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It’s a generally agreed upon fact among college students that final exam week is a special kind of Hell. Maybe even another circle entirely, somewhere between Violence and Fraud. Sam has been through this before, and he’ll go through it again, only worse, next year. He’s been lucky enough to survive so far. Well, lucky, and insanely dedicated to his studying, though that gets harder to do as the hours wear on and his eyes start to hurt. He wants to go back in time and curse out past-him for not having better handwriting.
“Sam.” There’s a voice from a few feet away. Sam squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to clear the blurriness in them before he looks up. Lucifer’s watching him, leaning against the doorway. He’s been wearing the same expression the past two days now, frowning with concern as he looks over Sam. Sam swallows and drops his gaze guiltily. “Come to bed,” Lucifer says, and it’s too quiet to be an order. Sam somehow feels worse when he responds with,
“I will. I promise. Just... another hour, okay?” If this were any other week, Lucifer would have reacted to that quickly and firmly, would probably have hauled Sam up from his chair by the back of his neck and dragged him to their bedroom if need be, and Sam would be facing a punishment in the morning for talking back and trying to break one of their rules. Only, tonight, Lucifer doesn’t do that. He stays in the doorway a second longer before sighing.
“Okay,” he says, and he leaves. He’s not happy about it, Sam can tell, but he acquiesces because this isn’t a normal week. This is exam week. Sam had requested beforehand that they put their normal dynamic on hold long enough for him to only focus on his studies. Lucifer had agreed. Sam can feel him regretting it now. Sam can’t help but wonder if he made the wrong call. He doesn’t feel focused. He feels agitated, and he knows he’s been taking that out on his partner, snapping more than he ever would, but he doesn’t mean to. He didn’t realize how much not having their normal dynamic would mess with him. Even the fact that he won’t let himself wear his collar in the house, because it wouldn’t be right when he’s not acting how a sub should, gets to him.
Probably the only good thing this week has brought is Sam learning exactly how patient Lucifer is with him. He doesn’t put up with Sam’s outbursts, but he doesn’t retaliate with his own cutting words like Sam knows he could. He just leaves until Sam’s calmed himself down enough to come seek him out and apologize. He hasn’t pushed Sam back into their dynamic, hasn’t tried to punish Sam for broken rules or undone chores. He had, once, trailed his fingers over the spot on Sam’s neck where his collar would usually rest, but he’d retreated before Sam could say anything. It’s still wearing on Lucifer.
He looks down at his notes again, then up at the doorway his partner disappeared through, then back at his notes.
Fuck this. He can barely read them anymore. He’s not getting anything done, and he’s making them both miserable. Sam cleans up after himself (which he should be doing for the whole house. That’s most of his chores, keeping the house tidy. He hasn’t been doing that either, but the house is still relatively clean, meaning Lucifer’s doing it, so Sam ends up feeling guilty and inadequate.) and goes to their bedroom. There’s a repurposed dog bed off in the corner of the room, comfier than it looks but lonelier, too, an effective punishment. Sam stares at it blearily.
“No, Sam.” Sam blinks. He hadn’t realized that Lucifer was still awake, but sure enough, Sam could see him sitting up in the dark on his side of the bed. That’s the closest thing to an order he’s given Sam all week. There’s a rule: Sam’s not allowed to punish himself. You have trouble seeing the difference between penance and self-flagellation, Lucifer had said, and really, how was Sam supposed to argue with a fact?
He kicks his clothing off, too tired to put it away properly. He wants to sleep forever, but his next exam is tomorrow, at 7 in the morning, because Stanford is full of sadists. And not even the fun kind. Lucifer reaches for him when he crawls into bed, and Sam lets himself be pulled close. He even manages half an exhale of laughter when Lucifer pushes his cold feet against Sam’s legs to warm up. Lucifer strokes his side, and Sam can just see his eyes in the dark.
“I’m sorry, Luce,” he whispers. He’s said that a lot this week. Lucifer kisses him.
“Go to sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
Sam dreams that Lucifer lights his notes on fire. He’s not sure if that counts as a nightmare or not.
