Lucifer definitely knew how to make things play out the way he wanted to, and trapping Sam face to face with Eliot like this was much more a kind of torture than anything that had come before. A knife could cut, but this humiliated and hurt them both, and after all, wasn't it Sam's fault for not having Eliot polished up by now? He dropped his eyes away as best as he could, dropping his hands onto Eliot's chest and sliding his elbows across his chest until he had some kind of support for his body there. His head dipped lower, almost touching the metal bar as Lucifer pushed into him, not quite able to hide all of his expression from Eliot in the moment.

The archangel's fingers dug into his hips, signalling that he had to make an effort to move, then slid past him, one propping itself on the edge of the bed, the other curling firmly around Eliot's cock. He wouldn't do much more than stroke and squeeze him to counteract the pain, lifting him back past it, until he enjoyed every moment, because Lucifer had more in mind for the pair of them than this.

Sam, on the other hand, stirred by Lucifer's urging, was hard enough that the friction, and the steady rock of Lucifer into him from behind, triggered a breathlessness in him, pleasure playing its part. He exhaled shakily, building up a rhythm, even though Eliot was rough and tight around him. His skin began to prickle with sweat, hair shaken loose in front of his face to hide his eyes.

Eliot had no choice but to watch, endure it all--or perhaps not. Sam, certainly, was closing his eyes tight. Nobody was going to admonish him for hiding himself this time.