Bacon cheeseburgers, Lucifer decided, were excellent.

He thought he'd eaten enough of them by now to form a concrete opinion. He liked the solidity of them, the salt, how well they paired with the fries and the beer. He hadn't exactly kept track of how many there had been, of the burgers or anything else; almost as many as had originally been placed on the table for him, he assumed. Sam probably knew precisely. Lucifer didn't care nearly enough to consult him.

Food had always been an important part of Lucifer's legacy, starting with that first quince he'd offered Eve in Eden. He'd actually never had the chance to sample any himself before now, which was a pity. Being an archangel meant he could weave himself much more completely into his vessel's senses than his lesser brethren, see and taste and feel as a human rather than a cosmic, ageless being of pure light and energy. If he wanted to. Which he did.

He had found proof of more food than he'd ever imagined existed in Sam's memories. There were few things he could keep from him now, and when he'd finally submitted, let Lucifer pin him down in the skull they now shared, the first thing Lucifer had done was crack open his recollections like a book. He paged through memories glittery with happiness and darkened by a rainbow of agonies, and found delicacies Sam considered mundane. Meats, fruits, pastries, vegetables, all shocking and exotic to Lucifer. And so many of them at least included things his Father had originally forbidden humanity from eating (much like the stupid quince), which made it all doubly delicious.

Lucifer couldn't have cared less about food back when he'd been wearing Nick. There'd been worlds to conquer, other angels to kill, just too much to do. Not to mention gallons of demon blood to drink to keep his vessel from coming apart at the seams. Now, though, he'd won. He was in his true vessel, Michael showed zero signs of slipping into his anytime soon, and the rest of their brothers and sisters were hunkered down in Heaven, scared half to death. Why shouldn't he enjoy what the world that was nearly his had to offer? He asked his demons, always eager to please, to rustle up an assortment of the things he was most curious about, the majority of which Sam had spent years pretending he didn't like.

And had they ever delivered. The table Lucifer sat down to several hours ago, by no means a small one, had been covered from end to end with platters, cups, bowls, and glasses. Burgers, sandwiches, pizzas, fries, cakes, candies, pies...magnificent.

It was decimated now, most of the food gone, most platters empty. Lucifer took a bite of the second-to-last bacon cheeseburger, washing it down with a mouthful of Sam's very favorite kind of beer. He sighed in sheer pleasure at the complimentary flavors. His wings bristled, even. Which was painful, but what else was new?

His vessel's wardrobe for one, Lucifer supposed. One of the first things he'd done with Sam's meat was burn the clothes it'd been wrapped in when it came to him and procure a new, much classier collection. He was wearing one of his favorite pieces now, a tailored white single-breasted. Everyone associated him with darkness, he knew. But white had always been his favorite color.

The suit wasn't very well-composed right now. The buttons were undone on the shirt, jacket, and slacks, and all three were thrown wide open, blood-colored tie tossed over the shoulder. Lucifer had had to make room for his stomach to expand as he filled it.

It was massively swollen with all the good, rich food he'd been provided, so large that it rested hard on his thighs and, when he spread his legs to make room for the girth, the chair below him. It bowed out on the sides, was rounded most pleasingly on the top, tan skin pocked with dark moles like blind eyes. Of course he'd used his Grace to let the organs and skin stretch as much as he wanted to, and draw in the blood needed for digestion (some of which must have spilled into Sam's genitals, with the way his cock was twitching; what else could it be?). Sam definitely would have burst otherwise.

Speaking of Sam, Lucifer could feel how irritated he was without even trying. He smirked as he finished the burger and lazily floated the final brownie over to himself.

Cheer up, buttercup. Oh, the English vernacular was just hilarious. You have to know there are way worse things I could be doing with your body.

You mean like killing everybody I love? Sam responded. Sulking as usual, Lucifer saw.

You and I both know your brother's in the wind. Not dead. Lucifer finished the brownie and drained the beer. He looked around for another, but there wasn't one, so he just grabbed the last cheeseburger. Probably holed up with his allies. As for the dysfunctional little seraph that's been puppydogging around after you guys for a couple years now...well, yeah, I killed him, but he's back now, apparently. Super annoying.

