

"What am I supposed to do without you?"

Sam just pretended to be asleep – Lucifer thought he was anyway – and it didn't take long for Sam to stop pretending.

Dean made an assortment of foods for breakfast.

Everyone was sitting around the kitchen table looking mostly happy and well rested. Even Kevin – who looked like he was dying on his best days – had showered and shaved, the black spots under his eyes lightened with one night of decent sleep.

Dean was teasing Lucifer about not eating any bacon, and Lucifer was ignoring him like someone who had a lifetime ignoring an annoying older brother by talking louder to Castiel, who was trying to hide his smile behind a forkful of egg. Kevin was talking about some senator that Sam had no real knowledge of – but he was talking about what she stood for and not that he feared she might be a leviathan – so Sam tried to keep the conversation going just for that reason.

Nobody heard the flutter of wings over the animated gathering. Sam saw Michael appear over Lucifer's shoulder. (Lucifer was screaming, "To be honest, the fact that the digestive system works so flawlessly in healthy animals is nothing short of a miracle," while Dean screamed, "What the fuck is wrong with you, not liking bacon? What are you going to say next, you don't like pie, you pinko commie bastard?") Sam nodded to the empty seat next to Kevin – their table fit six – and Michael frowned.

He stood for a long moment, contemplating whether or not he could sit down and interrupt the family moment. But Sam stood, got him a plate and filled it with a little bit of everything and sat it down in the free spot. Once they were aware of Sam's actions, the rest of the table stopped talking, turning one-by-one to face Michael.

Michael stood there awkwardly for a second before walking forward and sitting between Kevin and Castiel, looking down at plate of food with confusion. He looked back up at Lucifer's half-empty plate and Castiel's jaw moving to chew his food and his frown reached his eyebrows, furrowing in concern.

"You don't like any of it?" Sam asked. "Dean could probably whip you up something else."

"Like hell I will," Dean said, picking up a slice of bacon in his hand and pointing it Michael like an accusation. "My food will get cold. But there're brownies on the counter and pie in the fridge. Help yourself."

"No, it's…" Michael watched Dean bite the bacon like he was a primitive life form who hadn't mastered the art of using tools yet, before returning his gaze to his food. "I've never eaten anything before."

"Anything?" Dean asked. "Ever?"

"Angels don't need to eat, Dean," Sam said. "Cas probably still does because he had to eat for months when he was human and got accustomed to the taste, and Lucifer…" Sam looked at the archangel, realizing that he had no idea why he ever ate, but he always did.

Lucifer grinned at Michael. "I'm just a rebel."

Dean laughed, but Michael looked down at the food like it was food from Hell and he'd get stuck down on Earth if he ever took a bite of it. After a long moment's hesitation, Michael picked up the bacon with his bare fingers just as Dean had and bit off a piece. He chewed, an unreadable expression on his face, before he swallowed.

"It's salty," he said, but took another bite.

"Ha!" Dean said, shoving Lucifer's shoulder. "Welcome to the family, Mike."

They ate loudly, yelling over each other and cursing and laughing until all the food was gone. Even after, they sat back in their chairs, listening and grinning around their full stomachs, enjoying the company. It was in a lull of conversation that Michael spoke up.

"I should bring Adam down to visit. He would have enjoyed this," Michael rubbed his stomach, not used to the feeling of being full. "I'm just afraid of what could happen to his psyche if I tried to put his soul into a body after the cage." It wasn't said with any emotion, certainly no malice, even though what happened in the cage to Adam was Lucifer's fault. Same as Sam's torture, which came from Michael's hands.

As if the archangel suddenly realized this, he looked over at Sam and said, "I'm sorry, by the way. For making you think it was him. And for doing it. I didn't know."

He didn't explain what he didn't know, but Sam just shrugged and changed the topic. It was easier. "What brings you down here, anyway?"

"Oh," Michael said. "I wanted to thank Lucifer. No demons in the United States. They're crawling back to hell all over the world. Most are going willingly and those who aren't are being dragged back by the knight and the loyalists."

