thelockbox | Lucifer

[Somehow Jeff knows there's something amiss before he even gets through the door, although even that suspicion can't prepare him for the sight. He freezes in the doorway without properly registering anything before him, staring, dead eyed at a clean spot of the floor. It's something he can't even begin to process, his mind still wrestling with whether to walk in or turn tail and run the fuck away as quick as he can. There's almost some relief that the decision is made for him as he feels an arm suddenly around him and a change in scenery. Jeff doesn't even try to get away from the grip.

The release has him stumbling, dropping to his knees heavily and retching, and for once in his life he seriously doesn't care if he's ruining the pants of his nice, expensive suit. Where they are doesn't even matter (he's glad to be away from whatever that was, but if the last visual clue hadn't been enough, the voice he hears solidifies the fact he's well and truly fucked.

He gives himself a second before turning his gaze towards his company, brows lowered as he swipes the back of his hand briefly over his lips.]

What the fuck...?

[ Lucifer turned his nose up at the vomit, but then this was his magic box, and he could make the environment into anything that he wanted. The vomit was gone with a thought, and Lucifer folded his arms, taking a careful half step back, thoughtful as he looked down at Jeff. ]

Don't act like you don't know what this is, Jeff. You let that little friend of yours shoot my dogs, so I shot his. And I killed his dogs too.

[ Well, that was rude. He'd kind of liked April, when they'd met, but his anger knew no bounds.

He cocked his head, looking Jeffrey over. ] And now I am all out of special pets... Didn't we discuss what would happen to you in such an event? What's wrong, Jeff, did you think that I wouldn't go through with it?

[Not even touching on most of that. Not even thinking about it, because the best way to pretend stuff didn't happen is to never address is ever. It's much harder to ignore the fact he's in some white room with actual Lucifer and very little else in the way of company.

He feels vulnerable enough already, even more so on the floor, so he slowly starts to push himself to his feet, hoping his legs will hold him.] Look, it's not... we can get you more.

It's not that easy to replace a hellhound, Jeffrey. They need to be trained - toilet trained, taught not to kill randomly, taught to come when called, and then dispatched in such a way as to corrupt them cleanly.

No, it took me almost a year to get Cujo trained, Jeff, and it's going to get at least that long to get you polished up too.

[ He stepped in closer, narrowing his eyes. ]

It's all about motivation. Oh, and of course... [ He reached out, touched Jeff's throat, and a silver studded collar all but magically appeared in place. His clothes vanished. ] --humiliation.

Dogs don't stand up on two legs, Jeff.

Me? I'm not-- [As Lucifer steps in, the temptation to get away is strong. Running sounds like a great idea, a really fine choice for survival, but this room doesn't have any noticeable entrance or exits, so how does he run when there's no where to escape to?

Instead of running, he takes a single step back with a leg, shifting his weight back onto it in some vague hope that few inches of distance may somehow discourage the approach. It doesn't. But it's not the hand at his throat that draws his attention, but the sudden, snug fit of something looped around his neck like a collar. He brings his own hand up to feel it, as if not quite believing it's real, so fixated on it that it takes a few more seconds for him to register a chill against his skin as if he's...

His other hand is quick to cup himself, eyebrows lifting at the mention of humiliation, of dogs, of the fact he's standing there in nothing but a collar in a room with no doors or windows.]

Okay! Point made. It's gonna take time, I get that. I'll... I'll help. We find another puppy or whatever and we train it. I'll train it. However long it takes. [Desperation would be a pretty accurate description of his tone right now.]

Dean fell forward uncaring of the mess he landed in. He didn't mind much at the moment, his focus instead on the one beside him. He glanced over at Lucifer his eyes full of hatred and fire in spite of everything that had occurred.

"You're the one who came here, asshole. It wasn't like I was out looking for you." Maybe not directly at least. He'd been looking for a way to save Cas and stop the Darkness, but not overtly looking for the angel himself.

How dare he come here to his home, blackmail him into sex, then act as though he was the one at fault.

Despite the lack of warning, Eliot caught the lube one handed as deftly as if he had been expecting it. He wasn't, he had honestly expected the Devil to make him take Sam the worst way possible. Given the lube was a relief, but it also made him wary over just how much leniency he could show without trying Lucifer's patience.

