Sam knew today was going to be hard. It could be awful, in fact. Of course what he expected was to find them thrown back into their usual routine, Sam at Eliot's back even after he'd been so gentle with him. His back still ached, but he was healing fast thanks to his usual - secret - diet, and Hell's natural attributes, but he hadn't forgotten--wasn't likely to forget quickly.
Lucifer would surely not join them again, Sam thought--but Sam was wrong. Lucifer came at around midday, well before he'd have considered taking Eliot to bed. To be honest, he was putting it off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again.
He came attended by a demon with a clipboard this time, standing in the doorway as Sam looked at him, baffled.
"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, carefully.
Lucifer stepped in, petting his hair, until Sam lowered his head, his gaze, utterly submissive, and told him yes, that both he and Eliot were to come with him. They were even invited to dress with clothes laid out on the bed, which made Sam suspicious. He could guess where they were going, what they would be invited to do, and that Eliot would fail. He knew it already, but he stepped out obediently, following Lucifer and the demon through the long gothic hallways.
He hung back, but didn't say a word to Eliot, already psyching himself up for what was to come ahead.
At last they stepped into a torture room, recognisable by the floor which tapered into the center, where a hole in the floor under the table would drain away anything anything that splashed. The body laying out on it was an older man in an expensive suit, who clearly had no true understanding of where he was, or what had happened to him. When they stepped inside, he parsed some spiel about calling his lawyer, and the police.
A night on the bed didn't leave Eliot as refreshed as he hoped, but it was still better than the cage by several times. For the first time he could stretch out his legs when he slept, even if that meant they hung over the edge a little. While the bed felt too soft and he still had trouble sleeping the night through undisturbed, he woke up without feeling his knees and back aching like an old man for once.
It left him feeling good to start the day, even though he expected things to go back to normal and would probably go downhill. He was realistic about it so he wasn't particularly shocked when the Devil showed up again in the afternoon. After the session yesterday, Eliot had the feeling that he wouldn't be left alone so soon, he expected that. It was still hard to see Sam behave like a broken man immediately in Lucifer's presence though.
The clothes, the demon lackey, they all bode ill although Eliot couldn't figure out what. He tried to guess from Sam, but the man was as silent as he ever was when the Devil was around and Eliot found no help from him. Yet the answer was self evident when after the short trip they reached their destination, a clear place of torture with the victim tied down in the middle. The room wasn't an improvised area with plastic wraps for easy cleaning that Eliot was used to, but with a built in drain in the middle that proved it's permanent status. This was the type of place Hell was, and the routine Eliot suffered before Sam took over.
From the clothes he was given --scratchy, he wasn't used to wearing clothes anymore-- he knew the victim this time wouldn't be him, at least physically. But that didn't make him relax at all. He could guess what the Devil wanted with him and the tension in the room just built that much more.
For the first time since Lucifer walked in today, Eliot spoke, "No, I won't do it."
It was always best to say few words. Lots of words left you exposed, and Sam had learned that very quickly. Lucifer was good at snatching openings, and making any situation become more uncomfortable by turning someone's words against him. Sam had lost a lot of his love for himself and his brother that way, told truths that he couldn't deny, even though they were awful--even though he would never have accepted them from the mouth of another.
Lucifer made him believe them. For example he'd sworn that Dean would come and rescue him for a week, before Lucifer had pointed out that even if he was rescued, Sam was ruined for the world now. He would never go back to being who he was; he'd always be Lucifer's bitch. Sam believed that. He never suggested rescue again. Speaking was just risky, so he only did it when he really had something to say. Eliot was learning quickly too.
Sam felt himself tense as Eliot denied the Devil what he wanted, just like he'd expected. Sure enough, Lucifer stepped up beside Eliot, looking at him intently.
"Are you sure about that? It isn't anything that Robert here doesn't deserve. He's an embezzler, and an adulterer--aren't you Robbie?"
"Go fuck yourself," Robert snarled at Lucifer.
"That wasn't very nice, was it, Eliot? You see? He's not a very nice person."
Sam looked across at Eliot, willing him to do it. God, he'd do it eventually, why not now? Didn't he know what would happen?
Whether Eliot saw Sam's look and ignored it or missed it completely, Eliot
was still standing firm with what he said. "I don't care what he did, I
ain't doin' it."
This was what Eliot was apologizing to Sam for yesterday, his inability to
give the Devil what he wanted. He knew this moment would come, where the
Devil would push at him and he would push back instead of bend. He didn't
expect it to arrive so quickly after yesterday, but with Lucifer knowing
Sam was a leash around Eliot, the backlash may fall onto the other man
again. But here, in this situation with them both dressed, he hoped it
wouldn't be as horrible.
Eliot turned away from the Devil to the man on the bed who was watching the
scene unfold with anger and perplexity. The poor soul still had no idea
what was going on but Eliot wasn't about to enlighten him. The man was
damned like all of them.
"Put me back on the rack or throw me with the rest of these souls, but I'm
not doin' it. You said he's not very nice? Neither am I. So fuck
you, Lucifer."
"Put you back on the rack?" Lucifer tutted, then glanced at Robert again. "You see? You get a reprieve. Well, from us, anyway."
Lucifer gestured, and the bonds tumbled from around Robert, but as he stepped off the rack, surprised and about to get his shout on, the floor opened up underneath him, and he tumbled into a burning pit that stank of singed flesh. The screaming of tortured souls jumped up through the hole, making Sam shiver, before the hole closed tight behind him.
"What do you think, Sam? Shall we put Eliot up there?"
"I'll do it," Sam said, at once. Eliot hadn't wanted to hurt him, but he'd enjoy being up on the rack even less, Sam knew that.
