Chapter Text
Sometimes the cage was a garden, sometimes a bedroom, or a movie theatre, or an abandoned city with restaurants that used to be fancy and dark alleys with graffiti on the walls. Sometimes it was the Earth before humans, natural, uncorrupted, beautiful. Sometimes it was the apocalypse that never happened, and everything was death and fire and destruction, and they’d scurry away to an underground bunker and spend the next three months hiding from the ugliness outside with canned food and blankets and an old cassette player.
Every decade, give or take, was something new. Lucifer would change the scenery and the scenario and they’d play new roles, live new lives, feel new feelings, die new deaths. Wasn’t always good, but when it was good, it was incredible. And it wasn’t always bad, but when it was bad, it was terrible.
Sometimes Sam didn’t remember who he was, and was whoever Lucifer told him to be. A farmer, a member of the resistance, a scholar, a soldier. Sometimes he was Sam, and he had all his memories, all his truths, and he was planning a christmas party for the Devil, or a proposal, a first date, a birthday surprise.
Sam was adaptable, even when he didn’t like it. He’d learnt to play along.
It was a Tuesday and the cage was a carnival. There was a rollercoaster and a house of mirrors, a merry-go-round and a full moon. Not another soul or the illusion of any.
“Will you do something for me?” Lucifer stared up and wrapped a casual arm around Sam’s waist.
He sounded like he always did. Never angry, never jupilant, always too calm and on the edge of boredom like every new life was already a rerun of a hundred he’d seen before.
Sam leaned in against Lucifer’s side and shivered. The night was cold and the archangel colder. “Yeah,” He nodded, air fogging with his breath. He was glad for his jacket, glad for his hair hanging over his ears. He wasn’t sure how this would turn out, this time. Normally he had a good idea. Anxiety prickling at the back of his neck as a warning that this wouldn’t be a fun go around the bend, lightheartedness telling him that this imagined life, this play, would be good. Maybe not domestic, but good.
This, though, felt like a blank slate. And he embraced it fully. Was done with the trediptation when he wasn’t sure, was done with trying to please Lucifer with every action because that was boring. For the both of them. “What is it?”
Lucifer shifted to face him, so they were forehead to forehead and he was cupping Sam’s cheeks with both palms, “Don’t-” He hissed, gaze flickering to something right behind Sam, “-freeze.”
And then Lucifer pulled back and he tilted his head slightly, nodded with a brief blink as if initiating something Sam’s wasn’t yet aware of.
Behind Sam, in the shadows, there were three figures. Indecipherable, oddly dressed, but Sam got it, knew what he was going to see the second they stepped into the light.
Lucifer crossed one arm over his chest and raised the other with an imaginary finger-gun, always a little theatrical when introducing a new game, “Run.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, to plead, maybe, because his stomach was twisting itself into knots already and his heart was clenching in his chest with primal childlike fear.
He ran. Boots thudding against cracked asphalt, head turned to face over his shoulder and eyes wide. They ran after him and he knew, just knew he couldn’t outpace them. That meant hiding, meant outsmarting them. He was going to fucking kill Lucifer.
Turned a corner, down a row of long since abandoned food stands, and he was presented with a choice. Straight on and get caught and see what Lucifer’s idea of clowns liked to do for fun, or- the hall of mirrors or the fun house. And he was scared. So terrified, more than it would be on a hunt, more than a poltergeist or a demon could ever do.
He was going to rip Lucifer’s heart out because this wasn’t fair. Damnit. Damnit, shit, fucking hell, he hated this beyond anything. He turned on his heel and made for the hall of mirrors, had to duck his head a little to step in and start walking, try to focus, try to calm his breathing and stay as quiet as possible because if he could get out and leave them stuck for just a little while he could get somewhere safer.
Lucifer followed the chase from afar, eyes tracking Sam and gleaming with a hint of amusement when he disappeared inside the fun house. He stalked forward, leisurely because he could still see inside it from where he was, just wanted to be closer.
One of the clowns halted somewhere by a fortune-teller tent and looked exaggeratedly confused, before choosing to go inside and look. The other two followed behind Sam, one of them immediately catching his reflection in a far corner and waving at it merrily.
Sam’s brow creased and a barely there whine clawed itself out of his throat, raw from the cold air. He staggered, ran straight into a mirror before he found his way again. His head was pounding in time with the frantic beating of his heart and he could hear them, hear it laughing, hear its steps falling so sure, like it knew its way through better than he did. Of course it did.
“Come on,” He breathed, grunting and swallowing thickly. Tried to feel his way out, kept hitting walls and feeling like he was going around in circles. “Lucifer, please, not this.”