Sam was silent, but his misery pulsed hot and strong through the thin barrier between them. His obnoxious pining for Dean was the only thing as constant as the pain in Lucifer's long-damaged wings. He'd thought his relationships with his siblings were unhealthy, but...he honestly had nothing on the Winchesters.

There was no food left, Lucifer noted with disappointment as he licked grease and condiments off his fingers. Right as he decided he was done, air forced its way up from his stomach and loudly out of his mouth, leaving him feeling much more comfortable. He knew from Sam that was called burping, or belching, and Lucifer liked it.

Lucifer stood up. Of course he had no issues, despite the considerable heft of his far-overfilled stomach. The food shifting inside him with the movement was oddly pleasant.

Hope you're not planning on eating like that all the time, Sam said, just a mumble in the back of Lucifer's mind.

Why on earth not? Lucifer replied pleasantly.

"Well, then, send another message to Heaven," Lucifer ordered Asmodeus. "Make sure they know Michael isn't going to save them, and neither is my Father." He put what Sam had termed a "handful," although it really wasn't, of potato chips in his mouth, then spoke around them. "They can either swear fealty to me or prepare to have their wings sawn off."

Asmodeus said nothing, just gave a nod and stepped back from the throne. His face was totally blank under the claw marks Lucifer had gouged so deep into his essence they showed up an angry red on every vessel he took. He was doing well so far. Just as manically, pathetically eager to please as Lucifer remembered him (although the white suit, nearly identical to Lucifer's favorite, was a bit much). Of course, he still had him and his other remaining Princes on a short leash. Couldn't ever be too careful.

Lucifer swallowed his mouthful of potato chips, tossed more in, and rearranged Sam's long limbs on his throne as he waited for the next in a long line of demons needing his attention. Said throne was surprisingly comfortable, having been thrown together by demons in only a couple of days. Very good for lounging. Quite nice to look at, too. It matched the aesthetic of the place Lucifer had chosen to hold court in: the chapel of an abandoned mental hospital. He enjoyed the echoes of human insanity. Maybe they called to something kindred in him.

The demon who stepped up next couldn't seem to keep its eyes, solid black in Lucifer's presence, off his inflated stomach. As usual, it was too large to fit in his clothing, the edges of today's midnight-blue suit lying open around it like a flower. It gurgled faintly, and Lucifer was sure the staring demon heard it. He probably saw the bulge in Lucifer's slacks below it, too, another mysterious halfway erection courtesy of Sam. Lucifer couldn't care less.

Over the past couple of weeks, Lucifer had identified many, many favorite foods, the heavier in sugar and grease, the better. According to Sam's memories, Lucifer's tastes overlapped almost perfectly with Dean's. He would've thought that would make him happy. For some reason, it seemed to cause him pain instead.

Not that that was about to stop Lucifer from enjoying the foods he liked as often as he could, which was essentially all the time. He kept his vessel always filled to capacity and beyond just because it was an option.

Sam pouted about it. But Sam pouted about most things.

"Well?" Lucifer asked the demon impatiently, then burped. He went for more chips, then realized the bag was empty of everything but the crumbs he promptly poured into his mouth. He washed them down with the soda he occasionally preferred to beer.

"My lord," the demon began, eyes still fixed firmly on Lucifer's middle. Lucifer wiped his hands on his slacks, the grease disappearing immediately, then snapped his fingers at the attendants standing dutifully near his throne. One removed the empty bag and the other presented him with an assortment of candy bars, unwrapped and arranged artfully in a crystal bowl. Lucifer leaned it against the bulge of his stomach. "I have news of Michael's sword."

That perked Sam right up, of course. Like exactly nothing Lucifer ever did.

"Oh, you do?" Lucifer bit into a candy bar. The combination of chocolate, caramel, and nuts had him fluttering Sam's long eyelashes in pleasure. Demons disgusted him, but they were necessary and very, very obedient.

"It's not much," the demon warned.

After another swig of soda, Lucifer burped again. "Well, go ahead anyway."

Lucifer's personal suite had been renovated as quickly as possible by demons who knew what they were doing. No luxury had been spared, no corner left without elegant decoration. The spacious, beautiful rooms contrasted so sharply with the austere cage where Lucifer had spent most of his life it was nearly painful sometimes. Currently, they were covered with sumptuous clothes that had all somehow grown too tight. Lucifer, standing in the middle of the mess and naked as his Father's sin-free human prototypes, faced off with the demon who'd been serving as his tailor for the past several months.