"Abaddon," Lucifer said. "Hell needed order. I told her she could have it but if one demon escapes on her watch, I'd get rid of the lot of them. They aren't happy, but when are they ever?"

"So there's still going to be a hell and all the demons will be locked inside?" Dean asked.

"There has to be a hell. The evil needs to be punished, just like the good deserve eternal happiness. So technically, all the demons can't be destroyed because souls die and get sent there all the time," Michael said. "But no more deals. They have to earn their way down just like they earn their way up."

"And believe it or not, I can be terrifying when I want to be," Lucifer added, nodding at Michael who nodded back.

"It's a new system. I'm not sure if it's better than the old, but it's a change and less corrupt. No demons whispering in human's ears. No angels interfering for some supposed divine plan. Just humans existing and getting what they get in the end," Michael shrugged. "Not a whole lot we can do with just three angels watching all of humanity anyway. Especially while I'm guarding the souls and the two of you are playing house."

"We aren't playing," Lucifer corrected, and Castiel nodded. "This is our home."

"It's a good one, I think," Michael said, standing up. He stretched, like the sudden intake of food left his whole body feeling more human. Maybe the food really was like the pomegranate. "Much better than the last ones."

Michael straightened himself, about ready to take off when Dean called out, "We do a late brunch on Sundays, if you want to bring Adam down then."

The archangel looked stunned for a moment, then nodded. He smiled for a brief moment before his eyes settled on Kevin and the smile faded. "I could… I mean, if you want, I could bring your mother down too. Ash sent out an APB of sorts. He found her in her heaven. It was one of your cello recitals. I'm sorry for your loss, Kevin."

He shrugged, but something was different. He was tense again, holding himself together too stiffly. He looked younger suddenly, more like the kid with the long hair who was screaming about advanced placement and wanting to be the president. He was a kid robbed of his childhood, robbed of his mother, and robbed of his life because of heaven and hell's stupid war. Sam wanted to reach out to him, but he never really learned how to comfort another.

"I knew. She would have checked for demons. If there weren't any, she would have found me. I knew," he said, but his voice broke. He cleared his throat and asked, "She is with the others now?"

"Sometimes. She likes to go back to her heaven, too."

Kevin just nodded, over and over again for a long moment, before he stood up and walked away toward his room. The Winchesters and the angels didn't go after him. They'd all lost their parents. They'd lost friends and family along the way, and they knew there were no real words of comfort. Not yet.

Michael sighed and looked at Lucifer. "I hope she will be one of the last victims of our terrible choices." Lucifer looked down at his plate and nodded. Michael was gone with the sound of his wings.

That night, Lucifer walked into their bedroom and shut the door. Sam heard the click of the lock, but didn't turn away from his book. He was close to the end, and Sam was almost tempted to tell Lucifer to give him another fifteen minutes so he wouldn't have to stop. The archangel had been dodging Sam all day – sitting out on the railing looking for deer, talking in hushed whispers with Castiel in Enochian, flying around aimlessly for hours – so when Sam felt the dip in the bed and the cool hand on his ankle, he knew he couldn't ignore the problem.

He bookmarked his spot, put it on the bedside, and turned to face the archangel.

"What happened to you, Lucifer?" Sam asked, reaching out to touch the wings but pulling his hand back before he made contact. Lucifer hadn't flinched at the motion. Instead, he followed Sam's hand back, crawling toward him o the bed on his knees.

The archangel was only wearing jeans, and his skin looked unmarked, but his wings… the beautiful white wings were ruffled. Feathers were out of place, and some of them looked damp. Lucifer sat on the bed and faced away from Sam, showing him the back. They were much the same, and Sam's eyes darted over them, looking for blood. He couldn't see any, but the wings still looked rough.

At least, as rough as Sam had ever seen them.

"I…" Lucifer's voice was unsteady. Sam wondered if he was in pain. "I flew. Before I fell, I was the adversary – a lawyer. Sometimes I came to earth to spy on people and report back to my father, but…those flights weren't long or hard. I was an office worker. Then I was locked in the cage for a long time. Even when I got out, my fights were never hard or far. Not like the warriors had been, not like Castiel does. Just for fun he flies farther and faster than most of the worst flights I've ever had, other than the fall. I asked him his route and I flew it."

