Who: Dean Winchester & Lucifer Morningstar What: Talking about important things When: 9/26 - early afternoon Where: Lucifer’s Rating: High, TW for talks of child abuse, eventual sorta sex Status: Complete
Dean pulled up to Lucifer’s, glad enough that he had a friggen code to get past the gate and park his car properly (what? he was kinda paranoid about just leaving her on the street,) enough so he could just come in through the garage door instead of worrying about the front. It was possibly disturbing how much their houses had become just communal property. Even Lux to an extent counted. The guy manning the velvet rope always let them in without question or cover even if there was a line. It did wonders for Dean’s ego.
He slipped his keys in his jacket pocket and toed off his shoes. Cas had trained him fairly well. He’d slept too much. Way, way too much. Like didn’t wake up until a couple hours ago too much and just felt...weird about things. He wandered his way up to Lucifer’s office, fairly certain he’d find the other man there and when he did, he rapped two knuckles on the open door. Not like Lucifer didn’t already know he was there, but sometimes he tried to be polite extra hard for the other man.
“Hey,” he said meekly. If anyone was going to actually call him out on his shit, it’d be Lucifer. And really, sessions with Satan were way better than any with an accredited therapist, fucked up as it was.
Lucifer's work desk was large, taking up nearly half of one wall, and was covered with not only a laptop but a slew of papers that seemed only organized by Lucifer's will rather than any real system. He turned on his admittedly expensive swivel chair and offered Dean a smile before dropping down a pen and removing a pair of reading glasses that no one should ever bring up, thank you very much.
"Hey," he said in returned greeting. "I see you made it in alright." Yes, he was the one who would call Dean out on his shit, but not without a little warmth and formality first.
“Not like I don’t know where the place is,” Dean pointed out. He almost wanted those reading glasses back on. They suited him in a weird, devious professor kind of way. “You busy? I mean I can go…” He made a gesture that basically implied he could fuck off for a bit. Wasn’t like he’d exactly called first.
Lucifer made a similarly vague gesture before pushing himself up to standing. "Not too busy for you, Dean. Paperwork tends to stay, no matter how much work I put into it." It wasn't as if Lux was the only work Lucifer had going for him; he didn't keep his fortune on a piano bar, alone.
He strode across the room, landed an easy kiss on Dean's lips and then tilted his head toward the doorway. "Do you like tea?"
Dean found his hand on Lucifer’s waist automatically. He looked down a little, trying to sort out everything and coming up completely blank on why this was so damn easy it hurt. “No, thank you.” Part of him would really rather get this lecture over with so he could go on feeling weird and hating himself somewhere else, possibly somewhere less confusing.
Well, Lucifer still wanted tea. It was sort of one of his go-to things for when he knew he was going to be stressed out soon. It was no fault of Dean's, of course, but even Satan had the occasional out of control nerve. "We'll find you something else," he said, mildly, hand stealing up the one on his waist and leading Dean toward the kitchen. "Samandriel is sleeping, so I'd rather not stay on the top floor." Not that he assumed anything at this point might wake his angel.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, following nervously (and now even more quietly than before.) “Just water’s fine,” he said once they were on the main floor. It amazed him how soft Lucifer’s hands were. Like Cas he expected to have soft hands. The man basically just typed all day, but for some reason he always wanted Lucifer’s to feel like something other than silk catching on Dean’s callouses. He was radiating nervousness and like hell was he going to be able to hide that from Lucifer. “Can we uh...maybe do this in the basement?” It was an awkward question to be sure, but if there was going to be any emotion happening at all, he wanted it as far from the kid as possible.
Lucifer blinked at that, tilting his head to the side to eye Dean for a moment, but then gave a nod of agreement. "Whatever you like," he said, because he could feel the nervousness coming off the other man in waves. Extreme waves. And it wasn't as if Lucifer was the most empathetic of men.
So, he gave up the idea of tea and grabbed them both waters before continuing down to the basement. Lucifer honestly still hadn't been down here since The Incident, but he figured enough time had passed where he probably should just face the room anyway.
When Dean had been doing his cleaning (that wasn’t really cleaning and was more...figuring out what the shit was wrong,) he’d gotten rid of the cross Samandriel had been attached to in the photos. He figured nobody would be ready to look at that particular piece of furniture ever again. There was a blank space in that corner, but eventually, Lucifer could fill it with whatever he damn well pleased. Some kind of kinky sex trampoline or some crap.
