thelockbox | Lucifer

Eliot exhaled in relief when the pressure to his aching cock fell away and his hands were no longer restricted into that difficult position. They were still locked behind him, but it was a release to his shoulders as much his cock that he didn't have to pull them back even while sprawled onto the ground. This allowed Eliot to sag down a little, catch his breath, while Sam pulled his head up.

He spat to one side, both in disgust and to get the coppery taste of blood out of his mouth. "I've done many things, but I've never raped anyone," Eliot growled like Sam had insulted him personally with that insinuation. He was a killer, as cold and hard as they came, but drew the line at rape. To suggest he was an animal like some of those others that had disgusted him so much, he would've punched Sam if this arms weren't locked behind his back.

He bucked a little, now that he was free to do it, when Sam's hand wrapped around his engorged cock once more but it did little to actually dislodge the demon either from his body or his grip. What was worse was it somehow got that thing inside him to move, and it was digging into that one area that sent uncomfortable waves of pleasure all through his nether regions. It made him buck again, moaning at the touch on both his already sensitive cock and the dildo vibrating against his prostate.

It was hard to find the strength to fight the demon when he couldn't summon any while it continuously stimulated his spot of pleasure. It was like his muscles were alternating between being tensed and relaxed, and even when he could concentrate, he couldn't get his muscles to cooperate. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"It's useless fighting it," Sam murmured, against the small of Eliot's back. "Fighting Hell, fighting me. It's all just useless. You had your chance out in the world. You died. That's it, now, it's over, and if you were prepared for eternal damnation then you should have been ready for it to be like this."

Sam poured all of his sadness and defeatism into his words, but not out of anything but his own inability to understand. Eliot kept fighting, even after he kept telling him it was pointless. Why? Why bother? Why try? Not only was it going to get Sam into more trouble, night after night until he broke, but it would mean desperate means for Eliot too. It would be torture until he broke--and it could all have happened so very much sooner, if he only listened.

Sam didn't tighten his grip - he barely needed to touch at all, just brushing his slippery palm against Eliot's already throbbing erection. His free hand returned to the dildo, unsheathing it slightly only to thrust it, vibrating, back into position, like he was steadily fucking him with it.

"You're thinking you can just hold on until you come, aren't you? You're thinking I'll leave you alone when you orgasm, go away, and come back another day. Nothing's like that down here. There's no night and day. There's no beginning or end. There's just this until it stops."

Sam already knew what was coming next. It wasn't like Eliot would be able to fight him, before or afterwards.

The pain from the fall and awful pull on his cock had lessened his body's interest somewhat to bring stimulated again, but the ring, up until it was removed, had ensured Eliot remained physically ready and the vibrating thing against his prostate revived any fading interest. He gritted his teeth, bit back a moan, and his whole body trembled within Sam's arms. It wasn't due to Eliot trying to fight though, at least not in the sense he would prefer, but from keeping himself still against thrusting into the demon's tantalizing grip.

This wasn't painful, the dildo, the hand, and now that the ring was gone, there was nothing physically painful about the whole ordeal. The slash on his back stung, but it was hardly felt, a drop in the ocean of pleasure that Sam was drowning him in. That was the worst part, the hardest to resist.

Eliot knew what Sam was telling him, that there was no fighting it, that there would be no reprieve even after he held out, but he couldn't justify it to himself to just surrender on this most important battle of his identity. So he held back as long as he could, breathing rapidly as heat pooled into his groin and rushing him towards the inevitable. His eyes fell closed and his hands continued to flex behind his back. Sam wasn't in danger of Eliot plotting retaliation though, the hitter was having difficulties keeping his control.

"Do what you want," he pushed out through gritted teeth. His body was shaking from the effort of his resistance and he was close. Whether he would be allowed to cum or not though, he was determined to not ask for it.

It wasn't like Sam was doing this because he wanted to--it just was. This was what his life had become now. He had to do these things because if not, he'd be in Lucifer's bed forever. It wasn't an option. He'd been tortured every way he could possibly be tortured, fucked every way he could possibly be fucked. If making Eliot bend to him was his way out then he'd take it unflinchingly. He needed to, for the sake of his own mind, and his own survival.

But he was aware that he'd slipped too. He could look at how he was and recognize that he wasn't the same man as he'd always been. He'd once been something. He'd been a hero, a man whose efforts to save the world had actually meant something once upon a time. He'd let that slip, and now he just looked at that version of himself with a kind of desperate sadness. How had he lost sight of being who he'd once been? There was no path back to that, no solution he could feel out, or even dream of.

