Sam frowned at Eliot, holding his nerve for just a little longer while he baited Lucifer above him. Didn't he know to be quiet, let it happen how it happened, the chips falling where they must? It was always gentler that way. God knew Sam had fought his little brains out, and paid for it, but now he found himself wishing that he could make Eliot understand, even if he knew full well that it had taken forever for Sam to stop resisting it all, to become as compliant as he now was.
And he was compliant; painfully so. His stirring erection made that all the more obvious, and soon enough Lucifer was grabbing hold of his wrist, pulling him back with a sharp tug.
His hand fell back, still wet with blood so that he didn't dare to look at it as he smeared his fingers past Lucifer's, wiping them off as best he could on his arousal. If he looked, he'd surely vomit, as hardened as his stomach was against such things. Lucifer nudged him forward, quickly, and Sam pressed the head of his erection against Eliot, giving him no warning before he slammed home.
That satisfied Lucifer, who let him fall still, reaching around to snag his wrists and cuff each of them in turn around the loop in Eliot's chest. Only then, with Sam bent forward over him, did Lucifer reach for the lube, nudging Sam's ankles apart so that he could go in with his fingers.
His eyes found Eliot's again, now, enduring the treatment, a deep hush settling over him, even though his muscles trembled every time the Devil brushed his prostate. He didn't say a word, wasn't trained to--not even an apology. Eliot already knew he was sorry, what good was repeating it?
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And he was compliant; painfully so. His stirring erection made that all the more obvious, and soon enough Lucifer was grabbing hold of his wrist, pulling him back with a sharp tug.
His hand fell back, still wet with blood so that he didn't dare to look at it as he smeared his fingers past Lucifer's, wiping them off as best he could on his arousal. If he looked, he'd surely vomit, as hardened as his stomach was against such things. Lucifer nudged him forward, quickly, and Sam pressed the head of his erection against Eliot, giving him no warning before he slammed home.
That satisfied Lucifer, who let him fall still, reaching around to snag his wrists and cuff each of them in turn around the loop in Eliot's chest. Only then, with Sam bent forward over him, did Lucifer reach for the lube, nudging Sam's ankles apart so that he could go in with his fingers.
His eyes found Eliot's again, now, enduring the treatment, a deep hush settling over him, even though his muscles trembled every time the Devil brushed his prostate. He didn't say a word, wasn't trained to--not even an apology. Eliot already knew he was sorry, what good was repeating it?