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Nick Vaught: Tomb Raider

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Lucifer/Nick & Nick/Sarah Additional Tags: Tentacles, Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, Tentaclit, Cock & Ball Torture, Mild Painplay, Soft Cock, Multiple Orgasms, Forced Orgasm, Mindbreak, Spitroasting, Deepthroating, Breathplay, Top Lucifer (Supernatural), Bottom Nick (Supernatural), Sub Nick (Supernatural), Dom Lucifer (Supernatural), Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Archaeologist Nick (Supernatural) Wordcount: 7017 Summary:

Nick has cracked open dozens of ancient tombs and temples before and never found any evidence of the supernatural. The past is his purview, not the ghosts and curses that supposedly haunt it. That's all about to change.

This is Nick's own private ritual, one he's committed to since the early days of striking out on excavations. Back then, he got in trouble whenever he was caught, reprimanded uselessly over and over, knowing that the very next time he was sent out, he'd do it all over again. He can't help himself. These old stones demand solitude to contemplate them. Before the rest of the team heads down here with him, before the halls fill with wires spreading light deep into the tomb's maw and boots that constantly kick centuries old dust into the air, Nick walks through them alone with only the bare minimum of supplies to allow him to move quickly and a trusty oil lamp to guide his way.

He studies the walls intently. Construction is his strong suit, and the cut of these bricks is pristine. Almost impossible for the date at which they've placed this tomb, but he's learned that doubting what the people of the past could do is the easy way out. An open mind for their intelligence, their resourcefulness, has always served him better. He looks back down the tunnel he came from guiltily before extending a hand to touch the stone. The first brush is only to feel the texture, perfectly smooth, barely a grainy bump under his fingertips. The second harder pass is to see if any breaks away. His fingers come back stained but only with dust and dirt. He wipes them off on his pants. He wants a sample of this stone. A whole brick, if he can get away with taking one. He can't tell the material at a glance. That bothers him. The outside of the temple is granite, he'd bet his entire career on that, but this isn't, not anymore. He wishes he'd paid more attention to when the shift occurred, but he'll have to take note of that on his way out. He hefts the oil lamp higher and continues deeper in.

His eyes catch on the inscriptions that have been following him into the depths. Nick isn't the best at languages, but he can usually recognize the alphabets. Old Aramaic has always caught his eye, even if he can't read it. He lets his gaze trace the letters now and frowns. They aren't shaped correctly anymore. It might only be a particular style or the age of it throwing him off, but the longer he inspects them, the more he's certain the language has shifted as much as the bricks have. He squints. The light of the oil lamp makes it hard for him to make out the shallower inscriptions as it makes the shadows dance from one indent to another, creating false lines and curves that disappear a moment later. He reaches into one of his pockets for the case he keeps his reading glasses in. They slide comfortably onto his face, bringing the letters into sharper focus and allowing him to see their shapes easier than before. Like this, he can see that a few of them are almost analogous to letters from the Roman alphabet, but then another glance reveals one that's exactly the Greek letter Omega.

Very strange. He peers down into the he found so enticing a moment ago. A chill creeps up his spine, even with the lamp keeping him warm. The boys will have this all translated in a week or two, he tells himself, and he'll finally know what it all says. If he can't guess now from experience alone. An epitaph, a few warnings, a builder's signature, it could be any of those. He considers taking a rubbing back for himself, but he decides against it for the moment. He can always get that on his way out.

He wonders how much deeper this tomb goes. The incline has been steady but not steep. He'd seen the size of the temple on the helicopter as they flew him in. He could have sworn it was smaller than this hallway suggests.

He rubs the back of his neck. There haven't been any turns, either. That's more worrying. Hadn't he overheard the guys who had been here before him lamenting the amount of dead-ends? There was only one entrance. Nick couldn't have missed them if they were there.

Maybe the dead-end is all the way at the end of the hall, but as he walks, he holds the lamp lower to check for footprints. There would still be freshly disturbed dirt on the ground from their shoes. He can't find any.

The hair on the back of Nick's neck stands on end. For a brief moment, he swears he can see his breath exhale in a frost-laden fog.

He shakes his head. He's alone in the dark. His mind is playing tricks on him.