Sam's eyes started at the top left and drew down, cataloging all of the misplaced feathers, the places that could use cleaning and mending. "Why?"

"The only one who ever touched my wings – ever – threw me from my home. Michael was my favorite, we weren't supposed to have favorites, but Michael was my everything. He taught me to fly; he taught me about the new humans. He would whisper to me as he groomed my feathers. He taught me to sleep when sleeping isn't in the nature of angels. And one day, I couldn't obey one order – one tiny, little order – and he threw me out. The only one I loved as much as Father, and…" Lucifer took a breath, still facing away. "It would have hurt less if he tore my wings off or rammed a blade through my chest."

"Dean didn't stand up for me, when I wanted to go to college," Sam said, putting his fingers in Lucifer's hair because it was a spot he knew he was allowed to touch. He knew the situations didn't compare, not really, but he thought if he could only share a moment similar, Lucifer would know he wasn't alone. "My dad told me that if I left, I could never come back."

"I know," Lucifer said. "It was cruel of them. But you forgave Dean."

"You're friendly with Michael now."

"Yes, but I haven't forgiven him. I can't. You know my sin," Lucifer shrugged. "I can't forgive him for breaking out bond: I'm too proud. And it's why I've never taken them out except when I need to clean and groom them myself. I was doing that when you saw me with Castiel. Nobody's touched them but you since…"

"Yeah."

"Touching is different from grooming, though. The bond it creates cuts deep. It's why the warriors always groomed each other. They would lay down their lives for one another, so their bond had to be strong. I swore, when I was in the cage the first time, I'd never bond with anyone again."

"I…" Sam started, then changed tactics. "No, that… I mean, that makes perfect sense. I don't blame you."

"I want you to groom me. If you'd like to, I mean."

"What?"

"I flew that far to mess up my wings," Lucifer said, head lowering like he was looking down, embarrassed. "Just so I could ask you to groom them for me. You don't have to. I won't make you. But if I ever wanted to bond with someone, it would be you."

Sam reached up his hands, moving toward the tangle of feathers at the top of the left wing. He paused, an inch shy of contact, and he heard Lucifer's breath pause, waiting for the touch. Sam grinned and asked, "If I do this are we like angel-married?"

Lucifer turned around so fast that he knocked into the human with his wing. Sam laughed but Lucifer looked furious. "I wasn't married to my brother, you jackass. Now, are you going to fix my wings or am I going to have to fight for several hours to untangle this myself?"

"Fine. Don't get your panties in a twist," Sam said, fingers brushing over the knot in the wings at the top, trying to thread his fingers through and separate them so he could put them back in place.

The second Sam started smoothing out the ruffled feathers, Lucifer groaned. The archangel's head tilted to expose his neck, and he leaned back against his hands. The feathers themselves seemed lighter than the stray feathers he picked up on the street that molted from birds. When he gently gripped the bone to spread the wing to get easier access to a knot, the bone felt light too.

It seemed to take forever to get through the first wing. The soft gasps and whimpers were incredibly distracting, and by the time Sam got to the bottom, he couldn't really concentrate on the task at hand.

"You make those noses when your brother was fixing your wings?" Sam asked, tongue heavy in his mouth, his erection uncomfortable in his jeans.

"No," Lucifer said, bowing his back. "No, this is… it's been a long time, but it was certainly never like this."

"You didn't have a human vessel then, right? Maybe it's that."

"No," Lucifer said, although he adjusted the way he was sitting so he could have a free hand. He palmed his lap for a moment before trying to work his button through the hole with just one hand. "No, this is entirely different."

Sam tried to make quick work of the other wing, but Lucifer made faster work of his pants. Sam had to stand on the bed to reach the top of the wing, and the distraction grew tenfold when he caught sight of Lucifer's fist around the pink flesh, brushing over himself with slow, deliberate strokes.

It wouldn't get him off, it wasn't fast enough for that, but the race was on. Sam needed to finish grooming him before Lucifer lost his patience and went along without him. He was halfway done with the wing when the archangel cried out, and Sam was so sure he was coming that he gripped the wings too tightly.

"No, stop," Lucifer said, sitting up and raising his hands in surrender, and Sam's hands left the soft feathers. For a moment, Lucifer just breathed, and Sam worked to free himself from his pants. He almost fell when he kicked them off while standing on the bed and by the time he regained his balance, he noticed Lucifer's pants were on the floor too. The archangel was on his knees on the bed, a bottle in one hand, the fingers of the other hand reaching between his legs to find his own hole.

"What are you…"

"Half a wing left. Can't wait for half a wing and prep. I'll prep; you groom."

"Christ, Lucifer," Sam said, sitting down turning his attention back to the wings. Lucifer snorted, but said nothing.

After a moment of teasing himself, the archangel leaned forward against the headboard with one hand, arching his back to stick his hips out. Sam watched the moment one of Lucifer's fingers sank in to his own body, and Sam's groan mirrored the one that passed breathlessly from Lucifer's lips.

Despite the protest of needing it done fast, Lucifer made a show of fingering himself open. After a few minutes, he slipped two fingers in and let out a filthy sound. Sam leaned forward, nipping at the small of Lucifer's back where there weren't any feathers, then pulled back to watch.

"Wings, Sam. Almost done. Close already," Lucifer reprimanded, and Sam got to work again.

By the time Sam finished grooming the wings, Lucifer's forehead was against the wall and one hand had three fingers inside him, while the other hand was pulling at his cock. His hands didn't move so much as his hand did: fucking himself into his hand, then fucking himself back on his fingers. Sam's hands were already slick from the oil glands in Lucifer's feathers so he rubbed it over his cock. He put his hand on the archangel's thigh, rubbing it up over the curve of his ass.

"Let me," Sam said. With a groan, Lucifer pulled his fingers free of himself. The hunter leaned over, spreading the cheeks to examine the archangel's work. He smiled and pressed a kiss against Lucifer's tailbone. "How do you want it?"

"Like this," the blond whined. "Hurry."

Sam got on his knees, but took hold of Lucifer's hips, pulling him away from the wall. With his head no longer able to rest against the support, his hands reached out to brace himself, another soft sound coming from his lips at the completely lack of stimulation.

There was very little resistance when Sam pushed in, and Sam knew neither of them would last long. Lucifer had been touching himself for what felt like forever, and Sam had been in his own special hell listening to the sounds while not being able to touch himself.

Sam's hands gripped Lucifer's hips. Complacent with the pleasure, it was easy to move him. With pride, Sam realized he just dragged an archangel a foot and a half down the bed, and he reveled in the way he could snap his hips to meet Lucifer or move Lucifer's hips to meet his cock.

The being before him could destroy him with a snap of his fingers. He was untamed and furious, but for a moment, just for this moment, Sam knew he had the power to make Lucifer do anything. If that didn't give him a rush of power, nothing would.

"Sam," Lucifer groaned a couple of moments later. "Sam, grab my wings. The bones. Use…"

But Sam followed his logic – okay, maybe Lucifer still had his fair share of power over Sam – and his hands left the hips to reach up. The wings were open, spread, like they always were when the archangel was aroused and close to an orgasm. The bones felt delicate when he had been grooming them, so he gripped them lightly, not daring to pull on them.

"Fuck, Sam. They're handlebars. You can't break me – just fuck –" The comment was broken off by a cry when Sam gripped tighter and pulled the wings the same time he snapped his hips forward. The wings, he realized, after repeating the motion a few times to earn the same, sweet noises from Lucifer, had a lot more give to them because of the way they attached to the skeletal system. A direct pull on them didn't result in too much force. Sam's hands spread the wings, lining them up more directly with the archangel's shoulders. The hunter cupped his hands around the archangel's shoulders and the wings. Again he pulled the body toward him as his hips thrust forward.