Dean took his water and sat down on the couch. It stayed closed. Really, he just liked holding it and watching the bottle roll between his hands gave him something to do.
Lucifer sat down next to him, eyes wandering the room and clearly taking in the missing bit of furniture. He found himself glad over it, slightly warmed that Dean would have the foresight to do something like that.
"So," he said, and it was clear This was starting Now. "Is there a place you'd like to start?"
“No, Lucifer,” Dean said, still fidgeting. That Lucifer seemed to be okay down here helped things, but he wasn’t anywhere close to relaxing yet. “You should uh...go have your tea if you want it. I can wait.”
Lucifer brushed that idea aside by ignoring it completely. He wasn't frustrated yet. If he did get to that point then the tea would definitely happen. He reached out, settling his hand on Dean's arm -- glad he'd sat on the other man's right side. "I won't have you wait. I said I had time for you, and I meant it. Tell me about that internet post."
Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about Lucifer’s hand on his arm. “I keep…” he trailed off and forced himself to soldier on, “I keep having these nightmares and shit about...about my dad. And some of it’s real and some of it’s just crap that got smushed together and so I’ve got like twelve things going at once. And I just...wake up ready to walk out that door because all of you just...deserve so much better than what you’ve got.”
"I am of the impression that your father isn't the best of men," Lucifer said it carefully, nearly a question. Of course, he knew for a fact that he wasn't -- but what he knew and what Samandriel told him should not factor in verbally with what Dean was willing to give, not yet anyway.
Dean shifted to set the bottle of water down and pull off his t-shirt. He let it stay balled in his fists for a while to keep his hands as busy as possible. “Pick a scar.” Not the handprint, obviously, but nearly anything else had John Winchester’s hand in it.
And really, that just fit in with what Samandriel had said, and with what Lucifer might have been able to guess in the first place. But this is how Dean wanted to bring it up, and so Lucifer would go with it. He ran his fingers carefully over a barely white mark on Dean's side. It was clearly old.
“Beer bottle hit the wall, a huge chunk flew back and caught me.” It hadn’t been deep, but it’d been messy. Dean stared straight down at his t-shirt in his hands.
Lucifer kept it up, moving his fingers over Dean's skin, practically a caress, until he found a new mark -- this one on his chest, less of a line and more of a nick.
“Dad’s wedding ring.” Dean closed his eyes, trying to relax into the touch. He reached up and guided Lucifer’s hand down to a particularly jagged one on his back. “Snagged on my chest while he was shoving me into the radiator.”
He ran his fingers over that scar -- a little rougher and than most, despite being smooth like most scars tended to be. Lucifer nodded, slowly accepting before finding one more scar, near Dean's collar bone.
“Serrated knife caught me,” though clearly not deeply, “the night I told him I was leaving and if he ever laid a hand on Sammy, I’d kill him.” There were other scars of course, with other stories that Dean could tell in an equally impassive voice. His history mapped out over his skin in ways most people had the luxury of avoiding. Still, he raised his arm and added one more to the mess of words, “caught myself on a chain-link fence breaking into friggen seven-eleven to make sure Sam got breakfast the next morning.”
Sammy. Dean's little brother. One of the reasons that the other man liked calling Samandriel by any name that wasn't his own or a shortened version of it. That made sense.
"Okay," he murmured, fingers running across the scar on his arm. "An abusive father. Probably not just physically." Lucifer licked his own bottom lip, carefully quiet for a moment. "Dean. You and I both realize that isn't okay. You clearly realize your father is a terrible person. Why would you compare yourself to him?"
Dean lowered his arm and sat in silence for a long moment, almost too long. Finally, he just shook his head. “I don’t have an answer for that.” He felt like the same kind of horrible person, like he looked over his shoulder and he still couldn’t escape what he was.
"You must have some idea, since you've recently realized that's what you've become." Lucifer opened up his bottle of water with his free hand, carefully settled the cap down on the arm of the couch. "So, Dean? Who are you leaving fresh scars on?" But Lucifer already knew the answer to this: the only person Dean was hurting was himself.
Dean sat there, thinking about his world and who exactly he was hurting. “Castiel,” he answered softly.
Inwardly, Lucifer softened a little at that. He and Samandriel both often were saddened by the Winchester relationship. That, he would not say. He only ran his fingers over that scar again, just as caring as before. "Tell me about it."