Sarah would laugh. She knows how easily he's always spooked. The wrong kind of profession for someone scared of ghosts, she'd teased before. Nick didn't even believe in those superstitions like she did, but down here, anything could spark his anxiety. Ghosts and curses, he'd opened too many tombs, temples, and bunkers to not have seen any evidence of them.

He takes a deep breath. He'll see this through. It's tradition. He only has to get to the end of this hallway, and then he'll turn back.

He realizes his footfalls aren't echoing as loudly as they should. The darkness ahead of him shrinks back like a predator into the bushes as he approaches. Nervously, he taps his glasses further back up his nose despite them not having slid down at all.

When the hallway widens, he freezes. He scoffs at his own reaction a moment later, feigning annoyance he doesn't feel over his frayed nerves. The room at the end of the hall is much more spacious than the cramped tunnel. The writing abruptly stops at the entrance. The air smells different in a way Nick can't describe. He's far too alert to the smell of gas or other dangerous hazards to be caught off-guard by them like this. He breathes it in, trying to place it. It's only as he steps across the threshold that he finds the source. The walls are lined with nooks filled to the brim with flowers of all types. Nick stares. The petals are fresh, some still holding dew as if they're greeting the morning sun outside. They're impossible. Not a soul has been this deep in here before him in years, if not decades or centuries. Nick walks across the room, setting the lamp down with a clang.

He reaches for the nearest bud, a delicate white flower that's soft to the touch as he pulls it free from where it was placed. It smells so alive when he brings it to his nose. There are no blemishes on the plant at all. It's like it was cut mere seconds before he entered. He strokes the green leaves on the stem as he turns to look at the rest of the room. Each wall is just as filled with flowers as the one he's standing in front of. He turns his gaze upward and gasps. Above him is a carefully sculpted menagerie of creatures. He recognizes some of them from mythology, one he's sure must be a manticore, one that can't be anything but a dragon, but some of the monsters that twist and writhe through the stones above are unknown to him. They don't snarl down at him with wide jaws full of fangs, created to scare off intruders like he would normally expect. All their gazes are turned inwards.

He follows them to the part of the room that would have drawn his eye first if not for the impossible flowers. A casket. He can't help his smile. There are no signs around it of damage or tampering. It's a miracle: perfectly intact. The rush of joy is so strong that he looks around for anyone to share it with. The most ridiculous urge to sweep his absent wife up and kiss her silly takes hold. He shakes his head, stroking the flower in his hands.

She would like if he brought one up to her. Or two, or three, or- He reasons that they won't be missed, given how numerous they are, and besides, they'll still be in their camp for anyone who wants to examine them. They'll have to ask Sarah first, that's all. He should bring her something beautiful if he's also going to bring her a corpse. (Not that she won't be just as excited as he is to have a body to examine. They don't even know who's buried here, but he's sure that as soon as Sarah gets the opportunity to get her hands dirty, she'll know everything about them.)

He plucks flower after flower from the walls, a lovely pink one, a soft blue, collecting them into a bouquet to carry out. It looks incomplete. Nick casts his gaze over the other walls, searching for a finishing touch. His eyes fall on the coffin again.

There's a rose laid out over the head of the coffin. It's the prettiest shade of red Nick has ever seen, drawing to mind the color of Sarah's favorite lipstick. He decides then and there that he has to take it with him, whatever the consequences for messing with the burial place are with the men running the excavation.

He holds his bouquet loosely in one hand. The sweet smell of the flowers hasn't abated once, though there's something different about it the closer he gets to the tomb. Maybe they were there to cover up the stench of death.

Nick plucks the rose up from the coffin's cold stone cover. He turns it over in his hand, admiring the shape of it, and then flinches at a sudden burst of pain in his palm. His grip tightens in response, pushing the pain deeper and making him grunt. He forces his fingers to relax, moving the rose into the bouquet and looking down at his palm. The rose's thorns have scratched him badly enough to bleed. He frowns. As he tries to remember what pocket he put his bandages in, the blood wells in his palm and gravity drags it downwards. It gathers the edge of his hand, clinging to his skin until it's too heavy and single fat drop falls onto the cover of the coffin.