Eliot didn't look at Lucifer as he began, squeezing out an ample amount from the tube and warming it between his fingers. He worked in silence, touching Sam lightly across his buttocks to alert the other man before he dipped two lubed fingers down to rub between the valley between the mounds.

While Eliot had never done this before with a man, that didn't mean he didn't know how things were done. He had certainly been on the receiving end often enough the past weeks to be intimately familiar with the exercise.

He didn't dare to take too long with that though, just enough to slick the area with lube before he moved the pad of his index finger to probe Sam's pucker within. It was far less tight than he had anticipated, and just touching it seemed to open the man spread beneath him. Sam swallowed his finger up to his first knuckle before he truly pushed, catching him almost by surprise how ready his partner --victim-- seemed to be. It made his stomach clench too because he knew just why it would be that loose.

M'sorry, Sam. God, I'm sorry.

Eliot slowly pushed his finger in all the way and twisted, trying to find that magical spot that would at least make this bearable. But he watched carefully too, trying to make sure Sam wanted that pleasure before forcing it on him. With how stoic the man had been, and his back looking like a cat's scratching post, Eliot hoped he could read him correctly to interpret what he wanted.

"Please, as if I don't know you've been looking for ways to evict me."

He reached forward, patting Dean's cheek, and bent in, turning his head very slightly, looking at him with Castiel's blue eyes.

"Your friend betrayed you, but he did it to save the world, Dean. I think you should bear his wishes in mind."

He didn't leave Dean behind. Instead he bent right in, pressing his mouth against Dean's in, surprisingly, the gentlest possible, lingering kiss.

Sam was fine. Sam stayed still, just concentrating on his own balance, breathing through the agony that was his back. It was nothing compared to what Lucifer had done to him over the first few years of his time in Hell, and he was grateful - immensely grateful - when Eliot took over. Lucifer wouldn't have hesitated to use the vicious device he'd shown him. He'd have driven it deep, pulled it free, then used his blood as a lubricant.

Eliot's touches were practically loving in comparison, slow and tender. Sam knew those, too. Lucifer had touched him softly, he'd made him come tens of thousands of times, like Sam was doing to Eliot.

Apparently Eliot was learning by example very well. He pressed his finger inside and began to twist and shift it, and Sam curled his fingers into the bed in anticipation. Pleasure was good, yes. It took a lot to make Sam come, now, but if Eliot couldn't do it - which was likely considering he was already close - them Sam would have to be put through more still. He always had to come.

He couldn't move much, given the spikes, but he rolled his hips back against Eliot's touch to encourage him, anyway, breathing out a soft exhale of encouragement that he barely felt. It was for Eliot, reassurance.

This was Hell. What did Eliot expect? Sam had grown to accept it. Lucifer could have thrown him into a pit and let every demon in Hell have their turn with him, but he hadn't--this was practically merciful.

"If you think this will make me stop you're insane as well as stupid." Dean mutters to him. He wasn't prepared for what the archangel did just then. The gentle kiss was almost the worst thing to happen to him that night. He knew it was used to throw him off and yet still he couldn't separate the hope and wish that it was Cas giving it too him and not Lucifer.

When the devil pulled away Dean just turned his head away so he could hide the shame on his face. "Get out." His voice was strong in spite of the way he actually felt. How could he have let this happen. If they were in his room he might have been able to do something but alas they were in Castiel's room.

Those small movements were all the reassurance Eliot needed to know that Sam was alright with this. He was turning into his touches, not away, and although that didn't forgive Eliot for what he was doing, it at least made him feel the guilt a little less. He found the soft nub and brushed it slightly, putting his finger in and out twice and although it wasn't a lot, he was certain Sam was ready for another finger.

The second digit went in just as readily as his first, swallowed into the cavern of Sam's body with barely went effort on Eliot's behalf. Even so Eliot twisted his fingers to make sure the area was stretched and lubed. He curled his fingers in a second time to rub Sam's prostate before pushing his third finger in.

Eliot didn't dare to take too long with the preparation although he wished he could have spent more time. With girls he would have taken long minutes, kissing and distracting them while he got them prepared. But he was very aware of the Devil constantly watching them, and they weren't here making love. This wasn't even just sex, and Eliot was preparing Sam for rape.