Lucifer just laughed at him. "No. No, Sam, I don't think so. Eliot volunteered first."
And with a snap of his fingers, Eliot was in Robert's place, strapped down. Simple archangel manipulation of reality. Lucifer stepped over him, leaving Sam behind for a moment, smoothing his fingernails against Eliot's cheek.
"Hey, buddy. I hope you're feeling pleased with yourself."
Eliot barely stayed still when the ground literally open up and swallowed
the unfortunate man. Seconds later, all that was left was a strong stench
of burnt flesh and a ringing off screams in the air.
"Sam, don't-" But Eliot didn't have to worry. Before he could get his
warning out, he found himself on the rack, transported in place by magical
means. Hands stretched above him and legs bound in place, the clothes that
he was given, gone, to leave him as naked as he had been the past few weeks.
He took a deep breath and steadied himself from the disorienting change as
well as brace himself for what was to come. These last few weeks as Sam's
prisoner had given him a reprieve from this type of torture, but his
vacation was over and it was back to his regular hell schedule. He didn't
like it, but he accepted that. It was what he deserved.
He glared up at Lucifer, but didn't bother to turn away from Lucifer's
touch. "Just chipper. Why don't you go fuck yourself, huh, while I just
have a nap here?"
"Why do you people think I can do that?" Lucifer asked, as though he really cared for the answer. Instead, he took a tight grip on Eliot's jaw, peering down at him. "You know, I was going to do you myself, but seeing as Sammy's here, and he's out of practice..."
The words struck ice right through Sam. He froze on the spot, still halfway stepped toward the table from before, and shrunk back instantly, recoiling from Eliot and from the suggestion. Out of practice. It wasn't sex Lucifer wanted him for, it was torture. He was supposed to torture Eliot. After yesterday, after everything Eliot had done for him? Sam wanted nothing but to curl up on himself, but he knew how to obey orders. He knew what would happen to him if he didn't.
Lucifer didn't just have control over his body, after all; he had control over his mind. He could make him see things, feel things, turn his insides out with a thought, then put him back together to do it all over again. Sam knew that he had no choice, but God, he wanted nothing less in the world. If only he could throw himself on that blade instead.
The archangel peeled away from Eliot to come to Sam's side, grabbing him by the back of the neck so hard that Sam briefly thought he might squeeze his head off. Instead he was steered forward, until his thighs bumped into the edge of the table. He put his hands out to stop himself being pushed right down over Eliot, and the Devil finally let him go.
"I don't have to ask you twice, do I?" Lucifer growled. Sam just hunted out Eliot's eyes, terrified, as much wanting to ask for permission as he was afraid of finding his gaze, and Eliot seeing how obedient he was going to be; how he wouldn't say "no", no matter what was put in front of him. He was ashamed of himself for that.
Eliot knew at the same time Sam did what Lucifer wanted, and he knew just
as well that Sam wouldn't turn the Devil down. Sam was broken, he couldn't
do it but Eliot knew he wanted to. Because he didn't enjoy what
Lucifer was doing to him no matter what the man may say and that was enough.
He turned and briefly met Sam's eyes, the other man's wide and panicking,
and Eliot wished he could have said something to ease that terror in them.
But the Devil was there right behind Sam, watching them both while smiling
the Devil's smile, and anything Eliot could have said he knew may be used
against them.
So he tried not show his own unease at being put under the blade again,
tried to smile the way he did sometimes in the face of torture, a little
forced, but open with all his teeth. He didn't blame Sam, the glance that
he returned was understanding, before he fixed a hardened gaze on Lucifer.
He addressed the Devil behind Sam so the other man could gather himself.
Sam looked like he needed more than a few minutes to pull together. "Lemme
guess, you'll be here to enjoy the show?"
Sam was grateful for the moment to recover his senses. The way that things had turned left him very little option but to do as Lucifer wanted. Torturing Eliot? Torturing Eliot would be like torturing his brother, but Sam had come to understand how his life worked, now. Life was cruel. Life turned the good against the good, while the bad sat back and wallowed in its own cleverness.
The understanding look that Eliot gave him was the game kind of look that Dean would have given him under the same circumstances--forced, but "bring it on", like the Devil couldn't beat them.
Sam tried to believe it, but he was having a hard time, especially when Lucifer spoke from behind him:
"I can't guarantee I won't participate." It was practically a purr, sending a shiver up Sam's spine.
The assisting demon rolled a tray of tools up next to Eliot's elbow, and Sam stepped toward them hesitantly, picking up a silver blade.
"That's a good choice, Sam. Why don't you show me what you can do with it?"
The blade was placed down just underneath Eliot's nipple, pressed in so that it drew blood, and that would have been fine if Sam was swift, but he rocked the blade, pressing through gentle increments.
Sam picked a hell of a place to start, maximal nerve endings with minimal
damage. And the way he gyrated the knife as it dug in ensured it would
agitate the severed nerves no matter how sharp the knife itself was.
Eliot's body pulled taut on the rack, muscles tensed and jaw locked into a
steel clench as he held his breath from the crying out.
This was just the start, and Eliot tried to distance himself from what was
going on. Hell removed the worry of permanent damage, which, in Eliot's
opinion, was half the battle won in his favor, but the nature of Sam being
the torturer made it near impossible to completely distance himself. He
couldn't let go when he was concerned for Sam, recalled that expression of
dismay and concern in the other man's eyes and wanted to lessen it.
Eliot cared for Sam, like he would for his team, or his siblings, or their
children, and he was willing to do whatever it took to help him ease the
task. He couldn't do that by zoning out, or breaking, because he had to be
strong for both of them.