Lucifer would give Sam the world if he ever thought to ask. Instead, he wanted this, a break from the routine to focus on academics. At first, it seemed like a solid idea. Now, he’s not so sure. Sam has to rush to his first exam before their promised talk, leaving Lucifer to stew over Sam’s behavior the past week. Sam is practically crying out to be taken in hand, but Lucifer’s not going to do that. Not without his consent, and he has the perfect reason to ask today. Today is Friday, and Fridays are important.
He prepares, and he waits.
When Sam gets home, he’s in no state to be asked anything. He’s exhausted, his hair is a mess from constantly running his hands through it, and it says a lot that when Lucifer suggests he take a nap, his response is to blink sleepily at nothing and go do exactly that. Lucifer follows him to make sure he remembers to take his binder off first and sits beside him for a few minutes, rubbing Sam’s back until he falls asleep. He kisses the top of Sam’s head and goes to make lunch.
Sam does eventually emerge from their bedroom, hair now messy with sleep as well as stress. “That smells good,” he says. Lucifer does most of their cooking. (Sam would say something about a childhood spent in motel rooms and an older brother stealing all the talent in the family if asked.) He stands there quietly a minute longer while Lucifer seasons before he finally says, “You put my collar on the coffee table.”
So. He’s been found out. Clever boy. Not that Lucifer did much to hide it.
“I wanted to propose an idea to you,” Lucifer says.
“We aren’t... doing that this week.” Sam’s fidgeting. He fidgets when he gets anxious. Lucifer doesn’t even have to look at him to know. “We agreed.”
“We did.” Lucifer turns the heat down on the stove, enough that he can ignore his cooking for a few minutes without worrying about something going wrong. He turns to face Sam. “Is it helping?” Sam doesn’t answer. Lucifer tilts his head. “I’m not angry, Sam. I’m as at fault as you are for not considering the impact this would have on us.” Sam’s stiff as a board, and Lucifer steps towards him, taps his fingers against Sam’s collarbone. “Two way street, Sam. Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours.” There’s the hint of a smile there at the teasing, and Lucifer wants badly to draw it out a little further. “Come on now. I can’t read your mind. Yet.” The smile grows into something real, if still tired.
“It’s-” Sam takes a deep breath. “It was helping, I think. I had more time to study. Except the week went on and things started feeling off. I saw you taking care of the stuff I would normally do, and I can’t stop thinking that you don’t need me.”
“I’m a grown man, Sam. I don’t need you to play butler for me.” Lucifer chides, but he takes the sting out of it by cupping Sam’s face. “I enjoy it. It makes you happy to be of service, and it frees up my time, but you aren’t here earning your keep.”
“I know that,” Sam says. Then tacks on at the end, “Usually.” There are times Lucifer wants to find whoever told Sam he had to prove he’s worth the space he takes up and wring their neck.
“Is it mostly guilt, then? You don’t think you’re being a good submissive by asking for a break?” Sam nods. “You’re wrong. You are the best submissive I have ever had. You’re a wonderful partner. I love you.” He lets his hand drop from Sam’s face. “And because I love you, I know it takes more than words to convince you that those things are true, so, Sam, go put on your collar and wait for me on the couch.” Sam hesitates. He looks like he’s unsure, but as Lucifer stands there, expectant, it sinks in that this isn’t some sort of game. He nods once and leaves, off to do what Lucifer told him. Lucifer finishes lunch. He takes his time.
He looks Sam over as he enters the living room. He’s sitting patiently on the couch, as asked. They tried out a few collars before settling on this one. (For Sam, it had to be perfect.) Lucifer stands in front of him and tangles his hand in Sam’s hair and pulls his head back to get a better look at it. It’s pure white, thick enough to provide the sort of pressure Sam finds grounding without being too tight, with an o-ring in the front. Sam stays perfectly still and quiet, but he doesn’t look as tense as he did before. Lucifer lets go, lets Sam drop his head again, and pets his hair absently as he speaks.
“There’s my handsome pet.” Sam tilts his head like a cat being scratched. “You know what today is, don’t you, pet?” Sam shakes his head. “It’s Friday.” He sees the moment Sam realizes what that means. His submissive practically melts into him, pressing his face against Lucifer’s shirt with a sigh. Lucifer keeps one hand on the back of Sam’s head, holding him close. “I thought you’d like that.”
