Title: tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from John Milton’s Paradise Lost.
Warnings: non-con; future!fic
Point of view: third
Notes: written for spncw_fairytale, to Hades and Persephone.
More notes: thanks to lunardreamedfor reading over this.
More notes: thanks to lunardreamedfor reading over this.
Dean has the run of Hell, can go anywhere. Demons follow him, on their King’s orders, but only to keep him from leaving. No denizen of the underworld can touch him unless he tries to open a door Out. And then, all they can do is carry him back to the Palace.
Lucifer hasn’t hurt him. Has barely spoken to him. Only smiles at him, gently touches his face.
Dean’s completely weirded out, and really wants to go home, back to sunlight and Sammy.
Dean vanished on a Thursday. Sam tore apart the town, then the county, then the state. They’d broken the deal, defeated Lilith, and had been in the clear.
Then Dean vanished and Sam lost his mind.
Dean’s room is opulent, black velvet blankets, black leather couch and chair, dark marble walls and floor, and a whirlpool in the bathroom. It’s better than any living quarters he ever had Above, and he can’t even enjoy it because Sammy’s not here.
Lucifer sits across from him at every meal, wearing a different shape each time. He’s been every nationality and both genders, and Dean hasn’t responded to any of them. He also hasn’t eaten or drunk anything. So far, he hasn’t gotten hungry or thirsty.
Dean spends most of his time looking for a way out, peering into nooks and crannies. He walks around the perimeters, searching for a weak spot.
He doesn’t know why Lucifer allows his exploration, or even, really, what Lucifer wants. He has his suspicions, though, and they make him cringe.
Sam demanded help from every contact he had, and they agreed. The entire country was scoured, but no hint of Dean could be found. Weeks became months became a year.
The search slowed. Only Bobby kept up his pace, and only because he’d known them as boys. He didn’t expect to find anything. And he found nothing at all.
Finally, one night at supper(and Dean only knows what meal it is because of the food served), Lucifer steps behind him as he pulls out his chair. Lucifer’s form is a tall, broad man, large enough to loom over Dean.
“I think you’ve played coy long enough,” Lucifer drawls, one arm pulling Dean flush against him. “Make your decision. Now.”
Dean’s been anticipating this for months; now that the time is here, he’s calm. “What are my options?” he asks, holding his body still.
Lucifer’s cock is hard against him. He very carefully doesn’t think about that.
“Be willing,” Lucifer says, one hand caressing Dean’s skull. “Or not.”
Dean sucks in a breath.
Sam collapsed on the anniversary of Dean’s disappearance, his strung-out body finally having enough. He slept for three days and woke in a hospital. He snuck out, ready to continue the search.
A hunt found him, when a demon-possessed girl tried strangling him after one step out the door.
The Colt was destroyed with Lilith, but Sam no longer needed a tool: he had discovered its secret, and the demon—along with the host—died.
Sam kept moving, nothing but his quest on his mind.
“You have until dinner tomorrow,” Lucifer whispers, lips brushing Dean’s ear. “At that meal, you will finally accept something I offer.” He gently turns Dean around inside his arms, and Dean docilely lets him. “Look at me,” Lucifer’s deep voice rumbles.
Dean meets his gaze.
“You will tell me your decision, my dear.” Lucifer’s hand spans Dean’s cheek, the skin burning against Dean’s. “You are my consort either way, willingly or no.”
Lucifer’s form is tan, long dark hair to his shoulders. His eyes are cool gray with no pupil. “I will wear this shape,” he says. “Unless you have a preference…”
“If I’m not willing,” Dean asks, “do I still get to pick?”
Lucifer smiles, baring white fangs. “No.”
Sam took a page from that bitch Bella’s book and contacted the OtherSide for aid. Every night for two weeks he communicated with a different ghost. Finally one had news he thought might be a lead.
The spirit said her Dark Master had a new favorite, some mortal none of the Dark Court could touch. He was beautiful, as mortals went, and constantly looking for a way out. Certainly not worthy of the Dark Master.
Sam knew he had to find a way to verify her story. Four nights later, another said the same thing.
Dean stands across the table from Lucifer, King of Hell, who is wearing that large man again. He waits patiently for Dean to gather his thoughts.
“I…” Dean starts. He licks his lips. “I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you.” He straightens his spine. “I refuse to be your whore.”
“Very well,” Lucifer replies, voice calm. “Your decision has been noted.”
Dean doesn’t see him move, but he feels that strong body against his, those giant hands ripping his clothes, and Lucifer’s cock tearing into him.
He doesn’t scream. Dean takes pride in that, when he comes back to himself in Lucifer’s bed, Lucifer wrapped around him. Lucifer carefully pulls Dean up to lie in his embrace. “Any moment, you can choose to be willing,” Lucifer murmurs into his hair. “Any moment, my dear. I am a considerate lover.”
Dean doesn’t have the strength to scoff.
Lucifer pets his hair for a while; lulled by the gentle, repetitive motion, Dean falls asleep.
He dreams of Sam.
Sam forced his way into Hell on a Thursday, two years after Dean fell off the map. He left behind a wounded, bleeding world, ripped open by his fury and pain—Gordon Walker had a point, when he named Sam monster. All the power left over from the dead psychics had to go somewhere.
In the hole Dean left, the power settled and spiraled higher with Sam’s rage.
Every time after the first, Lucifer takes great care to pleasure Dean. Dean hates him for it. He doesn’t want to enjoy any part of this—whatever the fuck this is.
Dean’s never allowed to leave the Palace anymore. At meals, he eats and drinks. He begins to respond to Lucifer’s touch, and despises himself for it.
He loses all track of time, starts forgetting his life Above, who he was Before. Lucifer never uses his name. Down Below, no one does.
Curled up asleep in his Dark Master’s warm embrace, he dreams of someone else, a man with floppy brown hair and sad green eyes, but he doesn’t know who the man is.
The first demon tried fighting. The second, as well. The third cringed before him but refused to speak.
Sam killed them all, and strode unerringly for the Palace.
“My dear,” Lucifer says, offering him a pomegranate. “Will you delight me by staying here forever?”
He takes the pomegranate and bites into it, savoring the sweet juice.
The doors of the Dark Palace blew open before him, shattering against the pitted walls. He stalked in, ready to destroy anything that moved.
“Welcome, Samuel Winchester,” a deep voice boomed out, and Sam’s gaze focused on the speaker: a man even larger than him, on a black throne. “I am the MorningStar, King of Hell.”
Sam walked down to the throne, eyes on his enemy. The room was completely silent, no demon making a sound.
“My dear,” The Devil called, his lip twisted in a terrible grin. “Come greet our guest.”
Sam felt his heart stutter-stop, horror swallowing him whole, as Dean gracefully sank next to the throne, kneeling at The Devil’s side, eyes pure black and adoring face turned to the MorningStar.
“He’s possessed,” Sam whispered.
“No,” the King of Hell replied gently. “He’s not.”