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17 New Voicemail(s).
Sam was tempted to listen to one—just one. It had been two months since Sam and Lucifer had agreed to stop the Apocalypse; two months since they returned to tell Dean and Castiel and were shot down as hard as one could possibly be shot down without being killed (in Lucifer's case, this actually involved being shot). Two months since they had almost locked Sam in the panic room again, and two months since Lucifer rescued him and brought him to Detroit.
The motel they ran was doing well—a steady come-and-go of people passing through, a staff comprised mostly of demons, with those few intelligent, unobtrusive humans that Sam had persuaded Lucifer into letting him keep (mostly for company outside of Lucifer and Meg alone).
It wasn't like he didn't miss Dean—he missed his brother every day. But this life had grown on Sam—an odd mishmash of normal and Hunter that involved strange domesticity with the Devil and frequent friendly tiffs with a demon. There was no running, no hiding, no screaming, no bleeding, no dying. However, there were daily ventures to the local oddball coffee shop and weekend trips (they were not dates) to anywhere Lucifer thought was interesting enough to show Sam. There were lazy nights by the couch and tired mornings in the tiny kitchen. There were heated kisses traded at unexpected moments when Lucifer would ambush Sam while he was working, would back him into the nearest surface and tug at his hair and demand his submission with tongue and teeth. Sam would never back down from the challenge.
It wasn't a life that Sam had ever thought about, and it certainly wasn't one that he looked for—but it was a life that he wanted now. He wanted it for as long as he could get it.
So, yeah—Sam was tempted to check his voicemail. He was tempted to change his mind sometimes. But as he rounded the corner of their usual coffee shop and saw Lucifer taking up that too-small, mustard-yellow-leather couch, there was nothing he was more tempted to do than join Lucifer.
He deleted his messages without a second thought. When he sank into the oversized, overstuffed chair, he leaned over the arm just enough to drop a kiss to the top of Lucifer's head. He smiled when Lucifer tilted his head back to smile crookedly at him in return. He reached over the small space between to offer a gentle squeeze to (a yet-unmarred section of) Lucifer's shoulder before he snatched up his book and began to read about ancient Latin banishment rituals.
There was nothing quite like bonding with Satan at an eclectic coffee shop over rituals meant to banish the risen Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
In fact, Lucifer and Sam went to the coffee shop so often that the baristas started to recognize them. Sam's regular order was coffee, black, with one packet of sugar and two pumps of hazelnut flavoring. Lucifer didn't have a regular order; instead he always insisted on something random and sweet and choked with cream (he said he liked to try different tastes, but Sam knew that he hated anything even slightly bitter; the coffee was just a pretense. When the shop started offering fruit-and-syrup smoothies, Lucifer was uncharacteristically delighted and promptly made the switch).
It was a morning in late May when the barista of the day (a cutesy-type co-ed whose name tag read Sophia) finally asked, “So what're your names, anyway? I see you around here all the time, but I've never asked.”
Sam and Lucifer traded a glance, and Sam didn't realize his mistake until Lucifer had said, “Lucif—”
“Lucis!” Sam cut in, giving Lucifer a sharp look. “He's Lucis, I'm Sam.”
Lucifer crossed his arms, but didn't contradict him. Sam gently squeezed his arm in apology.
“It's nice to meet you, er—Sophia,” Sam said, plastering on a charming smile.
“Likewise!” She replied cheerfully, not seeming to notice the slip. “Lucis—that's a cool name,” she said, directing it to Lucifer, who looked a little miffed.
He shrugged lightly, but Sam gave him credit for at least attempting to smile, no matter if it looked more like a grimace. “My Father was big into the science and knowledge is enlightenment thing.”
“I bet your siblings are a bundle of fun,” Sophia said.
Lucifer snorted slightly. “They got off easy. They're all perfect children anyway. I was the troublemaker.”
“Well, someone's gotta liven things up,” Sophia replied with a smile. “What about you, Sam? Got any siblings?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, his smile bittersweet. “Older brother—he practically raised me. And a younger brother; he passed away last year.” Lucifer looked at Sam in sharp surprise; Sam ignored him. “I didn't know him very well, but. Yeah.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” the barista said, truly sympathetic.
“It's fine,” Sam replied, waving it off. “My family's a bit of a mess anyway.”
“What about your older brother? Does he live in town?”