Nick is about to curse his own carelessness when he watches the drop begin to spread from the center of its impact. It stretches out like veins across the coffin's surface, each extending arm sucking more from the center and spreading further. They thin the farther they stretch until finally, Nick can't see the blood anymore.

He stares at the suddenly immaculate stone. He’s frozen stiff.

His heart is beating so loud he can hear it. It thumps in his eardrums, growing faster and faster until it’s a roar crashing through his head. It’s a sound too big for his skull, but when he drops the bouquet and tries to cover his ears, it does nothing to help. He staggers back from the coffin. The light of the oil lamp flickers. Nick feels his glasses slide free, throwing out a hand to try and catch them. He misses, and they crunch against the ground. He doesn't have a second to mourn their loss before the roar rises one last time, no longer pretending to be his heartbeat. It becomes voices, a thousand speaking all at once, sending Nick to the floor. He gazes dizzily at the ground as he tries to stay up on his hands and knees.

The voices unify. They fix their attention fully on him.

“Intruder?” they ask. Nick sucks in a shaking breath.

”No!” he shouts to no one.

”Worshipper?” they say next, almost as though they’re guessing. Nick doesn’t have a chance to answer that one before he hears the scrape of heavy stone. The voices clamor, excited, and decide for him. “Sacrifice.”

”What?” He can’t stop his voice from shaking. “No, please, I’m not-“ All he can think of is how stupid it was for him to come down here alone. The stone scrapes further, and Nick can’t bring himself to see what is crawling out of the opening coffin. This can’t be happening.

What was the last thing he said to Sarah? He trembles and tries to remember. Was it I love you? Was it-

Footsteps pad closer Someone kneels in front of him, and their hands cup his face, lifting his gaze up to meet theirs.

”Sarah?” stumbles out of Nick’s mouth before he can think better of it. She could be Sarah. She has every detail, every small perfection from her beautiful brown eyes to the way she smiles. He peeks down at her naked body, past the golden chains draped around her neck. His well-trained dick twitches even as he forcibly reminds himself that this can't be her. “Why do you look like my wife?” For Sarah's sake, he manages defiance.

”Your wife?” she asks with a curious tilt of her head. “That’s what you see?” She gazes down at her own, or at Sarah’s, body. Nick knows every inch of it. He’s memorized it all beneath his lips and his hands. She rests one hand on her belly. Nick swallows as she pets the curve of Sarah's baby bump.

”What- What else would I see? You look exactly like her.” She strokes his cheek, seeming thoughtful.

”I am beauty,” she corrects, “and beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” There's a gold cuff around both of her wrists and ankles, catching the light of the oil lamp with each movement. Another chain is draped around her waist, the dangling end of it dragging a link across the floor as she stretches, tipping her head back with a sigh of pleasure. Nick can't tear his eyes away from her. He sits up onto his knees, but making himself stand or running like he knows he should is an impossible task. When she touches his face again, he feels something fish through his mind, seeing memory after memory. He can hear his own panicked breathing, only interrupted by the sound of her shifting forward. Her hand slides to the back of his neck, the other wrapping around his waist. She pulls him down and silences him with a kiss. Nick's eyes widen for a moment, his body stiff with fear, but the lips that move against his feel just like Sarah's and the way she presses into him is so familiar. She tilts her head, her tongue running along the seam of his lips. Nick blinks, once, twice, and lets his eyes fall shut as he kisses her back. She squeezes the back of his neck like a reward for giving in as he wraps his arms around her.

She breaks the kiss, leaving him dazed. He can still taste her, flowery sweetness and the hard iron of blood beneath it. She leans forward, her cheek brushing his as she whispers in his ear. "Thank you for freeing me, Nick." She says his name like he belongs to her. She takes his still-bloody hand and lifts it, eyes focused on his as she laps at the wound. It stings. His blood tinges her lips a darker shade. "What a perfect sacrifice you are." Nick's heart skips a beat.

