Work Text:
Sam’s scrubbing down for the 7th time in a row when Aze knocks on the door. “Sam, your shift begins in 15 minutes. Why don’t you just mate with him and be done with it? This clandestine thing you’ve got going is getting out of hand.”
“Coming!” It’s getting harder and harder to get Raphael’s scent off him despite them not siphoning each other. They either need to start staying away from each other (nope) until the date, or Sam needs to scrub himself raw and avoid Dean as much as he can. Sam steps out of the shower and dries himself off, then sniffs himself. He’s finally gotten Raphael’s scent off him, but he’s detecting a hint of difference in his own scent. “No way…” he breathes in horror-mingled delight. To mate with someone, you need to siphon them several times over a consecutive time period. Same with packbonding or any kind of strong scent bonding. Temporary bonds can be achieved by marking each other thoroughly, but they fade fairly quickly, being skin deep. The exception are juvies and kits who absorb other people’s marking scents much more easily due to different hormones. But this tiny hint of alteration in his scent―still so faint that only the keenest of noses would be able to pick up on it―turns everything Sam knows about mating bonds on its head. “Fuck.” He and Raff hadn’t been going at it that long. What? Two weeks or something? Sure, Sam’s been breathing in that tantalizing scent from Raphael’s gland fluid, but he hadn’t siphoned it. Is it really possible that they’re forming a mating bond anyway?
Sam frets about it while he gets dressed and hurries downstairs to start his shift.
“Yes, I’m here already. I just got here…. Mhm. ...What do you mean you’re not coming? Raphael, you asshole, you were the one who wanted to have a drink with me tonight!”
Sam’s working overtime. There are a lot of customers to serve tonight. It doesn’t stop him from picking up the scent of one of Raphael’s brothers before he’s even elbowed his way through the crowd to the bar so Sam can see him. He also picks up the disgruntled conversation the brother (Lucifer, is it?) has with Raff over the phone and his heart flutters nervously.
Lucifer finally reaches the bar. “Yes, I know, but―” He inhales annoyedly through his nose to respond to whatever Raff is saying, but instead his eyes widen and he scents the air, gaze following the scent in Sam’s direction. He lowers the phone absentmindedly, staring.
Sam hands a beer over to a customer and walks over to Lucifer’s part of the bar, ignoring other people’s clamor for his attention. “What can I get you, Alpha?” he asks with a lopsided smirk and leans casually against the bardisk, redundantly wiping it down with a dish cloth as if he’s got all the time in the world. His inside is all fluttery from jitters but miraculously it doesn’t translate to his scent. Yet.
From the phone’s forgotten speaker he hears Raff say “That, would be Sam. Have a pleasant evening, Luci. You can thank me tomorrow. Goodbye.” Sam nearly giggles nervously which would have ruined the cool exterior he’s trying to fake. Lucifer smells slightly different than Raphael, but just as deliciously wonderful and the sole reason Sam’s keeping it together is that he’s been marked up by that scent so many times now. He’s baffled to find that he actually can discern a pack bond clearly in Lucifer’s scent. Which is disconcerting for the same reason it’s disconcerting that he noted a tiny change in his own scent after his shower. Taking a discreet inhale he notes a vastly different attribute in Lucifer’s scent that Raff certainly doesn’t have, something that makes him want to titter in nervous excitement. Lucifer is not on suppressants. Lucifer is maybe two weeks? No, closer to one week, away from his rut.
Lucifer blinks once, puts his phone away without breaking gaze, then a slow smirk spreads over his face, canines teething. “Surprise me,” he answers. Then - he flares.
Sam suddenly knows why Raff was so amused by his wistfulness about Aiden’s eyes. Lucifer has a perfect, blood red flare that you only see made by CGI in movies. Sam’s trying not to swoon like a dolt. He hears someone gasp and one or two people by the bar whisper about red eyes. Sam snorts. “You mean I didn’t already?” he counters with a lopsided smirk and a raised eyebrow. “But okay. One surprise coming up.” He grabs a bottle at random tosses it up spinning in the air while silently praying ‘please don’t drop it please don’t drop it please don’t drop it’ to himself.
He leans forward and catches it with a hand behind his back. He does a mental fist pump and winks at Lucifer.
I’m such an idiot, showing off like I’m friggin Tom Cruise in Cocktail. What if I’d missed? I only get it right about 50% of the time. Moron!
Lucifer drops full fangs, grins appreciatively and deep-purrs.
Sam’s jelly-kneed, light-headed, light-hearted and now fully committed to being an idiot because holy shit. He gives Lucifer an unimpressed look (that his scent makes a lie of) and proceeds to make a spectacular show out of mixing a colourful, layered cocktail, flipping and spinning bottles like a pro, begging himself not to mess up. He does such a good job of it that he even gets applauds from the waiting customers around the bar. He imagines Dean hooting his support. ‘Whoo yeah! That’s my boy!’ And has to smirk at himself for how much confidence even imaginary Dean lends him.