As he stretched Sam open with three fingers, turning and and pushing them in and out, he reached his other hand around to put a firm grip around Sam's cock. It wasn't his first time touching another man's handle, but he was young and lonely and in a war that had no women close by hundreds of miles away back then. After a firefight and horny with the exhilaration of being alive, a bunch of men sometimes just really wanted another hand on their cocks that just wasn't their own. The theory was much the same, and he knew how to jerk a guy off.

Several more twists of his fingers and strokes of his hand and Eliot pulled back. Sam felt ready, but Eliot's erection had gone down slightly. He poured out more lube to try and pull himself back to fullness.

Sam didn't struggle with the digits. One after another was fine, and even if it had made him slightly uncomfortable it was nothing compared to what Lucifer would have done to him. Eliot was so much more gentle, and Sam was grateful for that. He rolled his hips downward, gently responding to the press of his fingers, echoing each of Eliot's thrusts with one of his own.

It was reciprocation, and Sam made every effort to make sure he knew that he was with Eliot completely. Even with three fingers inside him, Sam gave just as much, making soft breathless noises each time Eliot's fingers brushed against his prostate.

Suddenly Eliot's hand was around him, and it was the first time that he'd ever willingly touched him that way. Sam was grateful, because he needed that push to get beyond his usual limit of pleasure, but more than that, he hadn't needed to ask Eliot to do it. He'd never ordered him to stroke him before, so this, the first time, being willing. It was an open door that Sam would be able to step through later.

He shuddered as Eliot's hand pulled back, his muscles tightening slightly across his shoulders.

"It's okay," he said, breaking his usual silence, speaking because he thought Eliot's stopping was because he was afraid of actually going ahead and doing the act. "You can."

Sam had forgotten his phone, and so he came back rather than heading on for his first stop, to pick it up before he set off again. He came in just as Lucifer was leaving, flinching at the way he grinned viciously at him before galloping up the stairs and into the night.

Sam barely had time to react. He'd come in expecting just Dean, and he hadn't even had his angel blade with him, God knew what would have happened if Lucifer had meant him harm, but Sam is suddenly struck with panic. He sets off through the bunker at top speed, checking the kitchen, then Dean's room, then stumbling past Castiel's before changing his mind and doubling back.

He stumbles in, and then almost immediately to a stop, not sure how to cope with what he's seeing.

"Dean?"

Eliot was very aware of the Devil by the end of the bed, watching every one of his moves with sadistic amusement. Even if the situation weren't as it was, he would've had trouble enjoying himself with such an audience in place. But he tried to think other things, ignore the king of demon while keeping one eye open in case the Devil decided to join in and interrupt.

Sam's words, breaking the man's stoic silence, was unexpected but appreciated. It let Eliot know he wasn't hurting him, and although there was little Sam could say under these circumstances, he chose to reassure Eliot instead of not saying anything at all.

Eliot reached to caress Sam's ass, smearing warm lube across his skin but returning the gesture of reassurance. He wish there was more places he could touch, but with Sam's back the way it was, Eliot didn't dare to put his hands anywhere else. "I've gotcha," he murmured, soft enough to be heard by Sam. He didn't hold hope that Lucifer would've missed it, but he kept his voice low just in case.

Giving Sam's ass crack one last swipe to add on extra lube, Eliot finally shifted himself up between Sam's spread legs and used one hand to press open his cheeks. He used the other to guide himself forward, not quite leaking but hard enough for the job, and lined his tip up against Sam's slicked hole. He gave Sam a few seconds to adjust before he leaned forward and pushed until he slowly breached Sam's defenses.

Dean had managed to shift onto his side, ignoring the twinge in his hips and the pain radiating from a very sensitive area. He didn't register Sam calling his name or the door opening further signaling his brother's arrival. He did hear him when he spoke again though.

"Sammy? No...don't..." Dean tried to curl in tighter to hide himself from his brothers gaze. It was bad enough he'd allowed this to happen but for Sam to find out cut him deep. He never wanted Sam to find out about this night. "I'm fine...you can go."

Sam froze in the doorway. He should have looked away right away but... Jesus, the state of him. Given the way Cas had looked at him, and Dean lying curled up on the bed, butt naked, there was no doubt in Hell what had transpired. He was revolted, and Dean looked freaking horrified, but it was also clear his brother's shame and pain stopped him moving very far.