"Are you going to kill me?" He imagines it, Sarah's hands around his throat choking the life from him or maybe holding the knife that guts him. If the last thing he ever sees is her eyes, he won't be as scared. Still, "Please, we're having a baby. Don't take me from them." She smiles like she enjoys hearing him beg. She places her hand gently against his sternum and pushes. She's stronger than her form should be, forcing him back further and further until she's crawling over his supine body. The golden chain that trails down from her waist brushes his side. The metal is freezing cold.

"I could kill you," she murmurs. She drags her nails over his cheek without enough pressure to cut him and down to his throat. He feels them rest against his Adam's apple, sharp crescents that dig in when he swallows in fear. "I could bleed you dry slowly, savoring every last drop as your body grows cold and your heartbeat becomes weaker and weaker." It's thumping loudly now, pumping his lifeblood up through the vulnerable arteries just beneath the skin of his throat. She laughs the same way Sarah does. "Do you have any idea whose prison you've been disturbing?" Nick shakes his head. "I'm not your wife, Nick. My name is Lucifer."

She bows to kiss him again. Nick's eyes slide shut in surrender even sooner than last time. The adrenaline coursing through his veins gets confused by the familiar weight of her straddling him, sending mixed messages down to his hardening cock. Every attempt he makes to focus on how dangerous the situation is becomes distracted by her biting his lip or running a hand down his chest. He hears the rustle of a button being undone, and then another, and another, and her fingers trail down again, only separated from his bare skin by his undershirt. She licks into his mouth before he can react. His shirt catches between his back and the stone floor as she pushes it up.

She pulls back. His lips feel bruised. He looks down to see the outline of her hand under his shirt groping his chest. "I might let you live," she tells him, "but I still need my sacrifice, Nick."

"I don't have anything to give you," he says.

"All I want is your body." She runs her thumb over his nipple, causing him to arch into the touch without thinking. He feels more sensitive than he should. His own fear makes everything sharper. "Say yes. Let me use you. I promise, you'll survive." Lucifer licks her lips. "More or less."

"Do I even have a choice?" She leans down to kiss his jaw. Her teeth dig into his throat below dangerously, but it makes his cock pulse.

"Always," she says. "You're special, Nick." She drags her hand free from under his shirt. "Let me show you how special." She holds him still as she slides down his body. He flushes as she finds his cock straining against his pants. She cups him through the fabric, the layers between them doing nothing at all to dampen the sensation. He tries to stifle the noise he wants to make as she squeezes him. He doesn't do a very good job of it.

He can't hear himself saying no. He knows he should be, but when it's Sarah's voice telling him to lay back and enjoy it, and Sarah's hand around his dick, and Sarah's lips mouthing over him through his pants, he can't resist.

Lucifer licks over his clothed cock. An exhale burst out of him as she meets his eyes again, the twins forks of her tongue disappearing behind her lips. “Nick,” she says, squeezing him again, “I’m waiting.”

“Yes,” he breathes. Lucifer squeezes his cock harder, and he moans. “Yes, take whatever you want.”

”Whatever I want?” she asks. “Everything I want?” He can’t focus. All he can feel is the pressure of her hand and the hard stone against his back as he tries to thrust into it.

“Everything.” He’s begging, but not for his life, not anymore.

Lucifer undoes his belt. It falls open, loosening the tight confines around his cock and letting the bulge Lucifer is fondling grow. She drags his pants down his thighs until there’s only his boxers left to barely restrain his dick. She strokes it. The inside of his boxers is soft and damp from his own precome. There’s never time to relax at the start of a excavation. Nick hasn’t had the privacy to jerk off for a week.

Lucifer finds the front flap of his boxers and pulls his cock out. When she runs her nails down his shaft, Nick shudders. “You’re perfect for me,” she says. She rubs her thumb against the leaking head, gathering up his precome to lick off. “So full of need, I can taste it.”

She licks his cock. More precome beads at his slit, quickly lapped away. Each swipe makes his thighs tense. His cock is so hard that each touch scatters his thoughts. He pants as he tries to collect himself, turning his eyes up to the sculpted ceiling. The monsters' eyes seem to be focused on him now. He’s completely unprepared to feel Lucifer’s mouth engulf the tip of his cock, swirling her tongue around it as she sucks. Nick moans, one of his legs bending to plant his shoe against the ground as if that might give him any power over what’s happening. He pushes up into her. His cock brushes the soft roof of her mouth and then her cheek as she turns her head. She lets him fill her mouth deeper and deeper with each thrust. Nick is helpless to stop, his hips moving with more desperation each second.