Pain, as Eliot learned, growing up, through life, in Hell, was not
something he could control. It was there all around him, done to
him, and the choice was rarely there for him to be able to stop it. There
was nothing he could do to stop his body from breaking down and failing,
that too was beyond his abilities and were at the mercy of the damage and
pain done to it. What he can control were his reactions to it, not his
body's reactions, but his mentality, his expressions and emotions.
He forced his jaw to unclench and breathed out heavily in a gust of air
that vibrated his chest to hurt even more. He had to wait until Sam paused
to breathe in quickly, or to speak, still addressing the Devil. "Join in.
Would love t'see what you can do."
Sam knew how delicate the spot was, and what it would do to Eliot to be cut there, especially in the way that Sam was cutting, sawing away into him, viciously. The thing was, Sam was torturing Eliot in front of Lucifer, and if for a second he went soft - if for a second he hesitated - Lucifer would show him just what real torture was, and Eliot would suffer far worse.
But the Devil heard Eliot's suggestion, and stepped up behind Sam, laying his hand across his hip. Sam flinched, and the knife jerked and stilled in the wound, just for a moment. He was avoiding looking right at Eliot, but at the flinch he felt he had to check himself, and his eyes snapped up briefly, before lowering again, a flush of shame crawling across his cheeks.
"What do you say, Sam? I thought Eliot had seen everything I can do, but it seems to me that he wants another demonstration." The Devil's hand dropped lower, squeezing at his ass, and Sam tensed as his body responded automatically, the way it had been trained to. The knife went still, but only for a moment. Sam dropped his hand lower, placing the blade up against Lindsey's last rib. The blade angled, then pressed in sharply, scoring through into the bone.
Lucifer laughed. "Look how eager to please he is. He doesn't want to disappoint me. He knows what happens to him if I get disappointed."
It was incredibly hard to hold a conversation while being tortured,
especially by someone who actually knew what they were doing. The knife
going in cut Eliot to the bone, punching his breath out with a sharp stab
of pain, but doing no major damage yet. Not that damage had any meaning in
a place like Hell, but Eliot was still human enough to psychologically
catalogue it according to that scale. Maybe a few years in hell would
change that, but not yet.
"Would hate to disappoint you then," Eliot gasped when he had the chance.
There wasn't much of that though as he didn't have breath to talk between
holding it whenever Sam worked.
Eliot wouldn't meet Sam's eyes either, knowing it would be harder for the
other man if their eyes met. He knew Sam didn't want to do this, just like
how he knew the other would falter otherwise, and Sam couldn't afford to
while he was watched by Lucifer. Maybe Sam was pretending it wasn't Eliot
he was doing this to, maybe he was distancing himself, but whatever method,
Eliot will try to cooperate by not drawing him back.
No, he kept trying to draw Lucifer's attention instead. "I wasn't... askin'
for what y'can do to Sam."
Sam held his breath, watching Eliot struggle with the pain. He was actually doing well--but he was showing his pain anyway, demonstrating it without any shadow of a doubt at all. That would be enough for Lucifer, even if Sam didn't make him scream.
Lucifer purred. "It doesn't work that way. You were given a chance last time, and because you cooperated, I gave you this opportunity. You failed, Eliot, and now you're going to be punished for it.
"Make a hole, puppy, the way I showed you before."
It had been...so many years since Sam had last been on the rack--decades and decades, actually, but he still knew instantly what Lucifer was implying. He grimaced, shooting a glance over his shoulder, then an apologetic look toward Eliot. He couldn't apologize enough for what he was about to do.
Sam moved the blade out, bringing it up to Eliot's breastbone. He pressed the blade in, just the tip, until it hit bone, then tipped the knife, sliding it upward, separating skin from the bone underneath. The knife was sticky now, but Sam didn't stop until the blood oozed around the handle and spilled onto his hand, the visible shape of it underneath his skin. He shifted the blade, first one way and them the other, gently opening the hole bigger, careful not to cut through the skin, before he pulled it back out, tossing it messily down on the bench. Anything to keep Lucifer focused on what he was doing.
He pressed two fingers into the hole, where the knife had been before, desperately avoiding looking Eliot in the eye.
"There you go," Lucifer crowed. "Do you like that, Eliot?"
For the moment, all the damage were superficial. The cuts rarely went past
the protective cage of his ribs, hurting only the nerves running through
his subcutaneous layers. It was a good job, if Eliot viewed it objectively.
There were less pain receptors around the organs, and the victim may last
much longer, hours, days even as long as he didn't bleed out.
But damn it hurt like a sonuvabitch, and when the whole "hole" business
started, it was bad enough that Eliot was left breathless from how much
pain he was in. He was breathing shallowly, gasping and trying to minimize
the movement in his chest to keep from agitating the area more.
Eliot couldn't speak to answer for the longest time, his breathing loud and
ragged and eyes closed in pain. His hands were clenched tightly into fists
and every muscle taut with tension. But as soon as he was given respite,
his eyes opened although he had to blink rapidly a few times to make them
focus past the pain.
"Y'know..." His words came out sounding like they were slurred as much as
they were his lazy drawl. "Y'can... use... a rusty knife next time."
Eliot still avoided looking up at Sam, just like how the other was avoiding
looking at him. He kept his bleary gaze on Lucifer, not hiding from his
pain but not surrendering to it either. If the Devil wasn't there, he
might've let himself succumb to it already, but before the king of hell, he
could only keep fighting back.
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.
Alright, nails were much worse than a rusty knife. Eliot had to give
Lucifer, or Sam, whoever thought this up, credit for that. His face was
almost ashen by the time the bar went through and his jaw hurt from how
tightly he clenched his teeth from the pain.