He pressed forward, ignoring his brother's request for him to go and coming right to Dean's side. He reached up and pulled the spare blanket down, shaking it out over Dean at once to hide his shame.

"Hey. Hey, it's alright. He's gone. God, Dean. Oh God."

Sam wasn't going to fight it. The sex was gentle enough, and Eliot wouldn't have hurt him at all irregardless of how he filled him. Lucifer had taken up much more room himself. He didn't fill that space at all, but Eliot knew what he was aiming for, because Sam had shown him just how important it was to hit that mark, and his own eyelids closed, eyes rolling underneath. It was easy, so easy, to feel pleasure if he wanted to, to let it come to him if he chose to.

He never moaned for Lucifer, but he made soft, pleading noises to Eliot, made gentle encouraging sounds that would carry him through the process, so he knew that he was doing the right thing, making all the right moves.

He took far too long, he knew. Eliot had already been on the verge of coming, even though he'd wilted under Lucifer's orders. This time, even with his stroking, hitting that spot every time, Sam couldn't force himself to spill until the right moment hit him. So he forced the images behind his eyes to cooperate, tried as he often had in the beginning to imagine that this was a place other than Hell, and that this was consensual, even if he'd never for a moment imagined sleeping with another man.

Orgasm was a little more halfhearted than he'd hoped it would be, but he spilled across Eliot's fingers, finally, his legs locking as he tried to keep himself in place, made sure he didn't fall forward. The cuffs and collar would slice into him if he lost his balance now.

"It's fine. I'm fine." Dean kept saying even though he refused to meet Sam's gaze. He didn't even realize that he was shaking until the warmth of the blanket penetrated his awareness. He was disgusted with himself because he'd allowed Lucifer to take what he wanted. He had allowed the devil to use both his and Castiel's love for one another to destroy them both. One thing Dean knew for sure is that when Amara finds out, and he has no dounlit that she will, she just might obliterate the archangels vessel thus destroying Cas.

The thought made him want to rage and weep at the same time. "I'm fine Sam. You can go now." Dean said once more as the shock set in. He sat up slowly. He needed a shower. He needed to be clean. He tried to stand and wobbled a bit before finding his feet. Seemingly uncaring that he was nude, that Sam was right there and that he was covered in come and bruises, Dean limped passed Sam towards the showers.

Even though Eliot had been on the verge before, he held on for the sake of the man beneath him. There were little that he could do for Sam right now except to try to make this almost bearable and take onto himself to do everything so Sam didn't have to. That included keeping his arm around Sam while his hand held his cock so he could stroke the other in time to his fucking.

It wasn't only for the sake of what they were doing that Eliot made sure Sam got off, but Eliot was a man who made sure he pleasured his partners too. Given, most of the time he pleasured women, but now was not the time for differentiating. This made things awkward at first, but he got the hang of it quickly, establishing a rhythm that took him back to the edge. Except Sam wasn't ready, so he tightened his grip and pumped him faster until Eliot felt the man shudder and spill, weak as the orgasm was, across his hand. Quickly he changed his grip to holding Sam up across his stomach, taking the weight off the man as best as he could without actually pressing into the slashed back.

I've gotcha, he had said, and he kept his word.

Then and only then did Eliot groan and follow suit, releasing himself deep into the depths of the man beneath him. Panting lightly, Eliot stayed in place until he was sure Sam could support himself before he let go and pulled out, his spent cock slipping easily from Sam's channel.

Without looking towards the Devil, Eliot asked, "There, was that what you wanted?"

Sam was grateful for all of it. It was uncomfortable, but it wasn't rough, and while his wounds stung and his muscles ache, it was done. It was always done after he spilled over.

Lucifer didn't change the rules on him this time, either. He reached out and stroked Sam's hair back, almost comforting, before he bent away, not so much as laying a hand on Eliot as he retreated a step or two.

He stopped, though, bouncing on his heel and looking back on Eliot. "For now. I knew you could do what you're told. Now all you need to do is transfer that over to people you could care a whole hell of a lot less for. Simple, really." He made a clucking sound with his tongue, then turned away again, and a moment later the door was closed.

Sam had to do everything he could not to slump right over. Eliot could choose to do anything at this point, help him free or leave him tied up, but he hoped it was the former, no matter that if he was alone he would have waited it out. He hadn't been beaten like this in so long, it was more the shock of the pain than anything else.