It was like the ability to make truth out of hope had passed him by. Things like finding their father had always seemed possible, for example; or finding God; convincing an archangel to help them. Sam thrived on hope--he had once upon a time. Now that hope had been turned into a weapon to use against him. Like now: his hope was to escape Lucifer's bed, and he'd damn well do anything to make that happen.

He squeezed his fingers, intensifying the friction, the pressure, little by little. He stroked harder, pounded harder, rubbing his cheek against Eliot's back as he worked.

"I already intend to," he told him, softly. "But you'll work it out soon enough."

There was only so much Eliot could resist against the natural needs of his body. It was sooner or later, and with how Sam was pushing him worse than any aphrodisiac, that sooner was going to be very soon. Even though he forced himself to remain still, his whole body trembled with the the mounting lust. Each thrust of the dildo behind him aimed perfectly into his prostate, each twisting pull of the fist around his cock pumped more blood into his shaft.

Three more minutes, three, each minute more intense than the last, and Eliot began the convulsions that marked the beginning of his orgasm. He couldn't fight it, didn't even try, but only bit down on his lower lip instead of crying out. He tasted the blood from his bleeding nose and added some fresh drops when he broke the skin, but managed to stay quiet even as he came like a volcano, exploding thick white ropes of liquid heat all over Sam's fist.

He felt the demon pump him through his orgasm, twisting with each hard pull like he wanted to milk out the last of Eliot's seed from his abused nuts. Eliot's locked hands were balled into fists behind his back, and as the last of his orgasm was wrenched from him, he opened them again, forcing himself to be ready in case anything else happened. Yet there was little he could do. He hadn't come that hard in a while, hadn't come in a while, and following his explosive orgasm, Eliot's legs felt weak. He doubted he could put up a fight again, at least, until he caught his second wind.

"Thanks," he said, voice hoarse and rough, "That was just what I needed in Hell."

It was easy enough. Bringing Eliot to orgasm, after every inch of effort he'd put into it, was fluid, and simple. Sam drew every inch of it out of him, until he would be left aching, and he drew his chin up just a little bit so that he could watch Eliot spill over, see the expression on his face.

"And it was me that brought you to it," Sam murmured, very softly, bending up so that he could press his mouth against Eliot's ear. He had to straddle him to do it, keeping his weight off Eliot's back.

"Let me guess. You feel weak; every muscle in your body is aching, and more than anything you just want to close your eyes, let your pulse keep slowing the way it wants to and slip into sleep. But you can't, because I'm here, because who knows what I might do next, and what opportunity you might miss."

He drew his hand up, licked the tips of his fingers, and smiled quietly.

"I'm going to turn you inside out," he promised, before pulling out the dildo and throwing it lightly aside. A shift of his weight, his position, and he was guiding his own half hard cock into place instead. He hadn't recovered from his previous orgasm, really, but experience in Hell, with Lucifer, had given him a good sense of bouncing back, and try as he might for things to be different, he still got all turned on by the whips and chains, the torture, even if he wasn't the one personally being beaten and taken.

If anything, Eliot wouldn't be expecting it.

What Sam said was exactly what was going through Eliot's physique. His body wanted to shut down post orgasm, lulled to false security in its post coital bliss, and Eliot had to fight against every slowing heartbeat to stay alert and aware. The wind down after sex was one of the human body's most vulnerable moments and there was a very real danger of being caught with his guard down. Having it all mocked back at him only made Eliot more determined to not let it happen.

Getting the dildo taken out was a relief, but only pulled him further into that disarming state of relaxation that he tried to guard against. Yet despite all the awareness that Eliot kept on the demon, he was still completely unprepared for the hard solid erection that suddenly took him from behind. He jerked under Sam, bucking in a futile struggle against the ground with no real hope of dislodging the demon draped on top of him. Again it didn't hurt, the dildo and Sam fucking him with it had prepared him more than enough for the entry, physically, but he still felt like he was speared like an unsuspecting fish.

Maybe demon physiology allowed Sam to get it up so soon after his last orgasm, but Eliot remained completely limp even when he felt the cock bottom out to press against his prostate. He closed his eyes again, shame and anger mixing together into a quiet fuming blend that he was helpless to do anything about. He had no snappy comeback, not so soon. This was Hell, it was torture, and he was aware that not all of it had to be painful. Maybe they finally found the right way to torture a man who wasn't afraid of pain.