Sam wasn't the only one pale and trembling, and when the bar was pushed
through, Eliot was helplessly bucking against his bonds. He couldn't keep
his body still for this, it was far worse than the demons who just stabbed
and cut and broke his bones. It was when Sam started bending the bar
though, that Eliot expelled his breath in a wordless cry. It trailed off
when he ran out of breath and Sam was temporarily done whatever he was
doing. For a moment there it felt like Sam was trying to skin him alive,
peeling his flesh from his bones when the bar was lifted with the force of
being bent.
Eliot remained breathless long afterwards, heaving light breaths as his
body sagged on the rack trying to recuperate. His breathing became easier
when he healed around the world's largest piercing, although even with the
wounds healed, it took his body a bit too realize the trauma was no longer
actively present.
His will slipped for a split second and he turned his pained gaze up at Sam
at his command, but he quickly turned away. There was no argument this time
as he spread open his legs, making it easier for both of them. His daily
rape, right, their routine doesn't get broken just because he was being
tortured.
"You're a sick bastard..." Eliot whispered, still breathless and voice
raspy from pain.
"I'm the devil," the Devil hissed, as though explaining it to a small child. He reached around Sam, curling his fingers around his exposed cock. Even knowing that sex was going to be inevitable, Sam couldn't get hard for torture. It was where he physically drew the line, unable to perform. But Lucifer had talented fingers--it wouldn't be long.
Instead he went to work with his own hands, as though Lucifer wasn't all over him, reaching down to slide his fingers immediately against Eliot's entrance, grateful that he didn't pick this moment to fight, or kick him in the chest, or any of the other things that he might have done given the chance. Eliot obeyed, and Sam was grateful for that.
He pressed two fingers inside, soon enough, wet as they were, for fear that the blood would coalesce too soon. Blood was - he'd discovered - a terrible lubricant, and if there was an open wound involved - the only way to guarantee sufficient easy movement - then the wound was probably too painful for there to be any enjoyment. Lucifer didn't want this to be gentle, but then why was that any surprise?
Sam bent in over him as he worked his fingers in, not for a moment taking his time the way he had before. Eliot, after all, had been fucked often enough and with such frequency, that rushing things this time shouldn't make things much worse than they already would be. He pressed in a third finger, looking up into his face as he did.
Eliot wasn't looking back at Sam though, but had his eyes closed as he
conserved his energy for what was probably going to come next. For it
wouldn't only be rape that followed, not with the Devil there and Sam under
the spotlight. Eliot will have to be naive to think this will be like all
the other times with Sam.
The other thing was he will never get used to being fucked despite the
frequency it had happened over the last two months. What Sam was doing,
preparing him quickly and with his own fucking blood was disgusting
but wasn't exactly painful. At least, it was nothing compared to what Sam
did to his chest, and Eliot didn't feel anything towards it.
He understood the urgency, the necessity, and he himself had done similar
when he was forced to lay Sam out. When it felt like Sam was finished and
was ready for the main show, Eliot opened his eyes again, not wanting to be
caught off guard by what may be coming. It meant he was given an eyeful of
Lucifer all over Sam, and even with his hands too low for Eliot's field of
vision, he could guess what was happening below.
"Hey, Devil... Guess that means you're a voyeur too." Or all least Eliot
hoped Lucifer was only watching. He found he minded it less being raped by
Sam than by the Devil himself.
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?
Eliot's body jerked in pain at the rough entry, which brought a hiss of
pain when the movement agitated the wounds on his chest. Blood, even the
copious amounts he bled, was not enough to smooth the way, especially not
with how much it had congealed already since being exposed. But then Sam
was anchored against the small loop with the cuffs where the chain was too
short between them for Sam to hold anywhere but his chest, or tug
extremely painfully against the bent metal bar, and Eliot froze.
Locked as they were, he had nowhere to look but at Sam right now, and Sam
definitely was forced to face Eliot. And his pain. There was no way for
Eliot to hide in this situation, not the pain, or the slight trembling in
his exhausted body, or even the slight bit of shame that he was doing his
damnedest to ignore about the whole situation.
Likewise he had never faced Sam up close while the man dealt with the rape
Lucifer dealt him on a regular basis. It should have been a private thing,
how a man deals with torture, and Eliot felt like he was intruding by even
meeting Sam's eyes as the Devil prepared him for another rape. At least
Lucifer was using lube, which made Eliot feel mildly relieved that he
wasn't going to take Sam the same way.
Still, it made Eliot's skin crawl to think Lucifer was the one controlling
things, and he felt horrible for Sam being caught in this sandwich. No
apology was necessary, Eliot understood, and he was the one sorry for
continuing his fight.
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.
Eliot's eyes met Sam's only briefly then slid away to give the man as much
privacy as he could under the circumstances. They traveled along Sam's
torso to the Devil behind him, then locked there, letting him see his work,
pain and humiliation that Eliot didn't try to hide because it was nothing
compared to his anger.
Yet Eliot almost recoiled when the Devil took him in hand. The hand that
touched him felt normal, no claws, no burning heat or raging cold, but
something about it felt so inherently unclean that it made him want to turn
and hide away. It was completely different from the normal touches that Sam
placed on him, and Eliot could not get even an inkling of how much worse it
must be for Sam to be taken by this creature, time after time after
time.
Then they began to move and it was more pain than pleasure. The rocking
motion of Sam inside him was rough with friction, not far enough to reach
his prostate but deep enough to keep Eliot stretched and full. None of this
was about pleasure and Eliot didn't try to seek it, but the Devil wouldn't
let him be. Lucifer stroke and squeezed at him with rough hard pulls. It
wasn't good, but it was stimulation and his tortured body sought it like an
olive branch.
