Unfortunately for Eliot, Sam wasn't dazed, and he wasn't fixed on the act of screwing him. He was more than aware that even weakened, Eliot would put all of himself into fighting, and it was either going to be an elbow to his ribs or a backwards headbutt that came his way. He would have to be an idiot to be thinking of anything but the fight that would come at the hint of freedom--after all, he'd have done the same thing. Had done the same thing.

Lucifer had done what Sam did now. He wrapped his arm around Eliot's once the blow was struck, seized it tight at that awkward backwards angle and pulled hard enough to snap the bones in his forearm.

It was brutal, and quick, and Sam dropped the arm as quickly as he'd taken it, moving his other hand out to snatch Eliot's uninjured arm. This he twisted into the same position, and held tight, gripping him tightly enough to force his body into a slightly upright position. The pain, the angle, would force his ass to clench, increasing the friction and giving Sam room to piston upward. It was meant to hurt him more, to burn, and leave an ache that would still be there even when Hell healed the break.

There wasn't any need to speak his ultimatum, even if Eliot would have been able to hear him through the agony: Try anything else and I'll break this one.