They did say that your torture was picked out for you, personally, after all, and Eliot had certainly earned special treatment. Sam would cut his teeth on him, but in many ways that was fortunate--if it had been a decade later, he would surely have been much more hardened, much more capable, a true demon if ever there was one.

But he wasn't there yet. Eliot just thought he was damned, and while it was true that Sam had been corrupted, the way he clung to his own pride was in of itself very human. He still knew who he was, and what he meant to Lucifer, and as bedraggled as it was, his soul was still his own. Sam had never died, and so he'd never gone to Hell in the traditional sense. It made what was being done to him more abominable, for he hadn't earned it.

Sex destroyed pride, but being on the other end of it when it was forced? That was far more demeaning than being on this end. At least he had that to comfort himself. For once, the one being tortured in this situation wasn't him, wasn't that of an innocent, but someone who had earned their place here, damned themselves. Eliot should have expected torture, and Sam wasn't going to hold back on a punishment that he'd receive anyway.

He unbound his wrists with a touch, then lifted Eliot bodily off the ground, bringing his own knees up so that he sat across Eliot's calves, the other man sat in his lap. It didn't give him a very good angle, but then Sam was in no kind of hurry.

"Wake you up any?"

Sam shouldn't have released Eliot's hands. It made maneuvering him easier, certainly, and lifting and positioning him, but that was the extent of his advantage. The downside, however, meant Eliot was unbound. A normal person's reflexes were slowed post orgasm, the body relaxed after copulating and there was no changing the physical biological response, but it was pure sloppiness if the person allowed their awareness to slip. And Hell wouldn't want Eliot if he was the type to be sloppy. Neck deep in enemy territory, the sex forced into him, he would downright idiotic to let his attention slip that far.

"Sure, all rise and shine."

When Sam pulled him up, Eliot brought one freed hand forward as expected to support himself, but the other swung around with his elbow aiming for Sam behind him. It was a difficult position, awkward for both of them, but even if Sam was anticipating a fight, his attention was split between that and actually fucking Eliot. He used his elbow for the blow, all hard bone and sharp angle, and applying the momentum of his turn to make up for his weakened muscles.

Little did Sam know, it was probably planned for them to be paired this way; a torturer who wasn't quite heartless, a damned man who wasn't quite evil. It was his deeds that sent Eliot down here, not his natural alignment, which was why real effort had to be put into changing his predisposition. Eliot had spent the last several years of his life helping people, fighting the good fight, not for any redemption but minimizing the damage he had done in life. Sam, in his situation, would have been one of those victims who Eliot would have helped in his recent years. This was meant to change both of them, but it was not something that would happen in hours.

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.

Eliot knew it wouldn't be easy, that an attack had risks, but he thought he had at least a chance. But whatever damage he did to the demon seemed inconsequential, and Sam struck back so swiftly and ruthlessly that there was no doubt the fight was finished then and there.

Eliot didn't exactly scream when his arm was broken, snapped clean and jagged edges of bone poking through skin, but he certainly cried out from the shock of pain and tensed up against it. He didn't want to but he was squeezing tight around Sam, not even thinking of the demon as waves of white hot pain washed out and dominated all his senses. His world was slow to return, and he had lost thoroughly by the time he was aware of how Sam had taken advantage to take his remaining arm in an arm lock to force him back against Sam.

In his new position, Eliot had to arch back to keep his shoulder from dislocating. This put him right against Sam where he had to open his legs wider, as far as he could within his current restrictions, and try to hold himself up for the demon's fucking. It was hellish, humiliating, and tested his strength and endurance to maintain position to ride this out. Hopefully, it will finish up soon, but Eliot gritted his teeth and steadied his stance in preparation for the long haul anyway. He wouldn't put it past the demon to drag this out to get his point across.

Hellish, humiliating--it was exactly what was needed under the circumstances. Eliot had thought that he could keep fighting back despite the circumstances, but Sam knew there would be no success until he had established firm ground rules. Disobedience would result in pain, it was really just that simple.

Eliot got the pain, and he got the discomfort of being forced to hold his position despite the agony, and because Sam had already come once, his second orgasm seemed to take forever. He held Eliot up through every moment, despite the pressure and pain it would apply to his good shoulder to do so, and he kept moving steadily until he spilled over with an anticlimatic grunt.