“No,” Dean said, feeling like he’d let too many of his vulnerable parts leak through that day already. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. He would protect Castiel as much as he could from everyone, especially himself, and even in this room where he was supposed to be able to talk and have some sense knocked back into him.
"No, you're not. And it's not can't, it's won't." Lucifer resisted the urge to sigh, and somehow actually managed it.
Dean let his shirt drop and looked down at his hands, at his wedding ring glinting silver against his skin. There were slight scratches in the metal where he refused to take it off while he was working. Even though that mark on his shoulder had been there nearly as long as he and Cas had been together, somehow having that bit of jewelry there was what meant more; a reminder of his commitment and not just a claim permanently on his skin.
"Do I have to talk about it with you if I've already talked to Cas about it?" It was fair, right? No need to rehash old conversations when he'd already dealt with the person he needed to.
Lucifer considered that for a moment, his gaze dropping down to Dean's hands as well. The ring was simple, just a band, but suited the other man, really.
"You don't have to," he said after a moment of pause. "but if you still think you're hurting him even after having conversed, it might benefit you to talk about it with someone else." Lucifer wouldn't make him -- honestly, Lucifer wouldn't make Dean do anything. But he could give firm suggestions.
Dean thought about it for a long moment and then said, "we're implementing date nights starting tonight so...as far as constructive thoughts on changes go, I don't have much to say yet. Won't know until we try and we've just barely gotten started trying."
He fidgeted a bit. "I want a family one day. Like, kids and maybe a dog or something but I'm pretty sure that's not a thing he really sees in his future. So I'm having to learn to accept the reality that I'll never be a dad to be my dad but also that I'll never really get the chance to be so much better than him either."
"I hope you speak with him about that, Dean," Lucifer said, before sipping his water and going back to staring at the space in the corner where that cross had been. "Because you probably shouldn't be accepting of a future reality with someone based on 'pretty sure'. In any case, I doubt very highly you'd be your father, just like I doubt you're very much like him right now."
“Yeah,” was all Dean could say to that. Just Yeah. He could feel Lucifer looking off elsewhere and his own thoughts drifting to a future he wasn’t going to get just based on their earlier discussions of, well, children eventually. Dean leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “I should go. I’m wasting your time.”
"You should stay," Lucifer corrected, easily turning back to Dean, fingers brushing over his wrist. "I'm giving you my time, not wasting it."
Dean looked at Lucifer’s hand on his wrist and turned his arm towards the touch. “Don’t wanna outstay my welcome,” he murmured.
"You're always welcome here," Lucifer replied, tone quiet and slightly warm even as he curled his fingers around Dean's wrist. "Do you understand that? This isn't just some passing interest."
The mechanic closed his eyes and hung his head, voice just as soft as it had been moments before, “I’m still getting used to the idea of being the guy people might want around for the long term.” He opened his eyes again to look at Lucifer’s hand on his wrist. “You know, I can’t pinpoint the moment I fell in love with you.” This was much easier to say to a hand than it was to look Lucifer in the eye and do it. “With Cas I knew it right away. I mean...I didn’t really accept that was what it was at the time, but some part of me still knew. You were this gradual build and now it’s just almost a foreign concept to imagine my life without you in it.” And maybe that gradual build was how people were supposed to fall in love, but it didn’t really matter.
Dean already knew he and Castiel had done things too fast, moving at a breakneck pace like one or both of them might be dead in an instant. At least he too knew that his love for Lucifer didn’t cheapen what he felt for Cas nor did what Cas felt for the kid somehow diminish what was between him and Dean. Somewhere high up on the list of things you should never tell Satan was probably that you were actually in love with him.
Satan or otherwise, this was not information that Lucifer would ever use against Dean. He supposed, really, he just wasn't that kind of devil. Really, he was no kind of devil at all.
"I know," Lucifer said, quietly proud and pleased. Getting Dean to open up about anything, particularly positive things, was difficult. But it always seemed to make things just that much better when it actually happened. "It takes some getting used to, being loved. But you are, and will continue to be."
Lucifer set his bottle of water down on the table in front of them, and scooted a little closer in order to pet his fingers through the hair at the back of Dean's neck. "You don't need to know when it happened to know that it is. I do love you, too, Dean. That's why you're always welcome here. That's why you aren't wasting my time." He'd waited longer to say that to Samandriel -- but Samandriel always had a way of knowing things without needing to be explicitly told them.