It was when he hardened at the Devil's hand that Eliot finally closed his
eyes as well. His breathing had deepened and his body was balanced
perfectly between arousal and pain. There was little he could do to tip the
scales towards either, and when he gasped, he couldn't be sure for which
reason it was for.
Sam wasn't trying to hit Eliot's prostate, and that was probably for the best all things considered. It was meant to be torture, and that was what it was, for both of them. He kept rocking his hips, whimpering as his own pleasure rose. It would take forever like this, or at least what felt like it, and apparently Lucifer was thinking the same thing, because not three minutes later he was pulling free, his slick hands slipping away from Eliot to find Sam's hips, so that he could pull him back, and - surprising Sam completely - out.
Stunned by the unexpected, Sam shot a glance over his shoulder, frightened by Lucifer's abrupt change in tack. The archangel bent down, lifting Sam physically with his shoulder, his feet coming off the ground. Sam, consequently, was quick to move, even though it jerked his wrists briefly to do so, his legs going across Eliot's hips before the Devil finally stopped pushing him, and let him settle back down.
Meanwhile, Sam's attention had snapped back to Eliot, brow twisted in confusion to try and get across the fact that he had no idea what was happening either--no idea at all, in fact, until Lucifer guided him down on Eliot's cock, his back going rigid as the position angled straight into that magical bundle of nerves.
But the Devil wasn't done. He pressed Sam forward again, folding him down over the other man, until Sam's nose was brushing Eliot's collarbone, and then nudged the head of his cock back in, beside Eliot's, something that made even Sam, with his experience of all Lucifer's toys, gasp and whimper, wet tears making the room between them damp as he pressed his cheek against Eliot's chest. It hurt - God it hurt, even if he hadn't been this full in a long time - but mostly it was new. New tortures so rarely came along--they were saved for moments like this.
Eliot's relief at Sam pulling out was short lived as immediately after he
could see Lucifer manipulating the other man. The movement tugged on the
anchored ring, making him gasp out as sharp bolts of pain hammered into his
chest seconds before Sam was there, in his face and, oh god, settling down
over his cock.
"Fuck," Eliot expelled the air in his lungs in a quick rush, caught off
guard by this sudden change in tactics as well. He glanced over at Sam
quickly, wanting to check if the other man was okay with this, but Sam had
buried his face against Eliot and he couldn't catch his eyes.
Nor did he need to, not when he felt the hot tears against his skin when
Lucifer forced his way in beside Eliot.
"Sam," Eliot breathed, his whisper practically in Sam's ear from how close
they were. "Hold onto my shoulders an' just keep breathin'." He knew the
other didn't need advice from him but this was as much of a gesture of
support as anything else. To hold that position would pull on the cuffs,
but Eliot could take the pain if it would help ease Sam's even a little.
Sam could take it, but that didn't mean that it was easy being pierced that way, two cocks pressed inside him, stretching him uncomfortably wide. Eliot's erection still nudged his prostate, but it was up to Sam to try and relax, to let them fill him. Lucifer was giving him time, gratefully, though Sam still tensed under Eliot's soft words, flicking his eyes upward.
Eliot invited him to move his hands upward, but that would cause him pain, Sam knew. He knew how the metal would pull uncomfortably, how it would hurt deep inside, where all those nerves had been healed into place, where they could feel the pain, experience it.
So he refused with a little shake of his head, raising his head just a little so that Eliot could see that he wasn't afraid, that he could take it on full strength.
He shuddered, as Lucifer began to move, sliding against Eliot inside him, thrusting him up and forward, and then pulling him back as he slid away. Sam groaned, digging his nails into Eliot's chest, the blunt touch much more reasonable than the alternative. Breathe. Keep breathing. He could get through this. He was strong; Eliot had to know that. He was surviving Hell and he wasn't even dead, that had to count for something.
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Lucifer would surely not join them again, Sam thought--but Sam was wrong. Lucifer came at around midday, well before he'd have considered taking Eliot to bed. To be honest, he was putting it off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again.
He came attended by a demon with a clipboard this time, standing in the doorway as Sam looked at him, baffled.
"Are we going somewhere?" he asked, carefully.
Lucifer stepped in, petting his hair, until Sam lowered his head, his gaze, utterly submissive, and told him yes, that both he and Eliot were to come with him. They were even invited to dress with clothes laid out on the bed, which made Sam suspicious. He could guess where they were going, what they would be invited to do, and that Eliot would fail. He knew it already, but he stepped out obediently, following Lucifer and the demon through the long gothic hallways.
He hung back, but didn't say a word to Eliot, already psyching himself up for what was to come ahead.
At last they stepped into a torture room, recognisable by the floor which tapered into the center, where a hole in the floor under the table would drain away anything anything that splashed. The body laying out on it was an older man in an expensive suit, who clearly had no true understanding of where he was, or what had happened to him. When they stepped inside, he parsed some spiel about calling his lawyer, and the police.
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It left him feeling good to start the day, even though he expected things to go back to normal and would probably go downhill. He was realistic about it so he wasn't particularly shocked when the Devil showed up again in the afternoon. After the session yesterday, Eliot had the feeling that he wouldn't be left alone so soon, he expected that. It was still hard to see Sam behave like a broken man immediately in Lucifer's presence though.
The clothes, the demon lackey, they all bode ill although Eliot couldn't figure out what. He tried to guess from Sam, but the man was as silent as he ever was when the Devil was around and Eliot found no help from him. Yet the answer was self evident when after the short trip they reached their destination, a clear place of torture with the victim tied down in the middle. The room wasn't an improvised area with plastic wraps for easy cleaning that Eliot was used to, but with a built in drain in the middle that proved it's permanent status. This was the type of place Hell was, and the routine Eliot suffered before Sam took over.