He barely meets the back of her throat before his balls pull tight and he comes. His orgasm leaves him shaking on the floor. Lucifer pins his thighs, taking his to the hilt and swallowing around him until Nick’s can’t come anymore. He whimpers as her tongue curls around the shaft like it can pull more out of him.

Lucifer lets him go. His come drips from the corner of her lips, a few escaped drops painting her chin. She collects each one with a finger and brings them back to her mouth. Nick watches as she sucks on the tip of her finger. A crack resounds through the room. The chain around her waist drops, no longer held together and Lucifer moans like it feels as good as an orgasm. She lays her hands on his spread thighs for balance.

”Finally,” she says, “thousands of years trapped down her and chained up, and you’re going to give me all the power I need to escape.” She eyes his dick greedily. Nick isn’t a young man anymore, and coming that hard means he’s going soft. Lucifer won’t have that. She starts stroking him again, ignoring his whines of protest.

Nick squirms under her. Her touch becomes torturous with how good it feels. “Do you need me to keep you still, Nick?” she asks.

“Give me a minute,” he forces out. He can’t his thighs from trying to close and keep her hand away, but she holds him open effortlessly each time. “It’s too much! I can’t-“

”Not your choice anymore.” Lucifer kisses the tip. With every beat of his heart, he can feel his cock plumping back up and only getting more sensitive. “Don’t worry, Nick. I know how to take care of you.” Lucifer shuts her eyes. Her hand stills. A moment’s relief turns to awe as Nick watches forms emerge from her back. They stretch high, tangled together into the shapes of wings before they fray apart into long, thick tendrils. They creep forward around Lucifer. Nick kicks out at one as it brushes his leg, only to feel it wrap around his calf as quickly as a mamba striking its prey. It wraps his leg up higher and higher. Its smooth, cool skin squeezes around his muscles like a massage. Another tendril captures Nick’s other leg. Together, they lift his legs up and back. Nick can only see slivers of his bare skin between the coils. His knees bend, exposing him further. Stitches pop in his pants as they're stretched too wide.

Lucifer’s tentacles are curious. They poke at his belly and slither up his chest. One squirms right up the middle and back out of his shirt collar. It waves in front of Nick’s face slowly. His eyes follow it as it sways back and forth, hypnotized by it. Another tentacle makes itself at home under his shirt. It curls until it can squeeze him, tickling through his chest hair until he’s gasping and trying to pull it off of his chest. Tentacles respond immediately and bind his arms in place to keep him from resisting as the one on his chest gropes him. It feels like its going to leave bruises, it tugs so hard. Another pulls against the fabric until it tears in half, revealing him to Lucifer.

Other tentacles wrap under his back, lifting him from the hard floor and into their living, writhing embrace. They rise to his neck. He can lay his head back against them at the perfect angle to see the rest of them playing with his body, and Lucifer with her eyes still shut and her cheeks turning the pretty shade of pink Sarah’s always do when he’s teasing her clit. The tentacle in front of him pokes at his lips, but Nick keeps his mouth shut.

He’s scared, but his dick is as hard as ever in Lucifer’s hand.

Now, when Lucifer strokes him, Nick can’t get away from her. He can’t block her touch or shut his legs. He’s open, every part of him caressed by her. Some tentacles wrap around where he’s tense and massage him into submission. They know exactly how to work his muscles to make him go limp. His legs are useless, totally engulfed in tentacles, moving only at Lucifer’s whim to spread Nick wider, tearing his pants further apart. The stubborn one at his lips rubs along them again. Nick still doesn’t give it a way in.

It’s hard not to moan as she plays with him. She rolls his balls in her other palm. Nick tosses his head. He bites down on his lip to keep his mouth shut, but pathetic noises escape his throat anyway. His eyes roll back into his head as the tentacle gets frustrated and wraps around his neck. It cuts off his air just as Lucifer makes him come a second time.