Dean tipped his head into that touch. He didn’t have to say that he didn’t think he was worth being loved, Lucifer knew it as well as Cas did. He didn’t particularly want to. Instead, he just lifted his head and almost tentatively reached to touch Lucifer’s cheek.
“I don’t think…” he started and then had to look down again, this time at Lucifer’s thigh, “I don’t think you’re ever going to get me begging and desperate to your satisfaction because I’m just going to perpetually convince myself I don’t deserve it.” It was part of the problem, a big part of it, and one that had reared its ugly head when the four of them were all together even if nobody but Dean himself actually noticed.
Dean really hadn't been the only one to actually notice. Lucifer was sort of burdened with the not exactly easy task of making sure everyone was at least a little happy, and it was much more difficult to pay attention to individual needs in settings like that. It was just something that was going to have to take practice; Lucifer was by no means perfect.
"That's okay." Because it was, and that Dean had communicated the issue was more than enough for Lucifer. "Look, I'm not going to force you to do something you can't. When you want something, you let me know, and we'll work on it."
Dean nodded. “I want this,” he said, looking up to meet Lucifer’s eyes. “to see where this goes.” He was speaking specifically to that afternoon, but he meant it generally as well.
"This?" Lucifer repeated, leaning into Dean's hand, stubbled cheek against calloused fingers. Clarification was sort of necessary in moments like these -- everything was too fragile otherwise, and assuming could end fairly poorly.
Dean’s thumb brushed against the rise of Lucifer’s cheekbone. “Whatever this is between us.” What Dean wanted was for Lucifer to kiss him. He felt too torn open to be able to comfortably go about facing anything and honestly didn’t know any other way of closing up his wounds. Whisky and dental floss didn’t work when the harm was all emotional.
"Okay," Lucifer murmured. It didn't really answer anything, but he'd work with it as best he could. He turned into that touch, lips brushing against Dean's palm and kissing it gently.
Dean’s fingers slid back into Lucifer’s hair and pressed their foreheads lightly together. “If I’m trying not to fuck my husband, I probably shouldn’t be fucking you.” It was a clear line as far as how far this could go, but really all he wanted to do was lay there and kiss for a while.
Lucifer actually approved of that; he was beginning to be of the opinion that Dean needed to take more time to focus on himself. While sex was good, it wasn't always helpful for things like that. Clear affection in terms of touch though -- that could be good. No end goal, just what it was.
"That's fine," he said, closing his eyes and brushing his nose against Dean's. "That's perfectly fine." The kiss he offered Dean was light, but promised more.
The kiss was returned gingerly as though Dean really was trying to convince himself he deserved such tenderness.
He guided Lucifer’s hands to his scars again, wanting to feel whatever thread of acceptance he could for as long as it was allowed.
"Come here," Lucifer said, lips still brushing against Dean's as he shifted on the couch, pulled Dean forward a little until they were facing each other properly. He felt a little bit like a kid back in high school, sitting in the couch in the basement, sharing tender, secret kisses. It wasn't such a bad feeling.
His touch was light against those scars, the tip of his thumb tracing each it found back and forth as if attempting memorization.
Dean didn’t want to just be there like that next to him, though, and so he shifted to straddle Lucifer, well aware that the other man was used to someone much more wiry and squirmy on his lap than, well, Dean. “Better?” he asked, skin tingling seemingly everywhere that Lucifer went that still had nerve endings.
"Much," Lucifer agreed -- he'd kind of been hoping for this positioning if he had to be honest. But Dean wasn't the sort who should just be pushed and pulled around like a doll. He shifted his touch until it was finding all new skin and scars on Dean's back even as he tilted his head up a little to take another kiss, this one more solid and there than the last.
Dean’s fingers smoothed through Lucifer’s hair when he pulled back from that kiss. He just looked at the blond for a long moment as if trying to figure something impossible out while he caught his breath. “Y’know, your sparkling personality makes up for the fact that your car’s a piece of eurotrash shit,” he teased softly. He bent down to steal another kiss, working so very hard to keep from rolling his hips too much.
Surprised and sort of delighted at the teasing, Lucifer laughed into that kiss and then gave Dean a little pinch to the side. "You leave my car out of this, Winchester." It was obvious he didn't really mind the [euro]trash talking though, since he pulled Dean in closer and rubbed his cheek against Dean's neck, kissing the curve of his shoulder.