At the very last moment he gets extremely bold, rubs his ear gland with a finger, and while keeping eye contact with Lucifer, drags the oily finger around the rim of the glass before putting a straw into the drink and putting it in front of Lucifer. He leans forward, flares, and challenging says “Earn it, Lucifer,” teethed canines showing through his cocky, lopsided smirk. Sam’s thought process through it all is ‘AAAAAAHHH! What am I doing?!’ It’s not like him to act like this. Just that, those red eyes and the sheer, capital A Alphaness Lucifer radiates has him ready to declare himself done for the evening and just... present.
Lucifer’s nostrils flare and the luminosity of his eyes brighten in predatory delight. He licks the secretion from the rim of the glass, deep-purr getting intenser. Sam’s as gone for him as he is for Raphael, no words necessary. Now all he has to do is make sure Lucifer sticks around until he’s finished his shift, then try to play hard to get long enough for Lucifer to show a token of being a worthy partner. Piece of cake. Hah!
Luci had disappeared for a bit to Sam’s great distress. But then he came back with takeaway from the burger joint on the other side of the street, giving it to Sam. Dean would approve. Lucifer could just have ordered from the inhouse kitchen. But instead he made an effort to provide food from a source Sam couldn’t get things from for free. It’s the token Sam needed, that shows him worthy. It’s well past midnight and the type of crowd has changed to the more shady types that tend to come in here late night.
Lucifer has stopped making his orders from Sam and instead orders only from Aze, always ordering one for himself and one whatever-he-wants for Sam. At the start of the evening Aze had given Sam juice or soda, but an hour (or two?) ago he started serving shots instead, encouraging Sam to take them with Luci, and Sam’s starting to get pretty tipsy. Buzzed, and so horny he’s stinking up the bar with all the slick he’s leaking. Azazel leans in to whisper in Sam’s ear. “If you let him knot you right here in the bar I’ll triple your pay for the night and let you off from bar duty. But you gotta stay in here and let your courtship play out in full. Have a couple of drinks with him by the VIP table and don’t try to hide anything. You can both stay upstairs in one of my guestrooms after closing.”
“Why?”
Aze throws a glance around the bar. “A gorgeous male Omega and a red eyed Alpha flirting primally? I have people ready to throw some serious cash at me to get to see that play out live. With how Williams has kept up his flare all evening people are riled up. Let’s say four times your usual pay. And that goes for the hours you’ve already worked. I’ll keep the ribbon divider between the VIP table up to make sure people know they can look but not participate. Come on, Sam. We’ll both be making a lot more money than normally. And it’s not like you haven’t been knotted in public before. Now you’ll be getting paid for something that’ll be happening anyway. As a bonus you’ll both drink for free and you won’t have to wait until your shift ends until you feel his knot inside you.”
Sam throws a look at Lucifer, sitting by the bar keeping his glowing red eyes locked on Sam. “Um. But what about him? Maybe he doesn’t want that?”
Aze smirks like the very idea of Lucifer not wanting to is funny. “I really don’t think he cares, but I’ll ask him. If he says yes, will you do it?”
“Um. Okay. Yeah, sure.” This might be a stupid decision. Sam's not sure. Thing is, when he is drunk he tends to be a bit looser around his moral edges. And a lot less prude. Lucifer and he have barely said a word to each other for hours. They've been communicating with purrs, growls, body language and scent. Sam's fangs are dropped and have been for so long it barely hurts. He's leaking slick so badly it's run down his leg soaking a sock. He's this close to keening a wordless plea to be knotted. Raff was right assuming Sam would like Lucifer’s primal flirting. Especially when he was challenged.
This other guy Gadreel―tall, handsome, smelling wonderful―had deep-purred for Sam and Lucifer had roared, puffing himself up. Gadreel didn't back down. Seeing those two squaring off, growling, ready to fight for his attention, did embarrassing things to Sam. Aze had broken the fight up before it began. He'd somehow hustled Gadreel away only to show Sam that he’d gotten Gadreel’s business card for him so he can call if he wants. Aze sure isn’t picking sides of what Alpha knots Sam.
Sam watches Aze tap Luci on a shoulder and lean in to whisper in his ear. Luci keeps watching Sam while he listens. Then he nods.
Aze is right. A couple of drinks later neither Sam or Luci cares jack shit that the sex they’re having is horrendously unfit for the public. If anything the spectators cheering them on, catcalling them, and the smell of many people’s arousal in the air, only serves as an added turn-on. (As if Sam needed one. Hah!) Sam’s fully naked, keening out a desperate purr, laid out over the table with Luci over him, shirt and pants unbuttoned, milking Sam’s neck gland making him see friggin stars. Lucifer has a massive fucking knot. Like, ‘Oh shit’ big. Sam thought Luci took annoyingly long time prepping considering how wet and achingly willing he was. Now he’s grateful. It’s nearly painful and Sam’s never been so stuck before. He’s barely coherent, centered around what Luci’s doing to him and only dimly aware that he’s making a public spectacle of himself. Luci lifts his head long enough to growl threateningly at their audience then drags his fangs along Sam’s neck. Another orgasm hits Sam and he bucks with a yell, promptly pushed back down again and held in place while he spasms.
Sated, he catches a change in his scent. The scent of pre-Heat way too early. He’s too gone to even start reflecting on what it means. He has a stray thought that they’ve forgotten something important, but then Luci’s back to milking his neck gland and any kind of thought process is ruled out for the time being…