Pleasure floods his senses, leaving him unable to defend himself. He sucks in a deep breath when the tentacle lets him go. It wiggles between his lips and Nick licks it, not a thought in his head except for letting Lucifer wring out the final waves of his orgasm. When she pulls her hand away, Nick’s whole body slumps into her tentacles in exhaustion. His cock flops down, drained of all its usefulness.

Nick hears another crack, and when Lucifer reaches up to touch his cheek, the cuff on her right wrist is gone. She traces his stretched-thin lips as the tentacle explores every crevice of his mouth. It’s both firm enough that he can’t push it out and malleable enough to slide deeper inside without choking him yet. Nick gives up and sucks on it.

“We have a lot more to go,” Lucifer says. Nick groans around the tentacle. He doesn’t think he can survive her touching his cock again. “Shhh. You promised me everything, remember?” She leans forward and kisses the corner of Nick’s mouth before running her tongue up her own tentacle.

Nick hears the sound of his underwear ripping before he feels it get torn off of his body. He can’t even flinch from the sudden vulnerability. Lucifer won’t let him. She kisses his soft cock and kneads his balls until she finds his hole. Nick cries out when she touches him there.

“Has anyone ever filled you before, Nick,” Lucifer asks, “or do I get to be your first? I’m going to make you feel so good, you’ll never be able to go back. You’re going to want something inside you all the time.” She uses his come to press her finger past his rim. “Poor, empty Nick. Will you come find me when you can’t satisfy yourself?” He expects it to hurt, but instead, the way his rim clenches around her as she patiently pushes deeper feels good. His cock twitches, but it can’t get hard again.

“Maybe you’ll bring your wife with you, and I can teach her to fuck you. I don’t usually like sharing my pets, but…” Lucifer lifts a hand to her own face to cup her cheek. Nick watches her caress Sarah’s body. “If you love her this much, I can make an exception.”

Nick is grateful for the tentacle in his mouth for distracting him with a deep thrust. He might have come dry from Lucifer’s words alone if he wasn’t gagging on it. She relents, dragging the tentacle back out to rest the tip against his lips. He could shut his mouth and keep her out, he realizes. For how long, he doesn't know, but he could defy her, if he wanted.

Nick licks the tentacle until it fills his mouth back up. His eyes slide shut in pleasure as it thrusts shallowly into him in time with Lucifer’s finger. The tentacles supporting him and holding his ass up for Lucifer to use squirm and writhe around his body, wrapping around his arms and holding him tighter like they love him too much to let go. Lucifer opens him up. The intrusion becomes pure pleasure. He waits for one of her tentacles to loosen and join her finger, stretching him wider around it. The one in his mouth is already so thick that his jaw is getting sore, and he can't imagine how full he would feel with one in his ass.

None of them move. They grip him tighter.

Nick opens his eyes blearily as Lucifer spreads his hole with her thumbs. His gaze drifts down her body as he swallows around her tentacle. Lucifer spreads her legs. Below her belly, he can see her wet pussy and her swollen clit. His dick twitches again.

Her clit twitches in response.

Nick watches transfixed as it throbs, grows, stretches. Her clit thickens into a tentacle as big as any of the others. Nick feels himself drooling around the tentacle in his mouth. Lucifer pulls him closer, tentacles spreading his thighs and thumbs holding his hole open. Her tentacle-like clit pushes against his ass. Nick groans. He's still tight around her as she nestles her clit inside him, and it burns. "This belongs to me. You belong to me," Lucifer says as she sinks deeper inside him. He can feel her clit throbbing inside him. It reaches further than her fingers could, further than he knew he could feel anything, and then draws back. She thrusts shallower as though she's searching for something.

And when she finds it, Nick see stars.

"There," Lucifer purrs, and he has no time to recover before her clit is abusing that spot, able to perfectly angle against it. Nick whimpers, and the tentacle in his mouth fills his throat. He nearly chokes. He can suck in short, shallow breaths around it as it worms deeper until it finally cuts him off. He writhes under her attention, spitroasted on her tentacles. His mind empties as he suffocates, and all the space fills with ecstasy. Black spots dance in front of his eyes, spinning and spinning with each thrust inside him. He feels himself dangle at the edge of unconsciousness before the tentacle pulls back, and he can suck in a huge breath. Lucifer grinds into him. Every part of him that wakes back up feels pleasure first, completely, always.