He shoved Eliot away from him briskly, fighting back his own exhaustion and wobbling back up to his feet, putting enough distance between them to drop his back against the wall beside the door. He'd have to gather Eliot up to take him back to their room, to the crate he'd promised him as a bed, but he'd give Eliot time to nurse his wounds while he recovered from his own orgasm.

When the demon finally spilled, it was a flood of hot relief despite the humiliation of the event. It meant this part of the ordeal was over, that there could be a pause in the agony, a moment for him to lick his wounds. Eliot fell forward when shoved, the pain of impacting with the unforgiving ground expressed in a cut off cry and a low groan, but he stayed where he was. He could probably still fight and catch Sam by surprise, had fought through worse injuries in life, but not when there was no victory to be had. There was no escape, no greater mission, nobody who was counting on him to get up and keep fighting.

He closed his eyes, letting the futility of his situation wash over him for a second. He was condemned to an eternity in Hell, given to this demon to be a plaything until he broke and did as he was told. Eliot didn't know how long that would be, a month, a year, a decade, a century... He honestly doubted it would take that long, at least, not if he was to remain himself and still capable of doing what they wanted. But that war he will keep fighting, because there are people counting on him for that; he stopped with the hurting and killing people. He wasn't that man anymore.

For now.

But for this fight he could afford a reprieve, to succumb the pain and humiliation to save himself worse at the moment. So what if he was successful in striking back, so what if he broke Sam's neck. There was no escape from hell. No, the fight was to not surrender to the demon, and that Eliot could do laying with his eyes closed and not moving his broken arm.

Sam kept his distance until he really did feel up to moving, which only took a little bit longer because of the strain that he'd put his body through. He had to be ever ready, even on the ball, because the risk was high that no matter what happened, he'd always end up taken advantage of in his moments of weakness.

He'd learned that one early.

But for now he crept closer, moving very carefully to crouch beside Eliot.

"I'm going to set the bone back into place first. It'll help it heal sooner, and be more comfortable for you in the long run."

The case of tools were on the ground beside him where he'd fallen, and Sam fetched out the bar gag from inside, giving it the slightest wave in front of Eliot's nose.

"Do you want something to bite down on, or would you prefer to scream?"

Eliot was fully aware of the approach, and although he remained unmoving on the ground like a newly dead thing, his senses were heightened and body ready to move. But no attack came, no taking advantage to drive the point home. No, Sam only crouched down beside him and sounded almost reasonable as he offered Eliot his options.

Cracking open his eyes, Eliot shifted so he could see the demon again. They were both a mess, Sam covered in a sheen of his own sweat, and of course blood and cum, and Eliot, he was covered in much of the same.

It didn't matter whether he screamed or gagged himself. Hollering would fit right in with the setting, and it didn't make him less of anything. For some reason, he doubted Sam would think less of him either.

"Do you care?" Eliot asked, surprising himself in speaking and honestly waiting for an answer. Torturers were still human, and at the end of the task, the ones who did it for a reason, who weren't the sadistic sons of bitches who enjoyed it, they tried to cope with what they've done. Everyone was different; some distanced themselves from their victims, some got closer even though that made it harder for them to continue next time. Sam was a demon in hell, but according to him he was human once. How much of that was left? Eliot wanted to know.

"Of course I care. I don't want to hurt you, Eliot--I have to. I can't wait for the day to come where I don't have to; the day where you let me touch you without fighting, when you want it. The sooner you give in to me the better."

The implication being that the sooner the better wasn't just for Eliot, it was for Sam too.

He stayed close, raising his hand to cradle Eliot's cheek, looking down into his eyes. "But I understand that you can't give up without a fight. I know you won't, and I know why, because I was just like you once upon a time. Hell wears on you, but we don't expect miracles down here. Besides, all the angels I knew are dead, and God doesn't care about any of it."

His hand pulled away, and he brought his fingers to Eliot's arm instead, only touching very gently.

"Do you want to talk, or shall I do it now?"

That sounded almost convincing. It could all be an act, a deliberately crafted exchange, lines used on all the tortured souls down there, and in the long run it didn't matter. Now, though, here and at this moment, it humanized the demon and was the behavior Eliot was familiar with. It eased his guard, not dropped, but pushed back so it wasn't choking his existence and allowed him some breathing room for recovery.

