The first time Michael forced himself to keep walking past the open bedroom even when Gabriel’s deliberate, pornographic moans threatened to draw him back into their clutches. The second time he clenched his fists and teeth and watched without touching as Lucifer pulled Gabriel’s head back and sucked a livid mark upon his neck while he drove into him, Michael’s cock throbbing in time safely in his trousers.
Three, however, was one time too many, and Michael would not stand this intentional provocation of his jealousy. Lucifer had Gabe bent over Michael’s desk, atop his records of the Winchesters’ every move, generations of surveillance and they were defiling it right in his face with their lascivious looks in his direction, taunting him, angling to break him.
“That is enough,” Michael snarled, and both of them felt the thrust of his cock, both of them came in looping gouts of come upon his length before the night was through.
Michael’s wings are silver, but Lucifer’s are burnished gold, and Michael can’t keep his hands off them even for a moment. He runs his fingers through them and presses his cheek against them, groaning with the desire that burns up through his body as he does, and relishes the sound of Lucifer’s blissful moan at being stroked.
Michael nuzzles the place where wings meet back, kissing between Lucifer’s shoulder blades, and continues to run his hands through the shower of golden feathers that stretches upward and trembles around him. Lucifer arches and rounds his back, pushing his hips against Michael’s for every run of long fingers along the grain of his wings. They gleam in the light, and Lucifer leans back to capture Michael’s lips in a kiss; buried in each other, he and his brother come together beneath the golden canopy of wings.
"I did not like the way that human was looking at you," Lucifer mutters as he works off Michael’s shirt and lays him down on the bed, scowling the whole time.
And Michael doesn’t understand — “the one I was speaking to?” he says, all innocent confusion, and it just fires Lucifer up more, makes him angrier and more turned on all at once.
"Never forget," he murmurs into Michael’s chest, "you’re mine—" and he licks at one nipple until Michael’s arching and crying out, the heat of his erection strong against Lucifer’s stomach.
"Yes," Michael whispers, trembling, but Lucifer won’t enter him until he says the word "Yours."
And when he does, Michael repeats it — “yours, yours” — and the word echoes around the room like the chant of a spell, binding them together, sending fire through Lucifer’s blood as he thrusts into Michael as though it could seal them together forever.
Nothing excites Michael more than the image of Lucifer swollen with his fledglings, and it’s that thought that drives Michael onward as he bears into Lucifer, holding him down on the bed with strong arms.
Lucifer knows it, and Lucifer eggs him on, hissing in his ear as his hands travel over the curve of Michael’s back and drop to his hips to urge him forward. “Fuck me so good,” he murmurs in that hypnotic voice, his fingers traveling over the curve of Michael’s ass, teasing the tops of his thighs. “Fuck me so damn good that I can’t move for how full of you I am, that I get so loaded down with your come that I’ll be having your fledgelings before long. Come on, Michael—” and Michael obeys, rutting into Lucifer hard and fast, crying out with the madness racing through his blood and praying that the teases will be made true.
It went on for millennia; wars were started for less, but Lucifer could not let the rivalry drop and Michael always rose to his bait. As always, what started as a simple exchange of angry words and drawn swords devolved into something primal, vessel upon vessel until one of them stumbled enough for the other to gain the upper hand for the barest of moments.
Blood coated Lucifer’s cheek and his clothing hung in tatters from his frame; as he panted, Michael pounced, throwing him to the bed and binding him to it. Michael’s sweat dripped in feverish rivulets from his skin to his brother’s, and — as always — there was no mercy in this fuck.
"I’m sick of fighting," she says, and knocks him down, climbing on top of him as though she’s about to start whaling on him — that’s how it usually ends, with punches and with wrestling, until Lucifer gains the upper hand and they’re both thrown back onto their feet for another round. But this time it’s not her fists but her mouth that lands on his, and a foreign surge of want slides through Lucifer; his hands are on her waist in a second, pulling her closer where normally he’d be pushing her away, and the kiss lingers, deepening, desperate, as though all their battles have just been preface to this from the start.