"Sam," Lucifer cried out, louder than the rest of the whines and moans he had let out before. The archangel dropped a hand to his own cock again, pulling quickly, and Sam could feel his own orgasm building. "Sam."

A handful of thrusts later, Lucifer came with Sam's name on his breath, and the younger Winchester knew that the only thing keeping the archangel from slamming face first into the wall – his arms were doing nothing to hold himself up after that – was Sam's hands over his shoulders, so he tightened his hold and pressed on. Seconds later, Sam buried himself in Lucifer, his forehead pressed against feathers and skin between the archangel's shoulder blades.

He came with the feeling of the soft feathers and flesh on his face.

It took a while for each of them to come back into their bodies. Sam recovered first, easing himself out of the archangel, then taking care to clean them both before he let Lucifer lie down. His wings drooped with his exhaustion, but they were groomed. Not a feather out of place.

Unlike the other times, when Sam crawled into bed, they didn't spoon with Lucifer's wing draped across their bodies. Instead, Sam laid on his back and the archangel shifted toward him, putting his head on the human's chest, his arm and wing still wrapped over Sam's stomach. Lucifer tangled their bare legs together, and Sam could feel the cool puffs of breath on his nipple.

For a long moment, they laid there and neither of them spoke. There weren't words to describe the way that Sam felt the bond, even though it wasn't his wings they had groomed. He had thought that the bond would have only developed one way, but Castiel was right. This had been entirely different. For a moment, Sam wondered if Dean felt as close to Castiel as Sam felt toward Lucifer.

Sam wouldn't think it was possible, even though he knew that Dean did.

"I'm sorry," Lucifer murmured into Sam's chest. He already sounded half asleep, and Sam smiled at the ceiling, loving the simpleness of exhaustion in the archangel's voice. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was locking up the demons."

"You don't have to tell me about anything Michael asks you to do for him," Sam said, his own voice sounded like he had been screaming for hours, but he was relatively sure he hadn't been. "One time, when I was twelve, Dean asked me to sign up for an ice cream eating contest because he wanted to pick up the chick who was running the thing and she needed more contestants. Long story short, I spent the night nearly comatose from the sugar and the lactose. Dean was happy when he found me puking my guts out the next morning. Sometimes you just gotta do stuff your stupid older brother wants you to just to make them happy."

Lucifer laughed and tried to shake his head, but just pushed his cheek closer to Sam's chest then sighed. "Michael didn't ask me to lock away the demons. He asked me to rule hell. He didn't care about the demons not being around until he realized how much easier it was to keep an eye out without them around."

"Oh," Sam said, adjusting his arm and wrapping it over Lucifer's shoulder, resting his fingers on the light feathers. "Why did you decide do to that then?"

There was a long pause, and Sam almost thought Lucifer had fallen asleep. But then his tongue darted out to wet his lips and Sam felt it on his chest.

"I did it so you would never feel compelled to clean up one of my messes. It's my fault the demons were running free. That stupid trial to close the gate almost killed you. When I found out the state you were in because of me…" Lucifer shrugged but it was weak. "I put the demons back because I couldn't risk losing you again. Not once you accepted me. Believe it or not, people tend not to do that with me after they learn my name."

Sam understood. Lucifer might still be wild, an untamed fury, filled with power and vengeance, but Sam knew that something had changed. Something had shifted when the archangel let him touch his wings to groom him. This was Lucifer's home. He had put down roots, and as wild as Lucifer still seemed, he was domesticating. How long did it take for the wild dogs to become pets?

Sam grinned.

He ran his fingers over the soft feathers, loving that he could now caress the one thing that wasn't borrowed from Nick. He knew every mark on Nick's body. But while Sam had been grooming Lucifer's wings, he noticed that all of the feathers weren't the same type of luminescent white. Some, he noticed, and specks of yellow and gold and brown – small, tawny spots among the perfect white. Other colors reflecting among the white.

Even though it might take until Sam was well into his nineties, he knew Lucifer would allow him to run his fingers over every feather, until he knew Lucifer's wings as well as he knew Nick's flesh.