Dean still really, really wanted to take this further than he knew was a good idea right then. He also knew that he wasn’t exactly in a frame of mind where he was sure if he was actually doing things for the sake of genuinely wanting them or if he was just trying to make sure that his body made up for the flaws in his own personality. Like if he fucked someone hard enough, they’d forget he was broken.
His hips rolled against Lucifer’s anyway, fingers still tangled a little in that now unruly blond hair. “No damn room to move in your car,” he murmured. “I’d accuse you of overcompensating but…” Satan had not a damn thing to compensate for.
"It's meant for driving, not moving around." Splaying his hands flat against the small of Dean's back, Lucifer sighed pleasantly over that roll of hips. Even if he knew it should probably be discouraging it somewhat. Completely. Somewhat completely.
He tilted his head back slightly, moving with the fingers in his hair, brushing kisses against Dean's jaw. "Compensation isn't required. Now just kiss me, Dean."
Dean took Lucifer’s mouth. He wasn’t kind or gentle, or anything he might’ve been with their angels. He demanded from that kiss desperately as though by bruising Lucifer’s lips, he could make his own claim on the other man known bone deep. This wasn’t combat from Dean, though. It was as close to begging as he allowed himself to get while still thinking maybe he deserved any affection at all.
Lucifer knew it wasn't combat -- not everything rough was a fight (he knew that very well), and Dean's kiss was more needy than it was properly aggressive. It seemed only fair, then, that Lucifer both gave and took from it. Although he avoided adding teeth for now he kissed back just as insistently, all tongue and bruises and tasting. His fingers, though, still ran sweetly against any scar he could feel out on Dean's back.
There was too much tenderness. It didn’t take long at all for Dean to absolutely need to pull away from all this. “Asshole,” he whispered, but there was such a lack of heat in the insult that it didn’t qualify as one at all. He shifted off of Lucifer’s lap to land heavily next to him on the couch. Dean finally took a swig of his poor neglected water.
The blond didn't even bother trying to make sense of that -- he only shrugged and smiled as if it were just the truth and Dean would have to deal with it. Which was kind of right, anyway. "Yes, I love you too," he said, wry.
Dean had to grab the crotch of his jeans to attempt to shift into any more comfortable position, but yeah that was not happening. He really needed to do laundry so that he could have some jeans that fit instead of his accidental leave nothing to the imagination super comfortable otherwise pants. Did women have this problem? It was kind of annoying.
Lucifer only raised his eyebrows at that, as if silently amused by Dean's plight. Slightly uncouth, but totally understandable. "I was thinking," he said, completely off topic. "Perhaps we should all have dinner next week. It might be good to do something normal together that doesn't end in a pile of naked angels." Not that he minded an angel pile, but still.
Dean whined in frustration, resisting asking for help because a handjob totally didn’t count as fucking. “It’s probably going to end in a pile of naked angels regardless,” Dean pointed out. “But yeah, maybe. I’ll ask Cas.”
"In any case," Lucifer said, dryly, "it might be a nice way to bond before the naked pile. So yes, please do ask him." It reminded him a little of when he'd first met Samandriel -- had really, really intended to at least take the younger man out to dinner before they both got naked. It hadn't worked.
He reached out, stroked Dean's cheek almost absently. "What is it you want right now?" Because he could help, if that was what Dean absolutely wanted.
“Relief,” Dean said, leaning into that touch, and then, even softer, “you to watch me.” He could do with a bit of humiliation before he went home, honestly.
Leaning forward a little, Lucifer brushed another kiss onto Dean's lips. "I think I would like that. Why don't you touch yourself for me, then?"
Dean took the kiss, letting it linger for as long as he could before he set about opening his jeans. He lifted his hips to get denim and cotton down to his knees just so Lucifer could see properly and ever, ever so slowly began teasing himself.
Lucifer leaned back against the arm of the couch, retrieving his water from the table and just holding it. Sometimes even he needed something to do with his hands.
There was nothing yet to say, and so he only watched, alternating between keeping his eyes on Dean's hands or just his face.
“You are actually going to fuck me one day, right?” Dean asked, settling back on the couch in a casual sort of slouch while he actually got to touching himself. He turned his head to make eye contact with Lucifer. “Because I think you should tell me about that.”
"Yes," Lucifer said, because he certainly did intend on it, even if he planned on waiting (then again, that was another thing that hadn't actually worked with Samandriel). "I do plan on… fucking you." So vulgar for no good reason. Lucifer really hadn't been brought up to say things like that and even now in his forties, the refinement showed through.
