"It's useless fighting it," Sam murmured, against the small of Eliot's back. "Fighting Hell, fighting me. It's all just useless. You had your chance out in the world. You died. That's it, now, it's over, and if you were prepared for eternal damnation then you should have been ready for it to be like this."

Sam poured all of his sadness and defeatism into his words, but not out of anything but his own inability to understand. Eliot kept fighting, even after he kept telling him it was pointless. Why? Why bother? Why try? Not only was it going to get Sam into more trouble, night after night until he broke, but it would mean desperate means for Eliot too. It would be torture until he broke--and it could all have happened so very much sooner, if he only listened.

Sam didn't tighten his grip - he barely needed to touch at all, just brushing his slippery palm against Eliot's already throbbing erection. His free hand returned to the dildo, unsheathing it slightly only to thrust it, vibrating, back into position, like he was steadily fucking him with it.

"You're thinking you can just hold on until you come, aren't you? You're thinking I'll leave you alone when you orgasm, go away, and come back another day. Nothing's like that down here. There's no night and day. There's no beginning or end. There's just this until it stops."

Sam already knew what was coming next. It wasn't like Eliot would be able to fight him, before or afterwards.