They’re alone in here, but for two souls they’ve long since discarded, and there’s no shame as Michael pushes her breasts into Lucifer’s face, demands he lavish them with kisses and licks. He juts up his hips, demands contact, and she gives him one better, sliding onto his cock in an instant and enveloping them both in an intense wash of pleasure. From then on, it’s rutting and grinding and kissing, their bodies joined, their battle now a rushing race to climax, and when Michael screams out her orgasm and shakes hard, Lucifer doesn’t want to call it a victory, only because it means then the battle would be over — and he’d rather fight this forever than have to ever win or lose.
"This is," and Michael cuts off as her hand brushes over her own nipple and she gets a shock of feeling down to her core, "different—" and then she stops talking entirely, because Lucifer’s just pressed his thumb against the other nipple, and if she thought that one shock was great, she had no idea. Lucifer’s hands on her — and not just on that electric point but curling along the base of her breasts, sliding down her ribcage to her stomach, resting on the back of her thighs — bring forth a liquid, intense sort of pleasure that her male vessel never afforded her.
Then, arousal was straightforward, hot and intense — this feels like a ghost riding her nerves, playing hell with all her expectations, and when Lucifer presses between her legs, she yelps as though she’s been burned — it’s too much at once, and when he lightens his touch, it’s not enough.
She spreads her legs, tries to guide his fingers, and they negotiate a delicious, perfect center point that makes her feels as though her body is going to flood like a sinking ship. And when Lucifer, without asking, slides his other hand into the wet opening he finds there, Michael sees a thousand stars and screams, pumping into them, demanding Lucifer’s fingers not stop until she’s overwhelmed by an orgasm that feels like the whole world turning around her.
Michael looks from Lucifer’s hips to his own, then to Gabriel, who smirks and nods, pleased with his own handiwork. “This is what you want from us?” he asks, incredulous and increasingly uncomfortable; the garb Gabriel has conjured up for them is definitely not made for a man.
"You’ll grow to love them," Gabriel says, sliding backward on the bed and rubbing the lump in his own trousers, "trust me on this— especially when you start touching each other… which is what you should be doing right now," he adds, testy at Michael and Lucifer’s stock-still stances and incredulous gapes.
"Do what the boss says," Lucifer says, more interested in sassing Michael than anything, but when he presses his hand against Michael’s panties and gets a gasp and a frenetic roll of hips in return, he’s suddenly anxious to feel the same, and he grabs Michael’s hand with his own, sliding it against his own hardening cock. It’s not long until they’re fondling each other with gasps growing in volume, and then until they’re sliding their thighs and hips together, hard cock inside soft fabric meeting its mate, while Gabriel watches from the bed, waiting for the inevitable moment they turn their building lust on him; his first instruction, after all, was "Nobody comes until I do."
Lucifer and Michael followed Adam out of the cage, unseen, and now they watch from a safe vantage point as the brothers - three of them now - reunite. They don’t expect to see Sam and Dean clasp Adam close, kiss him in turn; they don’t expect Adam to murmur, “Both of you, God, I want both,” or Dean to growl with want, or Sam to reply, “There’s nothing we want more.”
As Adam climbs on top of Sam, eases onto him — as Dean eases toward his hips and slides in beside Sam — Adam makes a noise that neither Lucifer nor Michael has ever heard before, a noise that resonates with love and unfulfilled longing. It’s an emotion that has been crying out silently in their own hearts, without the acknowledgment that would give it a voice, and now they see it here — acceptance despite years of betrayal, desire to be closer than ever. As Adam is filled up, as he pumps hard on his brothers’ cocks and moans with the joy and completeness of it, Lucifer and Michael turn to each other, a possibility awakening in them that they never would have considered before.
A/N: Under a cut for dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome