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Nick kisses Sam like he’s trying to attack him, pushing Sam down on his bed.
“Stop it,” Sam hisses, grabbing at the collar of Nick’s white shirt. It’s a threat, although of what, Sam doesn’t even know— is he gonna hurt Nick? Push him away?
“I can’t help it,” Nick says, not sounding sorry at all, although his next kiss is softer. “Do you think he—“
“Don’t.” Sam tries to demand it, but he knows it sounds more like a pathetic plea. He kisses Nick again, in case Nick tries to comment on it.
Sam doesn't know why he does this. Well. He does. What he doesn’t know is, why he lets himself go to Nick at night, and throws himself at him. It’s stupid, foolish. Dangerous, more than anything.
Nick is just a man. Sam would try to remind himself of that, but that’s beyond the point.
“I think he would be wild,” Nick continues anyway, pulling away from Sam’s mouth to nip at his neck. Sam’s hand tightens on Nick’s shirt, but lets it happen, and lets Nick pull him closer with the hand on the small of Sam’s back, Sam between Nick’s legs now. Sam’s taller by a few inches, but Nick is thicker. It puts them on too even of a playing field. “He wanted you so bad…”
“He loved you,” Sam chokes out. He didn’t mean to say it, not despite of, but because it’s true. “He didn’t know he did, but I felt it.”
Nick shudders. Maybe sobs. When Sam‘s hand on the back of Nick’s head guides him back to Sam’s mouth, Sam tastes tears. “Fuck.”
“I know,” Sam says. Of course he knew. They’re the only ones who know. “I—“ Sam lets go of Nick's shirt to wrap an arm around him, pulling them closer.
Nick tugs at Sam’s shirt. He’s pushier than Sam thinks Lucifer would be. Lucifer barely asked Sam for the things he wanted, just let Sam know he wanted it. He was patient. Nick isn’t; he tugs Sam’s shirt over his head, runs his hands over Sam’s chest.
Nick wears snap buttons on his shirt— Sam got it for him. He did it because it’s easier to take care of his wound this way, but it also makes it easier to quickly rip the shirt off.
He shucks it off Nick’s shoulders. Nick does not make it easier, basically fighting not touching Sam, but Sam manages it. He drops the shirt next to the bed.
Sam doesn’t know if Nick is attracted to him. Doesn’t know if he’s attracted to Nick. That’s not important.
Nick digs his nails midway into Sam’s sternum, as he often does. He knows about the anti-angel warding, and he knows exactly where Lucifer’s sigil is. He resents it.
Sam hisses again. He deserves it. He tries to kiss Nick, but Nick pulls away, just enough for Sam to get the point.
“How could you?” Nick accuses Sam the same time he shoves the hand he's not ripping Sam’s heart out with into Sam’s pants.
Sam can’t answer Nick. Doesn’t want to. “Lucifer,” Sam moans instead, tightening his grip in the short blond hair as he feels a broad hand hold onto his cock, pressing into it with just the right amount of pain. “Lucifer…”
That makes Nick groan, deep and low in the back of his throat. He brings their mouths back together, trying to swallow the name.
Sam shouldn’t do this. He thinks this every time. He knows he’ll think about it next time.
Sam undoes Nick’s jeans, popping the button and unzipping it, pulling harshly at the fabric until Nick lifts his hips up. Sam pulls them down, and thankfully Nick decides to be helpful, leaning back and kicking them off. Sam pulls his mouth away to look at Nick’s lap, his hard cock obvious through his boxer briefs.
Sam, sometimes, when they do this, feels guilty that he’s only ever gotten fucked by this cock when it’s Nick, and not Lucifer. He wonders if Nick resents the same, when he looks at Sam’s cock.
“Get on your knees.” Nick says it like a command, something fought for and won. That’s just the way Nick is. Sam doesn’t want that.