Nick comes with a shout as the tentacle squirms out of his mouth and smears his own spit along his cheek. His cock leaks come as it flops with each of Lucifer's thrusts.

She doesn't stop. Each thrust forces another few weak drops out of his slit until she can't even wring that from him. All he can do is sob as he comes dry. Tentacles reach down his belly to his soft cock and wrap it up. Nick cries as they curl tighter and tighter. Lucifer strokes his poor, abused balls, a brief kindness before she grabs them hard and squeezes them. Nick screams. Her clit slams against his prostate as she crushes his balls until there is nothing, nothing, left in him to give.

She lets go and slows her thrusts. Her tentacles around his cock loosen. They become a soft, cool cradle. They sweep under his balls to protect them as well. Nick whimpers, turning his head into the tentacle that belongs in his mouth. He kisses it desperately until it returns, the tip stroking his lips and pushing back inside. He sucks on it for comfort.

"You're not done, Nick," Lucifer says. Nick looks at her, begging silently for mercy that she won't give. She lifts her hand to examine the still-cuffed wrist. The cuff cracks and falls to the ground. She still wears the chain around her throat and the cuffs on her ankles.

Nick sobs louder as she begins to fuck him again. Tears cover his cheeks. He sniffs and shivers with each thrust, unable to stop. It's impossibly good. All he can hear is Lucifer's, or Sarah's, voice, telling him how perfect he is, how he needs to stay still and give her everything. He nods as he cries. She can take it all. He wants to be hers.

He's a mess. He's covered in his own tears and come. Lucifer stretches his hole out with her clit, but her thrusts are shallow to turn him into mush with all the focus on his prostate. He keeps feeling his balls tighten, but no come escapes his slit and it turns into agonizing rapture.

Another tentacle drifts down under his balls. Lucifer slows as it wriggles against Nick's hole. He cries her name, a unintelligible mess around her tentacle as it pushes deeper and deeper into his throat, happy to choke him again if it makes him come harder. He's pulled too wide around her clit, her tentacle, but he can't deny her. The tentacle slides deeper than her clit. Nick can't take it. His mind goes blank. All that's left is his desire to give himself to her.

He comes, and it hurts, and he comes again, and it hurts more. All his pain becomes pleasure, and his pleasure becomes pain, and Lucifer doesn't stop fucking him. He loses track of time.

Her cuffs crack bit by bit with each orgasm she forces him to have. When he stops being able to have them, when it all becomes one long wave of feeling, the cuffs shatter like he has. The chain around her neck fights to hold, but it's nothing in the face of Lucifer's determination to be free and Nick's broken cries of pleasure. Lucifer fills him with more tentacles, straining his numb jaw and pulling his hole impossibly wide around the writhing masses she forces into his body. His cock is crushed again, his balls squeezed almost flat, but it only feels good.

Finally, the chain falls to the floor. Lucifer glows like the sun in Nick's teary eyes.

She keeps using him a little longer, taking every last drop of power she can from his body.

----

Sarah will not wait another minute. One week, they've been telling her she can't go into that tomb and find her husband. One week, they've locked up the entrance and won't let anyone in. She packs her bags tonight. Not one more minute. She will walk down into the dark and bring Nick back, and then she will be bringing him home. No excavation that treats him like he's so disposable deserves him. Their baby kicks inside her belly like they agree with her. She soothes them both with a hand against her belly. She has everything she could think of to bring for first aid packed away, all the tools she'll need for navigation, food for him to eat, and she's filled two canteens to pack. Nick would have brought his own supplies. (She won't even allow herself to think about finding him dead.) Their tent opens behind her, and she turns with a sharp word on the tip of her tongue, the canteen she's holding clutched tight enough to hit whoever is coming over the head if they try to stop her.

It's Nick. He's shaking at the entrance as though his legs can barely hold him up. His shirt is torn open, and his belt and jacket are missing. His pants look like they've been ripped up, too.