From the clothes he was given --scratchy, he wasn't used to wearing clothes anymore-- he knew the victim this time wouldn't be him, at least physically. But that didn't make him relax at all. He could guess what the Devil wanted with him and the tension in the room just built that much more.
For the first time since Lucifer walked in today, Eliot spoke, "No, I won't do it."
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Lucifer made him believe them. For example he'd sworn that Dean would come and rescue him for a week, before Lucifer had pointed out that even if he was rescued, Sam was ruined for the world now. He would never go back to being who he was; he'd always be Lucifer's bitch. Sam believed that. He never suggested rescue again. Speaking was just risky, so he only did it when he really had something to say. Eliot was learning quickly too.
Sam felt himself tense as Eliot denied the Devil what he wanted, just like he'd expected. Sure enough, Lucifer stepped up beside Eliot, looking at him intently.
"Are you sure about that? It isn't anything that Robert here doesn't deserve. He's an embezzler, and an adulterer--aren't you Robbie?"
"Go fuck yourself," Robert snarled at Lucifer.
"That wasn't very nice, was it, Eliot? You see? He's not a very nice person."
Sam looked across at Eliot, willing him to do it. God, he'd do it eventually, why not now? Didn't he know what would happen?
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Whether Eliot saw Sam's look and ignored it or missed it completely, Eliot was still standing firm with what he said. "I don't care what he did, I ain't doin' it."
This was what Eliot was apologizing to Sam for yesterday, his inability to give the Devil what he wanted. He knew this moment would come, where the Devil would push at him and he would push back instead of bend. He didn't expect it to arrive so quickly after yesterday, but with Lucifer knowing Sam was a leash around Eliot, the backlash may fall onto the other man again. But here, in this situation with them both dressed, he hoped it wouldn't be as horrible.
Eliot turned away from the Devil to the man on the bed who was watching the scene unfold with anger and perplexity. The poor soul still had no idea what was going on but Eliot wasn't about to enlighten him. The man was damned like all of them.
"Put me back on the rack or throw me with the rest of these souls, but I'm not doin' it. You said he's not very nice? Neither am I. So fuck you, Lucifer."
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Lucifer gestured, and the bonds tumbled from around Robert, but as he stepped off the rack, surprised and about to get his shout on, the floor opened up underneath him, and he tumbled into a burning pit that stank of singed flesh. The screaming of tortured souls jumped up through the hole, making Sam shiver, before the hole closed tight behind him.
"What do you think, Sam? Shall we put Eliot up there?"
"I'll do it," Sam said, at once. Eliot hadn't wanted to hurt him, but he'd enjoy being up on the rack even less, Sam knew that.
Lucifer just laughed at him. "No. No, Sam, I don't think so. Eliot volunteered first."
And with a snap of his fingers, Eliot was in Robert's place, strapped down. Simple archangel manipulation of reality. Lucifer stepped over him, leaving Sam behind for a moment, smoothing his fingernails against Eliot's cheek.
"Hey, buddy. I hope you're feeling pleased with yourself."
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Eliot barely stayed still when the ground literally open up and swallowed the unfortunate man. Seconds later, all that was left was a strong stench of burnt flesh and a ringing off screams in the air.
"Sam, don't-" But Eliot didn't have to worry. Before he could get his warning out, he found himself on the rack, transported in place by magical means. Hands stretched above him and legs bound in place, the clothes that he was given, gone, to leave him as naked as he had been the past few weeks.
He took a deep breath and steadied himself from the disorienting change as well as brace himself for what was to come. These last few weeks as Sam's prisoner had given him a reprieve from this type of torture, but his vacation was over and it was back to his regular hell schedule. He didn't like it, but he accepted that. It was what he deserved.
He glared up at Lucifer, but didn't bother to turn away from Lucifer's touch. "Just chipper. Why don't you go fuck yourself, huh, while I just have a nap here?"
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The words struck ice right through Sam. He froze on the spot, still halfway stepped toward the table from before, and shrunk back instantly, recoiling from Eliot and from the suggestion. Out of practice. It wasn't sex Lucifer wanted him for, it was torture. He was supposed to torture Eliot. After yesterday, after everything Eliot had done for him? Sam wanted nothing but to curl up on himself, but he knew how to obey orders. He knew what would happen to him if he didn't.
Lucifer didn't just have control over his body, after all; he had control over his mind. He could make him see things, feel things, turn his insides out with a thought, then put him back together to do it all over again. Sam knew that he had no choice, but God, he wanted nothing less in the world. If only he could throw himself on that blade instead.
The archangel peeled away from Eliot to come to Sam's side, grabbing him by the back of the neck so hard that Sam briefly thought he might squeeze his head off. Instead he was steered forward, until his thighs bumped into the edge of the table. He put his hands out to stop himself being pushed right down over Eliot, and the Devil finally let him go.
"I don't have to ask you twice, do I?" Lucifer growled. Sam just hunted out Eliot's eyes, terrified, as much wanting to ask for permission as he was afraid of finding his gaze, and Eliot seeing how obedient he was going to be; how he wouldn't say "no", no matter what was put in front of him. He was ashamed of himself for that.
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Eliot knew at the same time Sam did what Lucifer wanted, and he knew just as well that Sam wouldn't turn the Devil down. Sam was broken, he couldn't do it but Eliot knew he wanted to. Because he didn't enjoy what Lucifer was doing to him no matter what the man may say and that was enough.
He turned and briefly met Sam's eyes, the other man's wide and panicking, and Eliot wished he could have said something to ease that terror in them. But the Devil was there right behind Sam, watching them both while smiling the Devil's smile, and anything Eliot could have said he knew may be used against them.