But Lucifer was nowhere to be found, just eight clowns that may all be reflections of one, or two. Or three? Sam couldn’t tell because all three looked identical, gestured at each other and curled their painted red lips into a grimace and pointed at him in sync.
The lights flickered and a high-pitched giggle rang through the space and echoed.
“Saaaaammmy.” The voice was too close, sing-song and feet away, “We just want to play.”
Sam shook his head frantically. “Huh, rather not.” He bit out, and looked to the mirror on his right. Keeping his eyes fixed on the three (or more? Couldn’t tell) of them before he slammed his fist back into the glass (cut his knuckles, too, fuck did that sting) and stooped to grab a shard as an improvised weapon before he took off running again. The glass cut into his palm, his fingers, but he didn’t care. Felt safer with something in hand.
Sam ran and ran and took turns, stopped to reevaluate and then took more turns, and then he was running by a mirror that wasn’t a mirror, and he felt arms wrap around him and squeeze, lifting him off the floor, green wig hair scratching against his neck, “Got you.”
Sam jerked, struggling with all his might and aiming to drive the shard back. He didn’t have enough wiggle room, ended up dropping it. It shattered. “No, no, nonono- please! Please, no-“ He wailed, slamming his head back to try and catch it off guard.
A gloved hand reached up to grip Sam’s chin and then squeezed his cheeks playfully, “Shush, shush, shush.” And then he was being dragged kicking and screaming with sure wide steps through the halls of mirrors to an empty round space in the middle of the house, where the two other clowns were.
It was mirrors everywhere, left and right and above and below. The one holding Sam dropped him on the ground and he saw his own reflection beneath him.
Lucifer walked in just then, lips curled in disappointment, “I like to think you’d usually be faster and smarter than this. Is it the fear, Sam?”
Sam was hyperventilating, hands gripping at the sides of his head as he drew his knees up to his chest and shook his head.
“Why?” He questioned, voice wavering. “Why, I don’t- did I do something wrong?”
Lucifer looked at him quizzically, “Why? Why anything, Sam?” He inched closer and his face relaxed into something softer. He rested a hand on Sam’s cheek, gently brushing hair away from his eyes, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanna watch you cry. It’s been a while.”
Sam simpered, leaning into Lucifer’s touch. “Could do anything else. Anything. You know I-“ His eyes flickered to the side of the room, fixed on the clowns for just a moment before he wrenched his gaze back to the archangel. “Think I’m closer to pissing myself than crying.”
“Oh you’ll cry,” Lucifer crooned, kissed his forehead and then dropped his head to kiss below Sam’s ear, “And I know, I know, baby, but that’s why we’re doing this, right? Because it scares you out of your mind and we’ve just had a pretty mild decade, haven’t we? So sweet, so lovely, I was so kind. Fucking Hell, Sam, I have needs.”
Tongue trailed a line down Sam’s neck, and then teeth dug playfully around his collarbone, “You’re gonna let them fuck you. You’ll be a good little circus slut. We’ll fill every hole, mm?”
Sam’s breath caught in his throat and he whined. “No, no- Lucifer, no, please,” He begged, squirming away and trying to find an exit. Useless. “I’ll run, let me run, I’ll do better.” He felt his pulse in his neck, felt like he was going to throw up. “Please.”
“You’re not crying.” Lucifer curled his lips, pulling back and crouching in front of Sam, one hand wrapped around his ankle loosely, but ready to grab if he were to run, “Show me your best impression of crying your heart out. Come on.”
Sam let out a pitiful, strangled sort of cry and shook his head. He was quivering, hands shaking and every movement jerky. “Lucifer, please.” He whispered, tears beading in his eyes. “Not this, please.”
“Ehh, I’m not buying it. Take your clothes off. Slowly.”
Sam sobbed, then, shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. He stared down at Lucifer, as if for confirmation, to search for mercy. He found none. “Please,” It felt like he couldn’t say anything else. He refused to look at anything other than the archangel, refused to acknowledge there was anything else in the room. His skin was standing up in goose flesh from the cold, flushed pink, and he was still shaking as he stripped off his shirt.
“I want more enthusiasm,” Lucifer hummed as he leaned back against one of the mirrors, crossing his legs and watching. The clowns whispered to each other, just obscene incoherent remarks, school-girl giggles echoing loud and obnoxious. Lucifer chuckled because it was so fucking ridiculous.
“Move for me, dance.”
Sam almost tripped, halfway through yanking his pants off. He stumbled, fell to his knees before scrambling back up. “What? I don’t-“ He whimpered, tears streaming hot and wet down his face, hazing his vision. Kept undressing, kicked off his shoes and hesitated at his boxers, looking to Lucifer for elaboration and further instruction.