“Nah. I don't know where he is right now. He kind of lost his mind when I told him about...” he looked at Lucifer helplessly, then made a vague, offhand gesture. “It's complicated.”
“Aww,” Sophia replied with a sweet smile. She leaned against the counter. “How long have you two been dating?”
“What?!” Sam exclaimed, looking at Lucifer. The archangel seemed intrigued and opened his mouth to reply when Sam said, “We're not!”
“Sam,” Lucifer protested, his irritated expression darkening.
“We're not,” Sam insisted. He turned to the barista. “We're not. We're roommates.”
“Oh,” she said, caught between looking embarrassed and uncertain; her eyes flickered between Sam and Lucifer. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume anything.”
“No, it's okay,” Sam replied in a rush, watching out of the corner of his eye as Luce snatched up his strawberry smoothie and stalked off to his usual couch.
“You know,” said the girl, watching Lucifer go. “It's okay. You don't have to lie.”
“I'm not lying.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “Don't piss off your boyfriend, Sam. I can see how much he cares about you—all of us that work here can see. We've noticed; it's sweet. This is a safe place, you don't have to hide.”
Sam groaned in frustration. “I'm serious. We're not dating.”
“Well, you should be,” Sophia replied calmly, giving Sam a look. “Because he obviously loves you, and I've seen the way you look at him—don't think I haven't seen you holding his hand sometimes. I don't know what you're waiting for, dude.”
Sam watched as Lucifer settled in to read and embraced the strange, tight feeling in his chest. “I...” If only she knew what Lucifer really was. If only she knew who Sam really was. If she knew the full extent of the situation between them, she never would have said something like that.
...would she?
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills, a couple of ones and a creased ten, and shoved them across the counter. “Thanks, Sophia,” he said in a rush, grabbing his coffee and walking quickly over to Lucifer.
“What do you want, Sam?” Lucifer asked grumpily as Sam put his coffee on the side table and moved to lift Lucifer's legs from where they were slung across the couch. He sat and let them fall across his lap. “Get your own chair, Sam!” Lucifer protested.
“No,” Sam replied simply, snatching Lucifer's book away and closing it.
“Sam!” Lucifer snapped.
“I'm sorry,” Sam murmured, reaching out to slide his fingers into blonde hair. He dragged Lucifer closer. “Accept my apology?”
“No,” Lucifer replied, but he seemed more contrary than actually angry. Sam could deal with that.
“Mm, that's too bad,” Sam said quietly, leaning in to kiss the archangel and earning a sharp bite to his lower lip in response. “M'sorry,” he said, sucking at Lucifer's lip and staining it red. “Didn't mean to make you mad.”
Lucifer licked the taste of Sam from his mouth and shuddered. “Sam.”
“Forgive me?” Sam whispered, tracing the seam of Lucifer's mouth with his tongue. “Come on, Luce.” He nosed at the archangel's cheek before attempting to kiss him again. “We're more than just dating, you know that.”
“More than roommates?” Lucifer asked, threading one hand into Sam's hair and giving it a sharp tug.
“Yes,” Sam breathed, and Lucifer choked out a quiet moan.
“Okay,” he replied, tracing his fingertips around the curve of Sam's ear, rubbing his nose against Sam's in a warm nuzzle before pulling away. “Suck-up.”
Sam grinned. From across the room, Sophia let out a wolf-whistle, and her co-worker that had just walked in to join her for the impending morning rush started clapping. One middle-aged woman looked scandalized; two high school-aged boys looked at each other and smiled widely, one reaching over to grasp the other's hand.
Lucifer shoved at Sam's shoulder lightly. “You're unbelievable.”
Sam grabbed Lucifer's hand and pressed a soft kiss to the backs of his knuckles, which were starting to become faintly purple from the force of Lucifer's Grace contained inside. “I'm oblivious and I'm human.”
“And you're mine,” Lucifer insisted, twisting his hand out of Sam's grasp and curling his fingers around Sam's wrist.
“Yeah,” Sam breathed out, smiling just a little as he pressed one more short kiss to Lucifer's lips. “I am. And you're mine.”
They drew a few glances later on with the morning rush—all the regulars recognized them, since they showed up every morning and always sat in the same spot. This time, though, the yellow couch was empty. Instead, the tall, brunette man and the tired-looking blonde were curled together in the oversized, overstuffed chair, holding hands as they leaned against each other and read from their matching, battered books.
Everyone seemed to think that Sam and Lucis were the sweetest couple they'd ever seen—up until the point that the bruising from Lucifer's Grace spread to his face. They were small patches, at first, congregating around his hairline, and Lucifer passed them off as bumping himself in the head when others asked. But when a bruise formed that was roughly the size of a fist and took up most of his cheek, Sam started feeling the backlash.
“Where'd you get that one, Lucis?” asked Marie, Sophia's coworker. She shot a nasty glare at Sam. “Did you hit your head on the counter again?”
“Something like that,” Lucifer replied mildly, unconcerned, unaware as he was what exactly the humans were implying. Sam felt his stomach sink at the disgusted looks he got from the usually-friendly girls on staff. “See you over there, Sam,” he added, taking his blueberry-banana smoothie and trotting over to his spot.
“Scum,” Marie hissed. “How dare you hit him.”
“I didn't!” Sam snapped. “I would never.”
“Bullshit,” she replied. “I might've believed you if it was only once, but this's been happening for weeks. What the hell is your problem, Sam?”
“I didn't hit him,” Sam snarled, lowering his voice and avoiding the urge to hit something. “He's been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease—it isn't me.”
Marie scoffed, sneering at Sam as she handed his cup over. “Enjoy your coffee, asshole,” she said.
Sam didn't crush the cup in his hand, but it was a near thing.
The skin on the face was thinest. That was why, Lucifer reasoned, it started peeling away first, sometime around late June. It left angry red patches underneath, painfully exposed too-new skin, and Sam had to be very careful to even kiss Lucifer now, let alone hold him or playfully push him around like Lucifer did to him.
Most of the time now, even Lucifer's lips were cracked, and bled sluggishly if Sam kissed him too hard. He had long given up on that taste of clean air and sweetness. The only thing he tasted now when he kissed Lucifer was blood (deeper than demon blood, stronger, painfully metallic and electric, and Lucifer would never kiss him for long because I don't want you to get addicted to this, Sam, it'll change you more than demon blood ever could).
Sam missed the intimacy that came with Lucifer's better health. Though Lucifer was still much stronger than he was, Sam felt obligated to be careful with him now—had to be careful. It might've been selfish to miss the way Lucifer spoiled him and coddled him, but Sam did. He'd already lost some of the strong muscle tone that came from hunting, replaced with softness and the slightest bit of extra padding, and he missed the way that Lucifer used to nuzzle and nip at his belly sometimes while they lazed about and watched TV. (Lucifer liked science-fiction best; it was one of the few things he grudgingly appreciated about humans, their ability to think so much further beyond themselves. Sam liked Star Wars and Star Trek and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy because those were the things he grew up watching or used to watch back in his Stanford days.) He missed Lucifer casually ambushing him when Sam was engrossed in working on another broken radiator or the water heater (that he'd fixed five times in the past three months) and kissing him silly. He missed Lucifer bodily rolling Sam on top of him, using him as a human blanket of warmth while Sam slept (he was too tender to handle the bulk of Sam's weight, now—or, rather, Nick was).
He missed that one time, just a few days before his skin started peeling away, when Lucifer had jumped Sam while he was attempting to cook something. He'd hoisted Sam onto the counter and pulled Sam's legs around his waist, grinding against him until they were both moaning incoherently with lust. He missed the cool sweep of Lucifer's tongue over his lips and the shuddery gasp against his throat when they both spilled sticky-wet into the fabric between them.
He missed the way his grasping fingertips had left an entirely new set of bruises on Lucifer's shoulders.
Sam wanted it all back, but had to face the reality that he would probably never have that again. He'd wasted away the best months of Lucifer's health in denial, and now he barely had anything to look back on.
Typical.
There was no question that Sam was upset about the change Lucifer was going through—not only for his own, more selfish reasons, but because he hated to see Lucifer wince with pain. It wasn't right for such a proud creature to be bound to such a fragile, faltering shell.
It killed him to watch.
And that was when the girls at the coffee shop spoke up again.
“I swear to god, Sam,” said Marie furiously. “If you don't leave him alone, I'm calling the cops on you and you can get arrested.”
Sam was taken aback at first. Then, he was furious. “I told you that I'm not doing this! I would never do that to him—and let's not even mention the fact that he could kick my ass. So stop talking about our relationship like you have any idea about either of us!” He drew himself into a tense posture and stared the girl down—still, she looked more angry than scared, even if her face flushed.
