Sam was doing well enough for now, especially with Eliot's reminder that he should be breathing. Grateful, though, for his encouragement, he moved his hands up, even though he knew it would pull on Eliot slightly, getting a slightly better grip, just under his armpits. He didn't want to cause him pain, but the position was better for him, even if he was nose to nose with Eliot now, with nowhere to hide.

He didn't know, really, how to thank him for that, so as Lucifer rocked into them, fucking them both in his own way, he brushed his lips slightly against Eliot's, then nudged in against his cheek. It was the best he could possibly do, under the circumstances, and yet he was plenty hard again. Lucifer didn't bother stroking him--he'd come eventually. Eliot, though. Eliot was the key to this. Nobody was going anywhere until he was done, and that was most of the reason why Sam wasn't trying to hurt him. The pain would hold him back, and Lucifer would take his damn sweet time.

And it was humiliating - God it was humiliating - to be pulled so wide open this way. Another small part of him that had always thought he could find a way out of this was breaking under it all. He couldn't go back, not after this. He'd always feel this.