Sam was pleased with Eliot's responses. They did well enough, mostly, to satisfy what he wanted from him, what he could have expected on their first excursion together. Sam knew he couldn't expect more, after all if Eliot fell apart so easily, he wouldn't be sufficient challenge.

Sam stroked for a moment longer, before pulling away again, climbing back to his feet and stepping back. He moved to a distance, and began to slowly undress, lifting his jacket and shirt off and folding them neatly. He folded, laid the items down, and then undid his fly, removing his pants. He wore no underwear underneath, unsurprisingly, and his erection instantly sprang into the still air.

A thought and he could get hard. It had been that way for some time, now. He needed to be able to perform that easily, and he was ready to perform now.

But then, Lucifer could switch him off with a word, too. Sam stroked his own erection, palming it with a kind of steady ferocity, a focus, like he was working his way toward getting off at speed. His steady stroking and urgency--he watched Eliot as he did it, lucid and focused through every moment.