“I won't let you intimidate me,” Marie insisted, if a bit shakily. “Someone needs to stand up for him.”
“Oh my—” Sam cut himself off, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Marie. Let me tell you something about Lucif—Lucis. He doesn't need anyone to stand up for him, definitely not you. And if he did—I would be first in line. I told you that he was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease.”
“I don't believe you,” she said quietly, wrinkling her nose. “Why does he always look so sad, then?”
“I—”
“Sam,” Lucifer said carefully, returning from his spot across the room. He eyed the angry look on Marie's face and the frustrated look on Sam's. “What's taking you so long?”
“Just talking to Marie, is all,” Sam replied tersely, giving the girl a slight glare.
“You seem upset,” Lucifer said, his tone twisting at the end to make it seem like a question where it was truly an observation. He laid his hand on Sam's arm, offering him a slight (and slightly dangerous) smile. “Are you okay?”
“They think—” Sam cut himself off, not wanting to provoke Lucifer, but also upset at the thought. “Just tell them—the autoimmune disease. And what's happening to you.”
Lucifer nodded; they had agreed on the story several weeks before, if only to coordinate lies more simply. “Yes; what about it?” Lucifer asked, frowning slightly. He glanced at the girls behind the counter and the frowning Marie. “I apologize if it offends you in some way. I wasn't aware that my health was of anyone else's concern,” he said cooly, one eyebrow cocked.
Marie looked to Sam in dawning horror. “Oh, geez,” she said quietly, her eyes wide. “Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't—”
“It's fine,” he answered quietly, ducking his head. “Don't worry about it.”
Lucifer squeezed Sam's arm lightly, his concern radiating through their contact point, his Grace like a beacon that followed Sam's veins. “Sam?”
“It's okay, Luce,” Sam replied, turning a tiny smile his way. “C'mon, let's go sit down.”
“No. What's this about?”
Marie was shamefaced as she looked guiltily at Lucifer. “It's my fault,” she said, drawing his attention. “We—I—thought that Sam was... hurting you.”
Lucifer's demeanor abruptly soured. “What?”
“Luce,” Sam insisted, squeezing his arm. “It's okay, please. Let's go sit down.”
“Sam would never—could never—hurt me,” Lucifer snapped. Marie flinched. “And to assume such when he's obviously told you otherwise is presumptuous of you if you think you know better. You should be ashamed. You should be groveling.”
“No, Luce. No,” Sam said, giving his arm a slight shake. “Stop it.”
“I—I'm sorry,” Marie stuttered, her face flushing deep red with shame. “I didn't—”
“No, you didn't,” Lucifer agreed bitterly, sneering at her. “Sam is so much more than any of you could ever understand. See that you don't ever speak of him in such a way again. If you knew what he did for you, you would sing his praises. All of you.” Lucifer's eyes scanned the sparsely populated cafe, and noticed that their little scene was starting to draw eyes. He scowled. “Apologize,” he demanded.
“I'm so sorry,” Marie said tearfully. “I'm sorry, Sam.”
Sam wanted badly to apologize to her, but knew that it would set Lucifer off on another tirade, and what they needed now was peace. Instead he offered a nod of acknowledgment and a tiny quirk of an apologetic smile. “Come on,” he said to Lucifer, pleading with wide eyes. “Let's just go home, okay? Please?” When he saw that Lucifer didn't seem to intend to waver, his voice lowered to a quiet murmur. “Please take me home.”
That got a response, if nothing else, and Lucifer's expression softened when he turned to Sam. “Alright,” he said quietly, curling an arm around Sam's waist and nosing at the curve of his jaw. “If that's what you want, Sam.” Sam nodded a little. Lucifer sighed his regret, shooting another furious glance at the girls behind the counter.
“Walk with me?” Sam asked, offering a slight smile and letting his arm carefully fall around Luce's shoulders.
Lucifer guided Sam toward the door; the patrons of the cafe were quick to turn their heads, hoping not to be caught staring at the spectacle. Even so, Lucifer didn't care, despite Sam's radiating embarrassment. As the bell jangled over the door as they left, they heard one customer say, “You thought the tall one was abusing the short one? Are you nuts? He's such a sub!”
Sam's face stained cherry red, absolutely mortified.
For the first time in weeks, Lucifer laughed.