“No,” Sam pulls his own pants and underwear down without Nick's help, Nick deciding to use his efforts to suck at the hinge of Sam’s jaw—seemingly not caring for the beard burn he’ll get— and feel up Sam’s back, if Sam wasn’t gonna go on his knees. “I’m gonna ride you.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” Nick nods his head, letting go of Sam’s back to pull his cock out of his underwear. “Can I—?”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees quietly, embarrassed with how glad he is that Nick still offers. They’ve done this enough that Sam knows what he’s gonna ask.
Nick likes to prep him, likes to finger him nice and slow, getting Sam ready like it’s worship, ritual, and prayer. Sam knows it’s not for him, but it’s nice to feel.
Sam, hands around Nick’s arms, tucks his head into the crook of Nick’s neck, riding Nick’s fingers, Nick kissing at his shoulder, muttering a name that’s not Sam’s. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s worth it.
Sam, as he rides Nick’s fingers, grinds his cock against Nick’s. Sam squeezes his eyes shut tight, panting into Nick’s neck. Tears fill his eyes. He shouldn’t do this.
“Lucifer,” Sam pants quietly into Nick’s neck as Nick pulls his fingers out. “Oh, God.”
Nick is crying against Sam’s shoulder. Sam can feel it. “Lucifer. Lucifer.”
Sam rises up, feels the head of Lucifer’s— of Nick’s cock against his asshole. He sinks down on it. He’s done it so many times now.
“Lucifer.” They both moan it, both lost in what can never happen.
Sam puts his hands on Nick’s shoulders as he rides him, setting a frantic pace. Nick grabs at Sam’s arm, pulling, trying to make Sam wrap his arms around his instead. It’s a good idea, so Sam does, wrapping his arms around Nicks shoulder, holding him tight in his grip.
“Lucifer,” Nick groans. “I miss you, I miss you, I miss you….”
“Nick,” Sam sighs in pleasure, because this is what this is all about, even if he doesn’t want Nick to talk about it.
Nick shudders, thrusting up in response, panting with it. Sam repeats Nick’s name like he loves Nick. Like how Lucifer might have, like how Nick wants Lucifer to have.
Sam moves faster. He remembers how Lucifer use to say his name, the weight of it. He didn’t say it like that the past two years. He didn’t want Sam. Sam broke his heart too much.
“I’m sorry,” Sam sobs, still moving on Nick’s dick, fireworks in his body. “God, I’m sorry.”
“Sam.” The weight is there, even through the pleasure. Sam presses his head against Lucifer’s, and pretends it’s cold. “I love you.”
Sam sobs horrible, ugly sobs. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Sam.”
Sam cums across his chest and Nick’s, sinking down on Nick’s cock with a strangled gasp. “Fuck,” Sam curses as Nick continues to fuck him, pulling out, pushing Sam down on his back to make it easier, and then putting his cock back in.
Sam keeps his arms around him, hitches his legs up to.
“Tell me… please, can you tell me…” Nick always sounds so small before he cums. So afraid, uncertain. He sounds the most like Lucifer like that.
“I love you, Nick,” Sam says, whispering, like Lucifer would, mournful and proud. Sam cups Nick’s face, and they fall into each other as Nick cums.
It’s always a bit awkward, when this part is done.
Nick's bed is too small for them to lay side by side, so they’re forced to cuddle as they regain their breathing. Sam stays on his back and Nick curls himself around Sam's side.
Sam wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll wash your sheets,” He tells Nick. “Get you a clean pair when you shower.”
“Thanks.” Nick's voice is rough. Sam sees him scratch at the bandage on his belly.
“Does it still itch?” Sam doesn't know why he asks. It obviously does.
Nick snorts, turning on his stomach a little more, propped up on his arm, to look at Sam. “Yeah, it obviously does.”
Nick's eyes are red. His cheeks are tear tracked. Sam misses Lucifer like a limb.
He doesn’t kiss Nick. “Means it’s healing.”
“I know.” Nick gets up. He’s almost never the first one to get up. They always resent the first one to get up, until the next time. “Time heals all wounds. Or, time washes clean, love’s wounds unseen. Take your pick.”
Sam swallows a lump in his throat.
“I’ll get your sheets.”