"Why," Lucifer began, slow, deliberate, and angry, "don't they fit anymore?"

He took a bite, as soon as he was finished speaking, of the hot dog, smothered in cheese and chili, he was holding in one hand. His overly-full belly protested until he once again silenced it with a flicker of Grace.

The tailor was absolutely useless. Terror oozing off him in cold, heavy waves, stammering out one non-answer after another, refusing to make eye contact. Lucifer didn't miss the way he kept looking at the vents. Not that he'd even make it to them if he suddenly chose to ditch his meat. Lucifer's annoyance with the demon was building when Sam decided to answer for him.

You can't be that surprised, Sam said with a dry resignation. You haven't been doing anything for months but giving orders and eating. Mostly eating.

What's that got to do with anything? Lucifer demanded.

We're getting fat, Sam clarified, a vicious edge in his thought-voice. You're making us fat.

Lucifer was immediately able to pull context for that statement out of Sam's mind. He cocked his head, confused, and took another bite of his hot dog. Then he turned to look at the ornate, full-length mirror hung on the opposite wall. He'd killed the demon who put it in here but hadn't gotten rid of it.

He saw Sam's soul. Because Sam refused to believe they were two halves of the same being, as Lucifer had worked out, and clung stubbornly to his distinct existence. Lucifer saw his true self, which was the primary reason he didn't like looking in mirrors. He also saw the body the two of them shared. And he had to admit it seemed to have grown.

The sharp angles of Sam's pectorals had stretched into soft curves, and the same had happened to his face, cheekbones and jaw become something much rounder and less severe. The thighs were quite thick. The hips had widened considerably. It followed that the rear had also expanded, which Lucifer confirmed with his free hand. The stomach was as bloated, heavy, and well-fed as it always was, but also considerably larger than it had been the first time he feasted.

This padding, this soft, squishy stuff that bounced and jiggled most pleasingly, was really the result of Lucifer's eating habits? Sam's experiences said yes, words like "calories" and "fat cells" jumping out at Lucifer, but it still seemed hard to believe. Thoughtfully, he finished his hot dog, belched, then summoned a bacon cheeseburger to his hand from one of the many tables throughout his rooms. His demons kept them all constantly overflowing with his favorites.

The tailor apparently found his tongue then. Cowering behind Lucifer, he apologized quietly.

"I've let everything out as much as I can, my lord, added expansion panels...perfectly discreet, of course. But I think you're going to need bigger - "

Lucifer snapped his fingers. He heard the vessel's neck break (much to Sam's dismay), felt the infernal flame of the demon's essence die out. A moment later, another demon appeared, one of Lucifer's attendants summoned by his silent call. Lucifer liked this one, although he was never going to be able to remember her name. She was unmoved by the corpse and Lucifer's nudity both.

"Clean up this mess," Lucifer ordered, indicating the empty, very dead vessel. "Then get me a new tailor. One who specializes in larger sizes." He popped the last bite of cheeseburger into his mouth. The wrapper disappeared as he crumpled it, eaten by red, smokeless flames. "I want something heavy and sweet, too. A lot of it."

"Absolutely, my lord," the attendant promised, bowing. She grabbed the corpse while she was down there, vanishing with it in tow.

Once he was alone again, Lucifer turned back to the mirror, blocking out his true form in favor of looking at just his and Sam's body. He rubbed their belly, plump and stuffed, with both hands, groaning at the sensation it produced. He didn't mind the changes, he decided.

In fact, he might even like them. Apparently, so did Sam, given the engorgement of his cock at Lucifer's touch. That was entirely Sam, since Lucifer had never seen the point in attaching himself to his vessel's genitalia. All of the reactions had been Sam.

Sam did his best to ignore it. Lucifer grinned with his face.

The nest Lucifer had had built in his quarters, a mountain of very expensive pillows, blankets, and cushions, was comfortable enough, he supposed. For having been built by demons. They were terrible at it compared to angels, no instinct for it whatsoever. It was especially disappointing after how good a job they'd done with the throne. He killed five out of frustration before they finally got it halfway right, which probably hadn't been the best decision, but it wasn't as if there was going to be a shortage of demons anytime soon. Especially not with the way crossroads deals had boomed during the apocalypse.

