"I won't let you be cold," he promised, and now Sam slid closer, wrapping his arms around Eliot's back. His chest pressed against Eliot's back, just about clipping the wound, instantly smudging the mixture of liquids between them.

Sam didn't care. He'd been so filthy for so long that he had no hesitation. Lucifer's come had layered so thick on his back that when he'd finally been allowed to wash it away, Sam had needed to spend hours under the water, just to make sure that the crust didn't tear away half of his skin at the same time. He'd never been more raw, or more grateful to be clean.

He'd teach Eliot everything that he'd learned. He'd teach him the way he'd been taught because he already knew that it worked. It had worked on him.

Sam bent in to brush his mouth against Eliot's pulse, and reached his other arm around him, taking hold of his cock. He stroked gently, tenderly, working on Eliot's arousal now, everything about his approach was meant to melt those rigid defenses, take advantage of his body's natural responses.

"I want you to come. I do. But I'll hold back if need be. I want you to ask me to let you come. That's all you need to do."