"Are you looking for masturbation material?" He seemed amused, although not uninterested.
“That and...maybe something more concrete to look forward to.” It was one of the things he couldn’t get from Cas. Proper dirty talk (or talk at all, really,) just didn’t fall from that poor chapped mouth.
Lucifer smiled at that, nearly a little lopsided. "Samandriel prefers it face to face," he admitted a little lowly. "And I like that. But sometimes there's something preferable about having someone from behind, something harder and more primal."
“Samandriel just likes looking at you,” Dean said, eyes falling shut while he imagined that. “Not that anyone can blame him.” His hand moved a little faster, lower lip catching between his teeth while he thought about it, adding a sharp smack against his rear to the mental picture he was forming, a hand knotted in his hair to boot.
Both actual reasons why he preferred that position. "I think you both give my looks more credit than they deserve," he said, but wasn't really objecting. Dean looked perfect like that, lip caught up in his teeth and eyebrows tilted just so. "I think you'd like it from behind," he went on, tone a murmur. "Being fucked hard enough where it'd take actual concentration to keep yourself in one place." Might as well practice his swearing, if he was going to be around Dean. "Does that appeal to you?"
“Yes, Lucifer,” Dean groaned lowly. His hips rose up a little into his hand while he worked. “Gonna end up with goddamn rugburn like that.” But clearly he didn’t really worry about his knees in the future all that much. Shit, he actually kind of liked it.
"That's just a reminder for later," Lucifer said, eyes on Dean's hands, interested, captivated. "And that's one of the best parts, the marks that slowly fade and the little movements that twinge and almost ache when you aren't expecting it."
“Lucifer,” Dean gasped, but really, it shouldn’t have surprised anyone when he reached over to pull the other man into an abrupt, almost savage kiss. Claiming. Wanting.
It wasn't really surprising, and Lucifer rather welcomed it -- even if his positioning on the couch was odd, kneeling, practically hovering over Dean, one arm balanced on the back of the couch. But he kissed back, and he did it like he meant it. And then he placed his free hand over Dean's, wrapping his fingers carefully between the mechanic's. "Don't stop," he said, between kisses.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dean said, hand moving with Lucifer’s a bit faster, a bit harder while they kissed. “Close. Fuck, Lucifer.”
"Good." The words were swallowed, eaten, muffled and Lucifer didn't mind at all. Just the shape of it against Dean's lips seemed like enough. Tilting his wrist slightly, he brushed the pad of his thumb against the tip of Dean's cock, definitely a tease.
It was less a tease and more like the final straw. Dean gasped roughly into Lucifer’s mouth, coming hard over his hand onto his stomach.
Lucifer grazed his teeth over Dean's bottom lip, pulled away just enough to let them both breathe without obstacle. Which was also just enough to rake his eyes over Dean one more time. "You're lovely like that," he said, amused, entirely too enticed.
“Messy?” Dean asked, catching his breath. Fuck, he could feel those eyes over him. He was waiting. They were waiting. And Dean wasn’t going to fuck things up elsewhere in his life just because he decided to solve problems with his dick again.
"Debauched," Lucifer half laughed, preferring his own word choice. "But yes." They were both waiting, and that was good -- Lucifer was, of course, never in any huge rush for anything. But he was (admittedly) eager for the day it might work out positively for the both of them.
Dean nodded and reached to grab some tissue off the coffee table to clean himself up. “I can work with that,” he said, finally coming back to himself to be able to make proper words. “Look uh...thanks man. For...you know.” Not what just happened, but becoming this weird safe space for Dean to be able to talk and not feel like he was failing everyone around him.
Lucifer welcomed the change of conversation only so that he could get his own arousal to subside a bit. This wasn't the time to focus on himself, and while he had absolutely no problem with that, sometimes his penis just didn't agree. That was the way of life, he supposed.
"Of course, Dean," he said, tilting his mouth into a half smile. "It's no problem. Ever."
Dean licked his lips and looked over at Lucifer and then pointedly down at the other man’s crotch. “May I?” Hey, even Dean could realize that he was much more likely to get what he wanted if he used the actual correct word from time to time.
Manners were always well appreciated, and Lucifer gave slight pause before licking his lips and then nodded. He'd wanted to say something along the lines of 'if you want to', but that was a bit redundant. Dean would not ask if he were not interested.
