Sam didn't need the next order. He already knew what it would be. His fingers pressed in deep, spread the skin wide, and then with his other hand, he scratched and stabbed with his blunt nails until they perforated the other end of the hole. It was a slow, blunt process, but as he worked he began to shake, holding down the revulsion he felt at the act. He'd tortured people before, of course, but he never enjoyed it, and Eliot had already been so kind to him...

He didn't deserve this treatment, or what came next, the steel bar that Lucifer handed him. Pale, trembling, he fed the metal through the wound, then pulled back, summoning his own particular supernatural strength to bend the ends together into a large ring.

Better that than some of the other things Lucifer had done to Sam's wounds.

Lucifer bent forward, giving Eliot an almost compassionate look at he touched his chest, and the wounds healed, closing tight around the metal shaft. It was an anchor, whose purpose was about to come into play, as he reached across to take a pair of silver cuffs from the tray, laying them on Eliot's chest, through the hoop. They were for Sam.

"Go on, Sam," Lucifer prompted. "While you're still covered in lube."

Sam glanced at the blood on his hands, then frowned at Eliot again, dropping back away from him, even though it meant that he was pressed right up against Lucifer's chest, so closely the archangel stood behind him, possessive hands wandering over his still clothed body. Oh no, scratch that, there his clothes went, like it was an afterthought. His bloodied hands came to Eliot's thighs, and the ankle restraints snapped open.

"Spread your legs," Sam asked, the way he had plenty of times before.