Their arrangement is normally a 24/7 thing. Sam slips up sometimes, as anyone would, but he’s rarely disobedient. He doesn’t need punishment most weeks, but he still craves it. The solution came in the form of a repeated scene every Friday. Whether Sam was a perfect angel or a defiant terror that week, he’d still be pulled over Lucifer’s lap and beaten senseless. Routine maintenance for a needy sub.
What did Lucifer get out of it? Sam sobbing, squirming in his lap, shattering apart at every touch. In short, everything he’d ever dreamed of.
Sam needs it this week more than most. He’s got all that unnecessary guilt building up in him, the stress of exams piled on top of that, and who knows what else going on inside his brain. It’s Lucifer’s delight to give Sam what he wants, but it’s his responsibility to give Sam what he needs and what Sam needs is to be taken out of his head for a little while. He stops petting Sam, earning him a confused look, before he says, “Strip.” Sam scrambles to his feet, eager to obey, and Lucifer takes his spot on the couch.
Sam keeps his shirt on, which isn’t unusual. The most Lucifer ever sees him shirtless is when they’re going to bed because Sam can’t sleep if he has too many layers on. Otherwise, he keeps his chest covered, and Lucifer touches him there as little as he can manage. (If Sam would only let him help pay for surgery... but Sam is stubborn, and that’s part of why Lucifer loves him.) Sam’s pants go, along with his socks and boxers, and Lucifer motions him forward. Sam’s warm when he lays himself over Lucifer’s lap, tense with anticipation now.
“What am I going to do with you, Sam?” He lets a little of his exasperation leak into his voice. He was telling the truth earlier. He isn’t angry. He is disappointed that Sam didn’t come to him when this started to hurt more than help. He lays a hand between Sam’s shoulder blades and presses him down. “I’m going to hit you twenty times by hand. You,” he says, letting the hand slide up to scratch the back of Sam’s head, “are going to thank me for each one. Understand?” Sam makes a noise against the couch cushion. Lucifer pulls his head up by his hair, not hard but insistent. “Understand?”
“Yes, Master.” There it is.
“Good.” He lets go, and Sam slumps again but notably keeps his face out of the cushion. Lucifer runs his hand back down Sam’s back. “Safeword, pet?”
“Poughkeepsie.” Sam always squirms when Lucifer touches his ass for the first time during one of these scenes, like he’s never quite gotten used to presenting like this despite how many times they’ve done it.
“And nonverbal?” Sam snaps twice. “Good boy. Use them as you need.”
The first five are a warm-up. Sam settles more with each one, the simple refrain of “Thank you, Master” repeating after every slap. They’re evenly spaced, slow, and barely leave Sam’s skin pink. Number six falls harder than that, and seven quicker, and eight both. Sam swallows, but his thanks remain uninterrupted. At ten, Lucifer pauses and asks him, “Good boy. Do you want the rest?” Sam lets out a breath. He looks much more at peace than he did only twenty minutes ago.
“Yes, please, Master. I want it.” And who is he to say no when Sam begs so sweetly? He hits Sam again, the sound easily reaching both of their ears. Sam gasps this time, shoulders jerking in response to the pain, but he still manages to choke out a, “Thank you, Master.”
“You’re very welcome,” Lucifer teases, and if Sam wasn’t over his knee, he’s sure he’d be treated to an eye roll. Lucifer spanks him again, enjoying that little breathy gasp that he can force out of Sam. He rubs Sam’s cheeks, partially to exacerbate the ache, partially to feel the heat blooming under his sub’s skin. Sam probably won’t bruise too much from this, if at all, but then again, Lucifer’s always had a heavy hand. Sam could take it. Lucifer presses his thumb into the red mark on one cheek until Sam hisses, and then he raises his hand again and brings it down on the same spot.
He’s tempted to let his hand dip under Sam to see if he’s getting wet from the attention. This might be a punishment, but Sam’s still a masochist. He doesn’t check. Eyes on the prize, especially if that prize is warm and firm and begging to be beaten a deeper shade of red than it already is. Lucifer does just that, the next five coming hard and fast just to see Sam stumble and stutter over his next few thanks, cut himself off with a pained groan and a thrust of his hips like he’s trying to get away from the range of Lucifer’s hand. Just for that, Lucifer spanks him again.