Dean pulled his pants back up and got settled before he knelt between Lucifer’s legs. It was situations like these when he really, really wished that these weren’t hardwood floors, but he’d deal. He reached forward and unzipped the other man’s pants, taking him to hand and stroking him ever so slowly. Lucifer wasn’t the only one who could make people wait.
But Lucifer never really minded waiting, he only lowered his eyelids half way and gave a half of a smile before threading his fingers through Dean's hair.
And Dean was a sucker for fingers in his hair. Leaning forward, he wasted no further time in getting Lucifer’s cock in his mouth, groaning around it. This was what he’d wanted for far longer than he cared to admit.
"Oh," murmured Lucifer softly, approvingly, thumb brushing up against the shell of Dean's ear. Some things were definitely worth the wait, and this was clearly one of them. "Perfect."
Some things definitely were. For as much as Dean had been apprehensive about getting his mouth around another man’s cock in the first place (back when he and Cas were first getting together and he was learning to have gay sex for pleasure rather than a paycheck,) he found that he really, really liked doing it. It was less the act itself and more the reactions it got. If anything, Dean felt like he was one of those people just built to please the people who mattered to him as much as he could.
Working his mouth around a dick was a really friggen easy way to show that without actually having to say anything sappy or some crap. He arched as much as he could up into Lucifer’s touch, tilting his head just enough so that he could look up at him for a little bit while he did absolutely filthy, wicked things with his tongue.
Lucifer met that eye contact and kept it, biting his own lower lip for a moment and smiling around teeth before offering a little groan of appreciation.
He tightened his fingers slightly in Dean's just a little too short hair; a prompt for just more in general. "You're very good at this," Lucifer complimented.
Dean groaned around Lucifer in response, averted his gaze and went back to proper work, sucking a little harder, head bobbing a bit faster. He wanted Lucifer to enjoy this as much as possible and he figured that enthusiasm was the fastest way to get the other man off.
That line of thought was pretty much correct; Lucifer couldn't quite sit still through this, couldn't help but tilt his hips into that mouth just a little bit. "God," he muttered after a bit, and definitely saw some irony there - he laughed until he gasped. "Soon, soon," he warned, because the devil was nothing if not a gentleman.
A low, throaty moan of encouragement was what Lucifer got in response to that. All of Dean’s desire bottled into one sound, his actions mirroring that urgency. He wanted this perhaps more than either of them knew.
From the way he was doing it, Lucifer had a pretty good idea, actually. He might have liked it to last longer, but Dean was being fairly insistent and sometimes there was just no good reason to hold back.
And so that encouragement was answered -- Lucifer came, Dean's name somehow turned into breathy sort of gasp and his fingers pressed hard into Dean's scalp.
Dean swallowed almost greedily before pulling away slowly to breathe. “Should say my name like that more often,” he said roughly, taking the time to get Lucifer settled back into his pants before he reached for his shirt and pulled it back on.
Lucifer laughed at that, covering one of his eyes with the palm of his hand and waiting for a moment until his breathing was back to normal and Dean had his shirt back on. "I'll see what I can do," he promised, with a half nod. "Are you off?"
“Should be, yeah,” Dean said while he stood. “Date night and all.” He offered Lucifer a hand up.
"Wise of you," Taking that hand, Lucifer stood and then drew Dean back in for another kiss. "I'm pleased you came over today."
“Me too,” Dean said once the kiss broke. He waved vaguely as he started up the stairs (no matter that Lucifer was right behind him,) to get to the garage. When he got up there he saw a different lump on the couch and found himself laughing to himself when a very familiar scrawny arm emerged from a nest of blankets to wave. Something was mumbled in his general direction, but Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t English and if it was, he didn’t care to ask the kid to bother to wake himself up enough to repeat it.
Shit, if the kid actually woke up there was no way Dean was getting out of there on time. Or he’d get zapped back to his place and then have to get someone to zap him back so he could get his damn car. Frankly, he was getting tired of trying to figure out what to do with his car the next day when one of the damn angels decided he needed to be teleported right then and there. Sure, he had two, but then it was like trying to figure out a friggen algebra word problem and he didn’t want to solve for x when x was his baby.
“I’ll see myself out,” he said to Lucifer, nodding at fort blanket knots over there. “Have a good night.” Close enough to ‘i love you’ for a Winchester, right?
Close enough. "See you later, Dean," Lucifer agreed. He didn't go any further than the couch Samandriel was on, plopping himself down on the end of it and searching through the cocoon of blankets in order to find his boyfriend's hair and give it a little petting. "Enjoy your date."