Nestled deep in the softness, Lucifer polished off a tub of cookie dough ice cream, Sam's favorite flavor. It had melted, so he was able to just drink the last of it. He set aside the empty carton with a satisfied groan, then hiccuped. A spasm of the diaphragm. According to Sam's knowledge of how things worked, he'd been doing that rather than burping lately because there was no extra air to be expelled. There was no room for any extra air.

"How long have I been at this?" Lucifer lazily asked the demon who appeared promptly to replace his ice cream with what Sam knew as loaded nachos. He'd long since learned the value of the sweet-salty dichotomy.

"Three days, my lord."

Lucifer inspected his belly, the weight of which he would definitely have been pinned under without the benefit of angelic strength, and decided it could certainly reflect seventy-two straight hours of glutting himself on myriad treats. Fried foods, red meats, and pastries chief among them. His stomach was awesomely bloated, larger than he'd ever had it before, filling Lucifer's entire field of vision and glowing a faint red with the Grace that had helped it expand. It was taut, Lucifer's senses picking out a near-perfect sphere. The navel had inverted itself as a result of the internal pressure, a highly-sensitive little nub Lucifer would have tweaked with his wingtips if he hadn't been afraid of hurting the broken feathers.

Heaven had formally surrendered and accepted Lucifer's rule. Such a momentous occasion called for a celebration. For Lucifer, that meant dressing in clothing Sam knew was comfortable and stretched easily (a T-shirt and sweatpants), settling down in his mediocre nest, and indulging in a binge lasting, apparently, three days.

Lucifer felt bigger. The clothing had been very loose when he'd put it on, but now the shirt was functioning much the same as a bra would for a woman. His legs felt like sausages in the casings in the once-baggy pants. Sam's biological processes were powered fully by Lucifer's Grace, so every calorie Lucifer ingested went straight to filling him out.

Sam had been oddly quiet. Lucifer knew it was because he was embarrassed, humiliated, really, by his enjoyment of this. The full-blown erection he'd developed in front of the mirror two months ago hadn't been the last by a long shot. The more Lucifer ate, the heavier he got, the more he touched their changing body, the more frequent and intense Sam's hard-ons got.

Sam was ashamed. And confused. Lucifer got the impression he hadn't known this about himself, which confused Lucifer, too. Sam was an adult, had been sexually mature for over a decade. How could the depths of his own sexuality possibly have been a mystery to him?

Lucifer groaned again, content, and rubbed his huge belly with one hand as he shoved meat and cheese and tortilla chips into his mouth with the other. His growing gut gurgled loudly, as it always did, with constant digestion, and the many, many contents sloshed most pleasurably at the movement of Lucifer's massage. It was all for Sam's benefit. Of course he was aroused right now, and of course this triggered a powerful orgasm. Lucifer enjoyed those, though he didn't experience them directly. The sensation that leaked through the barrier Sam maintained reminded him of being in the presence of his Father.

Not that he missed that or anything.

Lucifer smirked at Sam, who was blushing as much as a soul could, inside their head, then cleaned up the semen he'd spilled with a thought. He understood it was quite the accomplishment, for a human to climax with no direct stimulation to the sex organs. He also understood he was the only one to ever give Sam that. Sam hated him for it, which seemed irrational, but Lucifer had long since given up on trying to understand the tightly-wound bundle of guilt, rage, and psychoses that was Sam Winchester.

The nachos were nearly gone when another demon entered Lucifer's space. He couldn't see it, of course, but he felt it.

"My lord, Heaven has given up Michael," the demon announced. "We've taken him into custody based on the specifications you provided us with. Would you like to see him?"

For just a moment, Lucifer and Sam felt exactly the same thing: panic. There was just no way they could be seen by anyone besides demons in the state they were in. Especially not Michael, and possibly Dean, because maybe he was in his true vessel. It only lasted that one moment, though. For Lucifer, at least. He forcibly reminded himself that he loved this, and that he hadn't cared what Michael thought since the dawn of humanity.

"Absolutely," Lucifer said, calm. "Bring him in."

While they did that, he resituated himself in his nest. It wasn't too difficult, with his Grace and the muscles Sam still had under the layers of fat. He grunted in surprise when his massive stomach shifted downwards. It was enough to wring another orgasm from Sam; it was weak, since he'd just had one, and mostly dry, but it definitely happened, surprising Lucifer. At least it calmed Sam down some.