“One more, pet.” His hand is starting to ache a little. Not nearly as bad as Sam’s ass must, but there’s a reason he usually brings a paddle. Not tonight. Sam had needed something more personal than that, and now, with him boneless over Lucifer’s lap aside from his heavy breathing and the unconscious twitches in his back, Lucifer doesn’t mind the burn in his palm at all. He leaves Sam in suspense for a moment, rubbing the red and pink marks on his ass.
Sam outright moans when he brings his hand down the final time. He waits, and when Sam catches himself, he says, “Th-” Another pant. “Thank you, Master.”
“Thank you, pet. You took that beautifully.” He lets Sam catch his breath, trying to remember where exactly he left the Arnica cream. When Sam starts to wriggle out of his lap, Lucifer lets him, curious. Sam slides to his knees on the ground in front of him, wincing slightly when he rests his ass against his heels. “Do you want something, Sam?”
“Can I suck your cock?” Sam asks. “Please, Master?” he adds, after the only answer he gets is silence. Lucifer pretends to consider the request, if only to see Sam squirm even more while he tries to find a more comfortable position to kneel in. He doesn’t really have to at all. He’s been hard since Sam started making all those desperate sounds while he was spanked. He leans forward to pet Sam’s hair.
“You may.” Sam reaches over to help him get his pants and underwear off. Both end up kicked to the side so that Lucifer can spread his legs and let Sam between them. He strokes himself absently, pulling back the foreskin for Sam to eye him. “Look at you. Always eager to serve.” Sam’s gaze darts between his eyes and his cock, hungry. “Open your mouth.” Sam obeys and even sticks his tongue out without being asked. “Closer, pet.” Sam shuffles forward, and Lucifer guides his head down with his hand until Sam’s mouth closes around his cock.
He lets himself enjoy that, Sam’s mouth, wet and warm, Lucifer’s cock resting on his tongue. He can feel the slight shifts, the aborted swallows. Sam’s trying so hard to be good for him. “Suck.” Lucifer orders, and Sam moans around him. He keeps his hands on Lucifer’s thighs, using his tongue to push his foreskin back. He knows exactly how sensitive the underside of Lucifer’s dick can be, and he’s shameless about it, rubbing his tongue along the centimeters in his mouth. He glances up, and Lucifer swears, grip tightening on Sam’s hair. Sam does what he does best, he worships, and Lucifer is a more than happy recipient. When he pulls back to suck only on the head, Lucifer finally loses the fine thread of control that’s been keeping him together.
“Sam,” he says, and his voice must sound as wrecked as he feels because Sam smiles before he ducks back down to take all of Lucifer into his mouth again. “Sam, I-” He cuts himself off with a groan, yanking on Sam’s hair. “I want to fuck your mouth.” Sam pulls back again, eyes blown wide, all that hunger in him amplified, and all he says is,
“Please.” Lucifer drags him back in. Sam’s pliant, and his mouth is open and willing. Lucifer thrusts up into him, pulls Sam down at the same time, and it’s perfect. It makes him throw his head back, no matter how much he wants to watch Sam swallow him down. Sam’s nose presses into the hair on his pubic mound. His fingers flex against Lucifer’s thighs but stay put obediently, only ever using his mouth, focusing all his attention on Lucifer’s cock.
When he comes, it rockets up his spine like lightning. He forces himself to let go of Sam’s hair. He doesn’t want to accidentally yank it out. Sam won’t thank him for that, no matter how much he likes having it pulled. Lucifer collapses back against the couch, pleasure buzzing through him, Sam still suckling on his cock even as he can feel himself going soft. It’s not overstimulation, Sam’s mouth is far too gentle for that now, but it still makes him tense up and say, “Enough. Enough, pet. Stop.” Sam lets go reluctantly, licks his lips. He’s a mess, hair all tangled, face flushed, chin wet from when Lucifer came on him.
“I swear, you get better at that every time.” Sam grins. There’s not a hint of stress in his face or posture left. On the contrary, he looks the happiest he’s been all week. “Do you want to come, pet?” Sam nods. “With my help or not?” Sam looks down, then back at Lucifer.