He looked up into Sam's gaze, not quite warm but not cold either, jaded, but not dead. No sadism though, at least not what Eliot could discern. Maybe demons were great at pretending, natural liars and all, but Sam seemed as sincere as he was capable of. Eliot met it with his own reserved expression. He didn't hate Sam for what the demon did, it was just the way Hell was.

"Ain't much for talkin'. Just do it." Eliot took a deep breath to brace himself, and when Sam righted his arm, he didn't hold back. His scream echoed off the walls of his cell, one short loud burst that lasted only seconds but exhausted him more than the whole ordeal did. When it was done, he was heaving and shaking from the effort to stay still, and he couldn't raise his guard if he wanted to.

It was quick - very quick - and when Sam was done he moved in closer, catching Eliot across the chest. With all the pain he'd inflicted he was sweating and shaking, and Sam didn't really blame him, but if it stopped even a portion of his fight next time it would be worth it.

For now, he wrapped his arms around Eliot's back, supporting him physically, Eliot's arm raised across his shoulder to support it.

"I've got you," he murmured, softly. Sam wobbled a little as he pulled upward, supporting Eliot's weight with his own strength. He was sapped, off guard, probably just wanted to sleep--sleeplessness was a trait for angels and demons, and for those souls who lost track of time in the monotony of their torture, and forgot what made them human. "It's okay, you'll be able to sleep it off. Just a little walk, and it'll all be over."

Sam kept Eliot's weight mostly across his shoulders and made the walk, half dragging him if he had to. The room he 'shared' with Lucifer was the next one down, and Sam led him there. It was lavish, gothic, with an enormous bed that looked immaculate, a seating area with a huge TV set up in the middle of it, and a step down to one side which led into a huge sunken wash basin. There was no need for fluffy towels. But a closer look? A closer look would point out the various hooks and hidden ropes, the length of chain under the bed, the cage in the corner, the long tapestry that hid something behind it, the suspicious bedding box in the corner.

Sam released Eliot when they made it to the cage.

"Hurry now. Lucifer's coming. You should be asleep - or at least pretending to sleep - when he gets here."

Eliot was worn and it was lucky that Sam wasn't trying to hurt him, his response would've been sloppy at best. Especially now, with no splint and nothing to physically hold the broken pieces of his arm in place except Sam, Eliot was racked with pain from each movement and supporting himself upright was all he wanted to do.

It wasn't beyond his pride to accept the aid of the demon who raped him and broke his arm, this wasn't personal. He wanted to get a shower and, yeah, sleep, but he wasn't going to get the former, Sam was clear on that, and the latter didn't sound like a good idea despite what Sam said he should do.

He managed to get to the room without any dragging involved although he allowed Sam to support more of his weight than he really wanted to. The place was just what Eliot expected a rich bedroom in Hell to look like, luxurious, Gothic, and full of subtle malevolence. It was no more than a lavishly decorated dungeon, the meat hooks replaced by chains under the bed and solid rings in the overhanging frame.

Eliot wasn't particularly surprised when Sam led him to the corner where an overlarge dog cage sat with blankets and pillows. At least there were those, which was more than Eliot expected in this place.

Eliot thought about fighting, he probably could try again, but in the end he bowed his head and crawled in. Maybe next time when his arm was healed. He put his slashed back to Sam but looked over his shoulder at the demon. "Lucifer?"

"Lucifer," Sam repeated. "The archangel. The devil. My master."

Sam actually looked frightened. He'd gone pale, clearly aware of something that Eliot wasn't, and a few moments later he was back on his feet, pushing the cage door closed and turning the key. He hung it around his neck, with shaking hands, and moved over to the bed, kneeling down at the foot of it as though in prayer.

That was when Lucifer entered, barely even looking at Eliot as he strode over to the bed. His hand curled in Sam's hair, stroking almost tenderly.

"Hello, puppy. Busy day? You haven't even washed up."

Sam mentally cursed himself, flinching just enough that Lucifer felt it.

"It's okay, I know you've been working hard. You don't have to bathe until tomorrow. Face on the bed."

It was a threat, and Lucifer flicked his hand out, summoning a pair of chains out that lashed themselves around Sam's wrists, throwing him forward, pinning him down. Lucifer moved up behind him, loosening his fly. A moment later - without hesitation, without pause - he was forcing himself upon a soundless Sam, thrusting deep and steady, growling softly into his ear, grunting insults. Just before he came, Lucifer pulled free, spilling himself across Sam's back.

He patted him on the shoulder, gently, murmured something else at him - possibly a goodnight - tucked himself away, and left, leaving Sam chained, filthier, ass still up in the air.