Michael was led in, a small legion of demons surrounding him, each holding the end of one of the Enochian-carved chains wound around him like he was a maypole. They held his wings tightly, his Grace. More binding sigils had been carved directly into the rapidly-weakening flesh of his vessel, probably by holy blades. Said vessel appeared to be a temporary one he was rapidly burning through, white-gold Gracelight shining out of every orifice and bones wavering shadows beneath the glowing skin. Sam was both relieved and disappointed he wasn't wearing Dean.

There was unmitigated shock on Michael's true face when he saw Lucifer. However, all six of his wings also tried to flare, prompting clanking from the chains and nervous glances from the demons, and that shocked Lucifer in turn.

"I realize you probably hate humans far too much to know anything about them, Lucifer." Michael spoke stiffly, either his natural formality coming through or him not wanting his vessel's jaw to fall off. "But you don't need to feed your vessel while you're occupying it. Especially not as a pig from the trough."

"I'm not ashamed to admit I very much enjoy human food, in a way I only can in a human body," Lucifer replied airily, then hiccuped. "One tailor-made for me." He wanted something to drink, but didn't bother with any of the demons, just summoning a liter bottle of soda directly to Sam's hands. "I'm aware I'm beginning to look rather overfed, as my vessel constantly reminds me. I could snap my fingers and lose all this weight instantly, but I enjoy it, too."

"Your vessel's soul is still present?" Michael was surprised.

"He's my partner, Michael, my other half," Lucifer complained, feigning offense and pretending the plan hadn't been to assimilate Sam. "Obviously, you don't play well with others, but Sam's yet another thing I enjoy."

"You always were a hedonist," Michael commented flatly. "At least now your vessel matches your ego: both are obscenely bloated."

Lucifer snorted. "I can see your wings, brother mine. What's more hedonistic than arousal at my current form?"

That prompted only stony silence from Michael, and a very unsuccessful attempt to re-fold his wings, which were straining against their chains much like a cock against a cage. Lucifer silently thanked Sam for the apt simile.

"Shall we put him away, my lord?" asked the demon at the head of Michael's guard. With a start, Lucifer realized it was Asmodeus. He had a tendency to blend in. "Prepare for execution?"

"No...no." Lucifer eyed Michael's twitching wings, feathers sticking out everywhere, and positively effervescent Grace. "Leave him here."

He shifted his considerable weight and realized he probably hadn't needed to have his demons floor his nest with pillows. His vessel's rump was growing quite plush enough.

"I have plans for my older brother."

It'd been a long day of ruling over Heaven, Hell, and Earth. Lucifer had retired to his quarters for some much-deserved rest...and dinner. The constant snacking that had filled his afternoon hardly counted.

Reclining in his nest, Lucifer opened his mouth for a forkful of syrup-soaked sponge cake. The nest was magnificently comfortable. Michael was much better at building them than the demons were. And at feeding Lucifer, and at massaging his poor, much-abused belly. Not that he ever actually had them doing either of the latter two. They didn't deserve to touch him.

Michael's Grace and powers were bound quite tightly in his new vessel, one of a large supply of disposable bodies Lucifer had lined up for him. Lucifer had done the binding himself, being very careful to leave his wings free. He wanted to watch them spread and bristle every time he burped, or Michael laid hands on him, or watched him eat.

"You disgust me, Lucifer," Michael said quietly as he sank a hand into the doughy mass of Lucifer's stomach, which could (and was going to be) much, much fuller. "Wallowing in pleasures of the flesh when your hatred for humanity was why you fell in the first place. Are you aware of the havoc your incessant gorging has wrought on your vessel? Of how massively fat you've become?"

"I think we've been over this." Lucifer opened his mouth, petulantly, for more cake.

"And your vessel's soul?" Michael gave it to him, leaning over Lucifer to tend to his substantial belly. The Grace pressed against the thin spots in his vessel burned pleasantly hot on Lucifer's bare skin. "Is he not horrified by what you've done to his body?"

"Oh, he pretends he is, but when he's asleep, like right now..." A dozen climaxes a day just wore Sam right out. Poor thing. "...he dreams about being much larger than he is now. About his brother feeding him and caring for him. You know, like I'm making you do for me."