“With you,” he confirms, and Lucifer tugs him back up onto the couch. Sam straddles his lap this time. Lucifer kisses him as he slips a hand between Sam’s thighs. Sam makes a low noise when Lucifer rubs his dick, breaks the kiss when he does it again to press their foreheads together. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as Lucifer strokes him, “fuck, fuck, more.”
“Manners,” Lucifer teases. Sam whines.
“Please. Fuck!” Sam’s close already, from being spanked, from his enjoyment of sucking Lucifer off, and all it takes is a few rough strokes of his dick for him to come. He trembles, and Lucifer tilts his head to kiss him again, taste those little noises he makes. Lucifer wipes his hand off on the back of Sam’s shirt, and Sam huffs but he’s still too blissed out from his orgasm to say anything. He leans into Lucifer, eyes shut, totally relaxed.
“As much as I’d love to stay like this,” Lucifer breaks the silence eventually, “my legs are falling asleep, Sam.” Sam stirs.
“What?” He mumbles. He always gets so sleepy after a good orgasm to knock him out. Not that Lucifer’s much better, mind, but one of them has to have the sense to clean up afterwards. “Sorry.” Sam falls onto the other side of the couch, eyes sliding shut again. Lucifer pats his cheek. He pulls his pants back on, leaves to go get a washcloth and find that damned Arnica cream.
It turns out to be hiding in his bedside table, the second place he checks, and good, because he’s already spent a few minutes longer than he’d like away from Sam as he comes down. He hurries back to the couch, only to find Sam still dozing. Lucifer wipes his face off with the damp washcloth, and his eyes crack open.
“’s over?” Sam asks.
“We’re done. You did very well today.” Lucifer praises. Sam nods.
“And you forgive me for being stupid this week?” Lucifer kisses his forehead.
“You were stressed, not stupid. There’s a difference,” he says. “And as much as I love your pride, Sam, you didn’t help anyone by being stubborn about it. Come to me next time. We’ll renegotiate.” Sam sighs.
“I know. I know.” He reaches out, snags Lucifer’s wrist and squeezes it with a small smile. “Thanks, Luce.”
“Anything for you.” He means it completely. “Are you comfortable with me touching you down there to clean you up?” Sam closes his eyes.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Lucifer cleans up any evidence of Sam’s orgasm from between his legs, places another kiss against his thigh. Sam hums happily. He's already cleaned himself off, and he folds the washcloth, laying it over the back of the couch. “I hate this part.” Sam says.
“You’ll hate how you feel tomorrow if I don’t do it even more. Now, come here.” Sam does come. He flops over Lucifer’s lap again with very little of what grace he’d had earlier. He hisses when Lucifer starts rubbing the cream against his sore rear, but he doesn’t try to get away. When he feels that Lucifer’s done, he says, “Can we please cuddle now?” There’s no more of that polite begging in his voice from earlier. It’s a spoiled whine, and Lucifer happily indulges him. They end up in a tangle of limbs splayed over the couch, Sam half blanketing him, his face buried in Lucifer’s neck while the older man strokes his back. He can feel Sam’s muscles through his shirt. One day, Sam will be comfortable enough in his own body to strip completely, but until then, Lucifer will appreciate what he has. Sam’s worth it. He will always be worth it.
“Hey, Luce,” Sam says, quietly.
“Yes?”
“I love you.” Sam nuzzles against his neck. “I don’t think I said that all week. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” Sam settles into him. He’ll probably fall asleep if Lucifer lets him. “Rest for a minute, but I want you to eat some lunch soon.”
“Yes, Master,” Sam says, all mocking meekness. Lucifer laughs.
“You’ll like it,” he promises. “I made chicken.” Sam smiles, but he doesn’t really react until Lucifer continues, “and I cut it into bite-sized pieces. The kind you could eat out of someone’s hand, even.” The suggestion makes Sam sit up.
“You really are going to spoil me like that.” Lucifer smiles.
“Good.”
He feeds Sam slices of chicken one by one, and when Sam’s done, he even licks Lucifer’s fingers clean. He does insist that he needs to study more, (one more exam, held on a weekend, because sadists) but Lucifer insists just as strongly that he gets to set a time limit and drag Sam away from his notes when said time limit runs out. They’re both happier for it, and Sam aces his exams.