Lucifer twirled his finger in a full circle, half a smile on the corner of his lips, “Dance for me, spin, sway, flick your hair. Make yourself desirable. I want to see you try, Sammy.” He cocked his head, “Tempt me and I might just take you out of here and fuck you myself and wouldn’t that be a best case scenario?”
Sam sniffled, face a mess of tears and snot. He tried. He really did. Ran his hands over his chest, made a show, put himself on display and made a show of it. But he was panicking, too, so much frantic energy in the attempt of alluring motions, chest shaking with sobs. “Please,”
Lucifer chuckled heartily and waved at him to stop, “Okay, okay, that was a lot more sad than sexy. Right. Strip down and crawl to me,” He patted at his thigh.
Sam pushed his boxers down his thighs, let them fall to the ground with everything else before he sank to his knees and dragged himself over to Lucifer. He buried his face in his thigh, clutched at his leg and screwed his eyes shut. “Please, please, just you, let it just be you. I can’t. I can’t.”
“But you’re so pretty like this,” Lucifer reasoned, twining his fingers in Sam’s hair, “Your soul in knots, so terrified, repulsed, so, um, traumatized? It’s very sweet.” He fisted his hand around hair roots and yanked Sam’s head up, “You’re gonna watch, in the mirror, when he fucks you. I’ll let you choose who goes first. And then you’ll take one in your mouth and another in your ass. And then I’m thinking of drilling another hole in you, I don’t know where yet, somewhere on your front so we can have the third under you, hm? Or would you wanna use your hand?”
Sam wailed. “Nuh, no, no, please, Lucifer- please,” He whispered, clutched a little tighter to him. After a moment he whimpered, screwed his eyes shut. “The one in the middle.” He croaked, voice barely there. Because if he let Lucifer choose, even for something so arbitrary, it would be the worst option. By far.
He wanted to scream, wanted to claw his heart out, wanted anything, anything, everything but this.
Lucifer chewed on his lower lip, “The middle. Any particular reason?” He asked nonchalantly, and then dismissed the question and just beckoned the clown in the middle to come forward with two fingers, “Baby, would you have him go in dry or are you gonna ask your new friend to finger you a little? Spit on your asshole so it doesn’t hurt too much?”
Sam shook his head frantically, “No, n- nnot dry, not-“ He screwed his eyes tightly shut. He could practically feel it walking over, certainly heard the shrill laughter. It was when gloved fingers wrapped around his shoulders and yanked him back and up that he screamed.
The clown gripped him tight, shoved him forwards until his bare chest was against the cold glass. “What’s it gonna be, bucko?”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, everything trembling from head to toe, his heart hammering in his chest and his cock flaccid, so utterly repulsed and uninterested and Sam tightened his thighs and shrunk on himself, tense and shaking and his words blurted out between violent hiccuped sobs, “P-please finnnn- huh.” His hand still grabbed at Lucifer’s leg, pleading, “Finger me, first, first, please.”
There was that shrill, high giggle again as it traced its hands down, walking its fingers across Sam’s skin like spiders until it was kneeling, spreading Sam’s cheeks and spitting on his hole. Both hands retreated, presumably so it could peel off its gloves, and for a moment it seemed like nothing would come, nothing would happen. The suspense only made it worse when a teasing finger traced around the tight ring of muscle before almost inquisitively pushing in, curling up, joined by another as the clown quested to scissor Sam open.
Sam gritted his teeth and his head sank down, burying his face in Lucifer’s tigh again as he clutched at him for dear life and hissed and cried out with every aggressive motion prying him open.
Lucifer tsked and slapped Sam’s cheek with two fingers, chiding softly, “You’re not watching. Is it because of me, sitting in the way? Should I go now and come back for you in, say, 3-4 hours?”
Sam sobbed, shaking his head. “Don’t leave me, dun’- no, no, don’t, I’ll watch, I’ll-“ He screamed out and kicked his legs back when suddenly the clown’s tongue was pushing inside, curling and licking up and it was too long, too long and too cold and so deep.
Sam’s entire body jerked, involuntary twitches and tremors travelling through his system as every muscle cramped and strained and he didn’t want to be in his body, his throat tightening and he could taste bile and he couldn’t keep himself still.
Lucifer grabbed his face by the jaw, lifted his head up and moved his own shoulder a little to the left so Sam can watch in the mirror behind him. His voice and tone and expression were so absolutely tender, dripping fondness, “Look how pretty, Sammy. Look at this breathtaking horror on your face. I can’t look away. No one breaks like you, baby, and I’d know, I’ve seen plenty. Keep watching.”