Lucifer grinned up at Michael, batting Sam's lashes. Michael, expressionless, aggressively crammed his mouth full of cake.

"Really, his brother's all he thinks about when he's awake, too," Lucifer commented once his mouth was empty. "It's annoying. Can't be healthy. I think he'd actually be perfectly happy if he weren't mooning after Dean."

Michael snorted at that. Lucifer observed, "You're getting better at controlling a vessel." He stretched luxuriously, spreading his wings with a popping of bones and tendons, then returned to the subject of Sam. "I've told him the fact Dean hasn't tried to save him from me means he doesn't want him anymore. I think he believes me."

Michael didn't respond right away. He wedged a milkshake into the pillowy cleft of Lucifer's chest, guiding the straw into his mouth, then began to massage his monumental gut. He rubbed him down with a lotion one of the demons, an acolyte of the late Gluttony, had recommended to keep Sam's skin supple and free of marks. Lucifer had just resigned himself to Michael being appalled at what he'd said (not that he cared) when Michael spoke up.

"I feel some sympathy for the little monkey." Apparently, he was choosing to ignore the size Lucifer had fed Sam to. "Losing a brother is a personal apocalypse." His eyes, shedding Gracelight, were locked on Lucifer as he spoke. "Regaining him is better than salvation, or victory."

He moved up Lucifer's stomach with the lotion. The feathers of his wings, spread, of course, brushed against Lucifer's. There was none of the agony he would've usually expected, only icy lightning bolts that had much in common with Sam's orgasms. Lucifer had found that, once he became full enough, the pain in his wings miraculously vanished. The same thing happened when he was around Michael. Maybe a side effect of his leaking Grace.

Lucifer's milkshake rattled empty. That must have been the last of the food, because Michael let go of him and stood up, vanishing the empty cup with a touch as soon as he was on his feet.

"What would you like me to stuff and fatten your greedy belly with next, Deceiver?" Michael asked, climbing out of the nest.

"Ah...bacon." Lucifer shifted to recline on his side, stomach resting in a hollow of silky cushions in front of him. He was rapidly approaching a size where movement would be very difficult for a human, but of course that wouldn't be an issue for him. "And chocolate."

Michael snorted again. He always overused every new gesture he mastered until everyone was sick of it.

"You're an insult to our Father," he stated. "A spoiled brat."

"Mm." Lucifer petted his own belly. "And whose fault is that?"

Lucifer had a new throne. It was much larger than his old one, which he'd been literally spilling out of; more like a bench than a throne, really. He more or less expected to outgrow it soon. Michael had been very attentive, even introducing him to something thicker and sweeter than whole milk. Heavy cream, according to the demons. Lucifer couldn't get enough of it.

He was foregoing clothes now. As big as he'd gotten, it was just more practical. Any clothing that actually fit him would have to be sewn from scratch, and there were better things for his demons to spend their time on.

Sam was embarrassed, of course. Never mind that there was no way anyone could see his frequent, massive, and throbbing erections.

Lucifer believed he had a way to distract him. Sitting in his throne room, Michael at his side to feed him the fried chicken he'd asked for, Lucifer mentally nudged Sam. Since his soul and Lucifer's Grace were still depressingly separate.

I've got a surprise for you, Sammy, he told him once he had his attention. It was right after that that Asmodeus appeared, scarred and white-clad, arms folded behind his back in some kind of ridiculous parade-rest position.

"My lord, we've caught the Michael sword," he announced. "Along with a couple'a others, all tryin' to sneak into your palace."

"Well - " Lucifer interrupted himself with a belch, feeling his body jiggle with the force of it, as anxiety, relief, hope, horror, and a thousand other emotions exploded into him from Sam. "Bring him to us. His brother's dying to see him."

Lucifer absentmindedly stroked the belly he'd nurtured to such a round, soft, lovely, and above all large shape for months now, already quite full from the breakfast Michael had treated him to several hours ago. Something like thirty thousand calories, not that anyone was counting. He wondered if Dean would be pleased at how he'd changed his brother. According to Sam's own hidden fantasies, as it had turned out.

Lucifer glanced at Michael, his multiple chins moving over his chest with the movement of his head, and smirked at Michael's erect wings even as Michael popped a piece of chicken into Lucifer's mouth with greasy, glowing fingers.

Dean would like all this just fine, he imagined.