So he tried not show his own unease at being put under the blade again, tried to smile the way he did sometimes in the face of torture, a little forced, but open with all his teeth. He didn't blame Sam, the glance that he returned was understanding, before he fixed a hardened gaze on Lucifer.
He addressed the Devil behind Sam so the other man could gather himself. Sam looked like he needed more than a few minutes to pull together. "Lemme guess, you'll be here to enjoy the show?"
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The understanding look that Eliot gave him was the game kind of look that Dean would have given him under the same circumstances--forced, but "bring it on", like the Devil couldn't beat them.
Sam tried to believe it, but he was having a hard time, especially when Lucifer spoke from behind him:
"I can't guarantee I won't participate." It was practically a purr, sending a shiver up Sam's spine.
The assisting demon rolled a tray of tools up next to Eliot's elbow, and Sam stepped toward them hesitantly, picking up a silver blade.
"That's a good choice, Sam. Why don't you show me what you can do with it?"
The blade was placed down just underneath Eliot's nipple, pressed in so that it drew blood, and that would have been fine if Sam was swift, but he rocked the blade, pressing through gentle increments.
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Sam picked a hell of a place to start, maximal nerve endings with minimal damage. And the way he gyrated the knife as it dug in ensured it would agitate the severed nerves no matter how sharp the knife itself was. Eliot's body pulled taut on the rack, muscles tensed and jaw locked into a steel clench as he held his breath from the crying out.
This was just the start, and Eliot tried to distance himself from what was going on. Hell removed the worry of permanent damage, which, in Eliot's opinion, was half the battle won in his favor, but the nature of Sam being the torturer made it near impossible to completely distance himself. He couldn't let go when he was concerned for Sam, recalled that expression of dismay and concern in the other man's eyes and wanted to lessen it.
Eliot cared for Sam, like he would for his team, or his siblings, or their children, and he was willing to do whatever it took to help him ease the task. He couldn't do that by zoning out, or breaking, because he had to be strong for both of them.
Pain, as Eliot learned, growing up, through life, in Hell, was not something he could control. It was there all around him, done to him, and the choice was rarely there for him to be able to stop it. There was nothing he could do to stop his body from breaking down and failing, that too was beyond his abilities and were at the mercy of the damage and pain done to it. What he can control were his reactions to it, not his body's reactions, but his mentality, his expressions and emotions.
He forced his jaw to unclench and breathed out heavily in a gust of air that vibrated his chest to hurt even more. He had to wait until Sam paused to breathe in quickly, or to speak, still addressing the Devil. "Join in. Would love t'see what you can do."
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But the Devil heard Eliot's suggestion, and stepped up behind Sam, laying his hand across his hip. Sam flinched, and the knife jerked and stilled in the wound, just for a moment. He was avoiding looking right at Eliot, but at the flinch he felt he had to check himself, and his eyes snapped up briefly, before lowering again, a flush of shame crawling across his cheeks.
"What do you say, Sam? I thought Eliot had seen everything I can do, but it seems to me that he wants another demonstration." The Devil's hand dropped lower, squeezing at his ass, and Sam tensed as his body responded automatically, the way it had been trained to. The knife went still, but only for a moment. Sam dropped his hand lower, placing the blade up against Lindsey's last rib. The blade angled, then pressed in sharply, scoring through into the bone.
Lucifer laughed. "Look how eager to please he is. He doesn't want to disappoint me. He knows what happens to him if I get disappointed."
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It was incredibly hard to hold a conversation while being tortured, especially by someone who actually knew what they were doing. The knife going in cut Eliot to the bone, punching his breath out with a sharp stab of pain, but doing no major damage yet. Not that damage had any meaning in a place like Hell, but Eliot was still human enough to psychologically catalogue it according to that scale. Maybe a few years in hell would change that, but not yet.
"Would hate to disappoint you then," Eliot gasped when he had the chance. There wasn't much of that though as he didn't have breath to talk between holding it whenever Sam worked.
Eliot wouldn't meet Sam's eyes either, knowing it would be harder for the other man if their eyes met. He knew Sam didn't want to do this, just like how he knew the other would falter otherwise, and Sam couldn't afford to while he was watched by Lucifer. Maybe Sam was pretending it wasn't Eliot he was doing this to, maybe he was distancing himself, but whatever method, Eliot will try to cooperate by not drawing him back.
No, he kept trying to draw Lucifer's attention instead. "I wasn't... askin' for what y'can do to Sam."
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Lucifer purred. "It doesn't work that way. You were given a chance last time, and because you cooperated, I gave you this opportunity. You failed, Eliot, and now you're going to be punished for it.
"Make a hole, puppy, the way I showed you before."
It had been...so many years since Sam had last been on the rack--decades and decades, actually, but he still knew instantly what Lucifer was implying. He grimaced, shooting a glance over his shoulder, then an apologetic look toward Eliot. He couldn't apologize enough for what he was about to do.
Sam moved the blade out, bringing it up to Eliot's breastbone. He pressed the blade in, just the tip, until it hit bone, then tipped the knife, sliding it upward, separating skin from the bone underneath. The knife was sticky now, but Sam didn't stop until the blood oozed around the handle and spilled onto his hand, the visible shape of it underneath his skin. He shifted the blade, first one way and them the other, gently opening the hole bigger, careful not to cut through the skin, before he pulled it back out, tossing it messily down on the bench. Anything to keep Lucifer focused on what he was doing.
He pressed two fingers into the hole, where the knife had been before, desperately avoiding looking Eliot in the eye.
"There you go," Lucifer crowed. "Do you like that, Eliot?"
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For the moment, all the damage were superficial. The cuts rarely went past the protective cage of his ribs, hurting only the nerves running through his subcutaneous layers. It was a good job, if Eliot viewed it objectively. There were less pain receptors around the organs, and the victim may last much longer, hours, days even as long as he didn't bleed out.