Sam scrabbled, clawed at Lucifer’s back and choked. Mouth open, throat twitching as he gagged and, “Gonna- please, don’t-“ He kicked out again, cock twitching as the clown’s tongue found his prostate and stayed there insistently, played with it until he was forced to erection and he hated it and he knew he was prepped enough and he wanted to get this over with, wanted it to be done. He couldn’t even see himself, too busy blinking tears that stung at his eyes away.
“Hmm. Look at that.” Lucifer chuckled and thumbed at Sam’s lips, forcing a knuckle between his teeth and letting Sam bite on his finger like a makeshift gag. His other hand drifted between Sam’s legs and he grabbed his cock and squeezed it at the base, “Oh, we’re having fun. You’re loving this. Tell me how much you love it.”
Sam jerked weakly, gasping as the clown’s tongue pulled out of him with a slick, wet sound, “Hnnn, no, please-“ He cried out. “No, no! No-“ He screamed as he was breached again, this time by its cock. Long, hard, and thick, he could almost feel each individual pulsing vein. He writhed, dug his nails into Lucifer’s shoulders. “Hurts, please, no-“ He ignored the image in the mirror, of the clown visible over his shoulders, eyes gleeful and malicious all in one, lined with blue and black grease paint, green wig still in place.
Sam grunted, bile rising in his throat before he heaved, vomited over Lucifer’s shoulder. It burned, made him feel more disgusting than he did already.
Lucifer stroked his hair gently, holding him as Sam’s upper half slumped against his chest, jerking violently as he was fucked, “Easy, now, got that out of the way. Now we can focus on the good times, hmm?”
And then suddenly, absolutely out of nowhere, he snapped. Pulling Sam’s head by the hair and slamming it against the glass floor, smashing this corner of the ground mirror against Sam’s cheek. He yanked his head up again, half of his face bloody and bruising, and he growled, “I’ll rip your eyelids out. And when we’re done, I’ll take your eyes out. And then I’ll let him fuck your fucking skull through your eye-sockets if you so much as blink too long again. Wa-tch.”
Sam thrashed, struggled because he was almost too panicked to listen, to pay attention. But he knew well enough to keep his eyes open, to stare at the reflection in the mirror. “Sorry- ssssorry hurts please-“ He choked, whining. He was being fucked faster, each savage thrust rocking him forwards. Felt like he was being split in two, felt like death and the terror in the air, the fear written across his face was cloying, all encompassing.
When the clown finally came, felt like an eternity later, he shrieked. It coated his insides, filled him up, too much for just one load. “Stop-“ make it stop please .
Lucifer stared him down blankly, pushed him off of him and to the glass floor, pulled himself up to stand, “You’re so fucking whiny today, what’s your problem?” He almost spat, snapping his own shirt clean and wrinkling his face in disgust, “I’ll go stargaze. Been planning a meteor shower for tonight. Come join me when they’re done with you and when you’re a better company.”
“Dn’t leave me- don’t leave me please -“ Sam tried to no avail. And Lucifer left anyway.
And when Lucifer walked out Sam sobbed and finally screwed his eyes shut, allowed himself that reprieve as he was manhandled back and onto his hands and knees. They went on for hours. Switching positions, and Sam didn’t even try to fight it, stopped trying to scream and just let himself cry as his throat was fucked raw and his ass was stuffed with two cocks and one of the clowns decided to run with Lucifer’s original idea, carved a gash into his lower stomach and fucked it like a cunt, slicked its cock up with blood and viscera.
By the time they’d finished his hole was gaped obscenely wide, stretched by fist and cock and it was leaking with god-knew how many loads of cum and probably piss; and his mouth hung open, jaw dislocated and bruised to all hell. He tried to drag himself forwards, nails digging into the slim cracks between the mirrors. “He’p- p’ease-“
No response.
He kept dragging himself, didn’t bother getting dressed, just half crawled, half heaved himself out and across the pavement, onto dusty dirt, onto a grassy hill wet with dew. “Lucifer,” He croaked, tugged at the grass as an attempt at leverage, brought himself up a few inches before the wet blades came out with clods of dirt. Again, again, until he was crying again, smeared with mud along with everything else as he collapsed beside a white and red checkered blanket folded out on the grass where Lucifer sat cross-legged.
Lucifer glanced at him for a split second, before hooking his arms under Sam’s and dragging him up and onto the blanket. He pressed his palm to his forehead and healed all physical injuries. No words spoken, not a comment or an emotion on his face. He picked up another small blanket from a nearby picnic basket, folded it around Sam and he squeezed himself under it and leaned back to lie down next to him. He wrapped an arm around him, holding him to his chest, and he breathed out like he’d been made to wait for too long, but was going to let it slide anyway.
“Look.” And Lucifer pointed up and the sky was shooting lights and splendor, his smile broad and genuine, soft, peaceful, “Falling stars. Do you know they’re just cosmic dust?”