The changes in Sam weren't even subtle, they were blatant and obvious and left little to doubt that it was fear that sparked behind those eyes. Eliot didn't say anything to Sam closing the door and moving away, and that was when he heard the sound of footsteps as well. He turned quickly too, putting his back to the scene although he kept his eyes and ears open for what came next.

The voice of the Devil was like any other man's. It wasn't particularly deep or evil, sounding as normal as Eliot or Sam, yet there was something malicious in its carefree tones. Eliot heard the distinct sound of chains rattling, the hard impact of a body thrown onto the bed, then the unmistakable rustle of clothes being removed and then... fucking. It was over in minutes and the Devil was saying something too softly even for Eliot's good hearing to make out. It marked the event as over though, and instead of staying, Eliot heard Lucifer's footsteps retreat. Eliot waited until the soft tread were completely gone to carefully look over his shoulder.

Sam was alone, chained ass up on the bed, and left there with a sheen of fresh cum coating him in messy splatters that reflected the room's light. Carefully he turned in his cage, grimacing when it jolted his arm, and rolled do he faced Sam.

Eliot didn't feel any better seeing his torturer raped in return, and Eliot didn't think for a second it wasn't that. While it appeared that Sam was used to it, submitted to it, it didn't look like he enjoyed it.

Eliot brought back the words Sam said to him earlier. "Have you learned to want it yet?"

It was still very raw when Eliot's voice cut into the room, and Sam shifted over just enough to lay his opposite cheek on the bed instead. Once upon a time he'd have cried his way through this, but in the grand scheme of things it wasn't so bad. Lucifer hadn't prolonged the experience, hadn't beaten him or cut into him or burned him. He'd left him tied up, but Sam could untie those himself, and would after the required time was up. An hour, to let the sticky come on his back air dry.

His breathing was level, barely winded, and there was no ragged emotion in his voice as he spoke--it was the same level tone as he'd used earlier, matter of fact.

"I always want it," he answered. "So that when he lets me, when he's in a good mood, I can give him everything he asks for. That's what I want. I put up with this, but I live for the days where he lets me blow him, when he lets me swallow; the days he ties me up and watches my face as he makes me come." He shivered, and paused for a moment. That edge of cold was still ever present--Hell wasn't warm. "If I didn't want it, I'd never survive everything else."

Eliot could call Sam a hypocrite, he was fairly certain he wouldn't be completely wrong, but Sam wasn't trying to be. He had the tone of someone truly believing what he was saying only for the sake of survival. The difference was it wasn't heartfelt, he hadn't grown to want it, but was forced to and had developed a coping mechanism to deal with it.

"If that's the case, then why d'ya want me to break so desperately?" Sam had mentioned Eliot was his ticket out, and unless there were other things he could escape from, otherwise what Sam wanted was for it to stop badly enough that he would make Eliot take his place.

Not that Eliot could blame him. If first impressions were indication, Sam had it far worse than Eliot did, dealing with the Devil himself. What Eliot experienced was probably just a shadow of what Sam went through.

"Because it has to stop. It has to. If you just break..." Sam's voice almost rattled. "I don't want to torture you. I don't want to rape you. Everything I do is just one more step down the path of my own undoing. But this? There were times, this last year, when I realized that I'd forgotten my own name. I was just the puppy."

He licked his lips, shoulders tensing. "I know what happens at the end of this path, Eliot. I forget who I am, what I used to stand for, what I used to fight for, forget my family and my brother, and I become just like all of them. I become a demon."

And there was the bombshell that Eliot probably didn't expect, having believed all this time that that was just what Sam was. Maybe he thought it was hyperbole now, too, but Sam said it with such stress, and aching pain.

Everything Sam said sounded like the sinner trying to justify his actions, and fit so poorly with Eliot's image of demons that it half convinced Eliot it was an elaborate lie until Sam said the one most unexpected thing. He wasn't a demon?

Eliot lifted his head a bit to get a better look at Sam. He didn't know what the difference was, but there was a difference. This was a man spread out there, still struggling to maintain his identity against the odds that Hell had stacked up against him. He was a victim and never stopped being one. Breaking Eliot was another form of torture for him.

In the light of all that, Eliot's gaze softened a little. He didn't intend to give in, but now he understood, even partially, what went on with Sam. "I thought you said there's no point in fightin' it, or was that meant only for me?"

Lucifer

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