All he said, though, was: "Are you okay?"

Yeah, no. Dean was not even remotely fine, and...and Sam didn't have anyone else to go to. He didn't have anyone to reach out to any more to ask for help. Bobby was gone, Cas was gone, and Dean was the one who was hurting. There was nobody else. He felt a kind of pitiful desperation, watching his brother stand back up like some kind of zombie, pale with shock and filthy from whatever Lucifer had done to him. God, he felt sick, who even knew how Dean must feel about it. If he could even feel at all right now, which would surprise him.

No. Definitely no actual feeling was happening here.

Sam turned to pursue him, grabbing the blanket again as he went and rushing after Dean, pushing it back over his shoulders.

"You're not fine," he growled. "You're going into shock." Even just saying the words out loud frightened him. What would he do without Dean? What would he do if he lost it entirely? "We've gotta get you warm."

Dean was most assuredly going into shock, thank goodness Sam is there and able to help him. Even if he's too stubborn to realize he needs it. Dean keeps walking even as Sam follows him making sure the blanket stays on him. It's not until he tries to walk into the bathroom that he tries to shake Sam off.

"Sam I'm fine....get off." Dean said trying to pull away. He needs to be clean, the hot water will warm him up, surely Sam can let him get a shower alone. He wants to save what little dignity he had left. In some part of his mind he realizes he's probably worse off than he thinks he is but it's not registering. Sam probably shouldn't leave him alone even if that's what Dean really wants right now.

Eliot didn't answer, he didn't move and barely even breathed until the Devil left the room. It wasn't until then that he sprung into action, moving around to Sam's side to see if there was a way to remove those damnable chains.

Sam's question made him grit his teeth but he didn't look up as he tried to look for a lock or a way to open the spiked cuffs. He couldn't, he didn't think he could face Sam right now. Sam was just forced, by Eliot no less, yet against all logic Sam asked Eliot if he was fine. Even busy running his hands over the chains for weak spots, he paused to take a deep breath. "I should be askin' you that."

Running his fingers over the edge, he concluded that there was no actual opening. The chains were as magical as everything else and he couldn't open them by normal means. "How do I get these open?" But then they suddenly opened and Eliot was working to throw them off. "Are you okay? How can I help?"

Dean is like that. Stubborn, determined; it wasn't like he'd ever known what was good for him, always fixed on being the strong one when he'd faced so much evil before Sam even knew what the word 'evil' was. Or any words, actually. Dean had been traumatized right from the start, but Sam had never seen it, never acknowledged it. And here Dean was, hurting, unable to take care of himself because he didn't know how, but stubborning his way through it like he could fight it just by wishing that he was bigger. The same as he had with the Mark, right up until that fight with Death.

Honestly, he still wasn't over that, but he was putting it behind him now, pressing in after Dean even though he tried to put the shower door between them. He was bigger, and he could force the issue if he wanted, reaching past Dean to shove the hot water on and instantly drenching them both.

"There, see? I'm already wet. Now you can't get rid of me." He said it firmly, but then he reached for Dean's arms to steady him. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. He's not getting back in here. I don't care what we have to do. You're safe now, Dean."

It was the thought that counted most. The moment Eliot wanted it, touched the chains, they fell away instantly, releasing Sam's wrists, and Sam consequently pulled back, flinching visibly as his muscles stretched and tightened the open wounds, trying to sit back but only managing to catch a stinging wound on his heel as he rocked back into it. He took a sharp breath, then released it, managing the pain. God, he'd kept fighting shot and stabbed before, with a broken arm and a ringing concussion, with blood pouring out his ear. He could do a scratched ass.

"There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine." His voice shook a little. It was the most he was going to betray, the most vulnerable he'd admit to being right then and there. He looked right at Eliot. "I get fucked all the time. Trust me, you did me a favor. That thing--" He glanced at the wicked looking dildo. "He'd have used it. You don't need lube after."

The voice of experience. He shifted, flinching again, reaching across to touch Eliot's knee, still clammy from the warm water. "You're the one who had to...to be something else. You gave up something. I didn't. But if you're feeling that guilty about it, you can help me back to the bath. Hell or not, it's going to take a couple of days for these to heal, and they hurt like a bitch."

Lucifer

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Yikes, sorry about the word failing...dounlit was supposed to be doubt

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