"Sarah," he struggles to say. His voice is wrecked. He takes another step before she's at his side. Nick all but collapses into her, and Sarah staggers under him. He's heavy, but she's the one they let drag around ancient bodies on these excavations and that shows. He limps with her to their shared cot, but he won't let her go. "Sarah, please, please," he sounds scared, as though he thinks she's going to leave him.

"Sit," she says firmly. Nick's legs go out from under him without argument. He drops onto the cot hard enough to make it creak. She cups his chin and tilts it back. Nick lets her. His eyes are puffy and rimmed red, and he's covered in bruises. The ones on his chest she can understand, attribute to clumsiness, but the ones ringing his throat? Those terrify her. His bruised lips? Those confuse her to no end. Gently, she places the lip of the canteen against his mouth and tips it slowly to make him drink. Nick shuts his eyes and sips the water at the steady pace she allows. "Nick," she says softly, petting his messy hair. She stops the flow to let him breathe, and he sucks down a shaky breath. "What happened to you?"

"Can- Can I?" Nick reaches out a hand towards her belly. She strokes his hair.

"Go ahead, baby." She's never been one for pet names, but right now, he looks like he needs that gentleness. Nick touches her belly and leans forward to rest his head against it. He shivers again.

"I think I just ended the world," he whispers. Sarah frowns.

"You need a doctor and something to eat. You haven't done anything." Nick shakes his head.

"I set Her free, and-" Nick inhales again, his voice full of guilt and pure awe. "I liked it. I'd let Her use me again." Sarah's heart stops.

"Someone did this to you." She curls her hand around the back of his head, keeping him close against her belly. Nick struggles to look up at her anyway, tears in his eyes.

"She looked like you," he whispers. "I couldn't tell Her no. You're so beautiful, Sarah, you're so-" He chokes on a sob.

"Nick-"

"No. No doctors. Please." Sarah reluctantly relents, at least for the night. She makes him drink more and feeds him by hand. He tries to explain himself, but nothing he says makes any sense. He talks about impossible flowers and a shapeshifting woman rising from the dead, and then he stops and begs her to forgive him, which she does without hesitation. Only when he's sure she won't hate him does he tell her the rest. He can't talk about it without telling her how good it all felt again and again, and where Sarah knows there should be jealousy, instead all she finds is anger at this demon or god or ghost that Nick says he found (because Sarah has always believed in those things, despite Nick's protests) for not taking care of him properly when she was done.

(Maybe there's a little jealousy. Nick talks about being filled by her, and it's with an expression she's never seen on his face before. She wants to be the cause of that, she realizes. She bites her lip. She wants to see him wailing beneath her as she fucks him.)

She checks over his entire body for worse damage as she rubs soothing cream into his bruises. Nick is exhausted. When he has nothing left to tell her, she can see him begin to nod off. She shocks him awake again accidentally when she touches his soft cock. (It looks so abused, used up just like the rest of him. His balls are in the same state. She can't help but want to make sure he's okay.) He cringes back. "Don't," he hisses, "it's so sore." She kisses his bruised thigh instead before rubbing the cream into it as well.

When Nick is finally all taken care of, she helps him lower himself into the cot. The soreness must be spreading through the rest of his body with how stiffly he moves. She's surprised he was able to walk all the way out on his own, but then she sees the way he gazes up at her and knows why. Sarah joins him in the cot. She tucks the blankets up around his chest until he's safe and warm, back with her again. He turns his head to keep looking at her. She traces the worry lines on his forehead before leaning over to soothe them with a kiss.

"If you did end the world," she tells him, (It's a very big if. She doesn't think she would blame Nick even if whatever he set free burned it all down.) "then we can deal with it tomorrow." Nick nods.

She cuddles in close to him. She'd rest her head on his shoulder or his chest normally, but she doesn't want to aggravate his soreness. She settles for an arm around him.

"I missed you," she says. She hasn't been able to sleep well without him. Nick stares at her like he's trying to commit every detail of her face to memory.

"I love you." She smiles. She knows. She almost laughs because even the being that took Nick from her and left him in this state has to know that by now.

They will face whatever comes next together, whether that's Nick's new desires or the Apocalypse.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

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