But damn it hurt like a sonuvabitch, and when the whole "hole" business started, it was bad enough that Eliot was left breathless from how much pain he was in. He was breathing shallowly, gasping and trying to minimize the movement in his chest to keep from agitating the area more.
Eliot couldn't speak to answer for the longest time, his breathing loud and ragged and eyes closed in pain. His hands were clenched tightly into fists and every muscle taut with tension. But as soon as he was given respite, his eyes opened although he had to blink rapidly a few times to make them focus past the pain.
"Y'know..." His words came out sounding like they were slurred as much as they were his lazy drawl. "Y'can... use... a rusty knife next time."
Eliot still avoided looking up at Sam, just like how the other was avoiding looking at him. He kept his bleary gaze on Lucifer, not hiding from his pain but not surrendering to it either. If the Devil wasn't there, he might've let himself succumb to it already, but before the king of hell, he could only keep fighting back.
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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.
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Alright, nails were much worse than a rusty knife. Eliot had to give Lucifer, or Sam, whoever thought this up, credit for that. His face was almost ashen by the time the bar went through and his jaw hurt from how tightly he clenched his teeth from the pain.
Sam wasn't the only one pale and trembling, and when the bar was pushed through, Eliot was helplessly bucking against his bonds. He couldn't keep his body still for this, it was far worse than the demons who just stabbed and cut and broke his bones. It was when Sam started bending the bar though, that Eliot expelled his breath in a wordless cry. It trailed off when he ran out of breath and Sam was temporarily done whatever he was doing. For a moment there it felt like Sam was trying to skin him alive, peeling his flesh from his bones when the bar was lifted with the force of being bent.
Eliot remained breathless long afterwards, heaving light breaths as his body sagged on the rack trying to recuperate. His breathing became easier when he healed around the world's largest piercing, although even with the wounds healed, it took his body a bit too realize the trauma was no longer actively present.
His will slipped for a split second and he turned his pained gaze up at Sam at his command, but he quickly turned away. There was no argument this time as he spread open his legs, making it easier for both of them. His daily rape, right, their routine doesn't get broken just because he was being tortured.
"You're a sick bastard..." Eliot whispered, still breathless and voice raspy from pain.
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Instead he went to work with his own hands, as though Lucifer wasn't all over him, reaching down to slide his fingers immediately against Eliot's entrance, grateful that he didn't pick this moment to fight, or kick him in the chest, or any of the other things that he might have done given the chance. Eliot obeyed, and Sam was grateful for that.
He pressed two fingers inside, soon enough, wet as they were, for fear that the blood would coalesce too soon. Blood was - he'd discovered - a terrible lubricant, and if there was an open wound involved - the only way to guarantee sufficient easy movement - then the wound was probably too painful for there to be any enjoyment. Lucifer didn't want this to be gentle, but then why was that any surprise?
Sam bent in over him as he worked his fingers in, not for a moment taking his time the way he had before. Eliot, after all, had been fucked often enough and with such frequency, that rushing things this time shouldn't make things much worse than they already would be. He pressed in a third finger, looking up into his face as he did.
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Eliot wasn't looking back at Sam though, but had his eyes closed as he conserved his energy for what was probably going to come next. For it wouldn't only be rape that followed, not with the Devil there and Sam under the spotlight. Eliot will have to be naive to think this will be like all the other times with Sam.
The other thing was he will never get used to being fucked despite the frequency it had happened over the last two months. What Sam was doing, preparing him quickly and with his own fucking blood was disgusting but wasn't exactly painful. At least, it was nothing compared to what Sam did to his chest, and Eliot didn't feel anything towards it.
He understood the urgency, the necessity, and he himself had done similar when he was forced to lay Sam out. When it felt like Sam was finished and was ready for the main show, Eliot opened his eyes again, not wanting to be caught off guard by what may be coming. It meant he was given an eyeful of Lucifer all over Sam, and even with his hands too low for Eliot's field of vision, he could guess what was happening below.
"Hey, Devil... Guess that means you're a voyeur too." Or all least Eliot hoped Lucifer was only watching. He found he minded it less being raped by Sam than by the Devil himself.
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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?
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Eliot's body jerked in pain at the rough entry, which brought a hiss of pain when the movement agitated the wounds on his chest. Blood, even the copious amounts he bled, was not enough to smooth the way, especially not with how much it had congealed already since being exposed. But then Sam was anchored against the small loop with the cuffs where the chain was too short between them for Sam to hold anywhere but his chest, or tug extremely painfully against the bent metal bar, and Eliot froze.
Locked as they were, he had nowhere to look but at Sam right now, and Sam definitely was forced to face Eliot. And his pain. There was no way for Eliot to hide in this situation, not the pain, or the slight trembling in his exhausted body, or even the slight bit of shame that he was doing his damnedest to ignore about the whole situation.
Likewise he had never faced Sam up close while the man dealt with the rape Lucifer dealt him on a regular basis. It should have been a private thing, how a man deals with torture, and Eliot felt like he was intruding by even meeting Sam's eyes as the Devil prepared him for another rape. At least Lucifer was using lube, which made Eliot feel mildly relieved that he wasn't going to take Sam the same way.
Still, it made Eliot's skin crawl to think Lucifer was the one controlling things, and he felt horrible for Sam being caught in this sandwich. No apology was necessary, Eliot understood, and he was the one sorry for continuing his fight.
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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.
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Eliot's eyes met Sam's only briefly then slid away to give the man as much privacy as he could under the circumstances. They traveled along Sam's torso to the Devil behind him, then locked there, letting him see his work, pain and humiliation that Eliot didn't try to hide because it was nothing compared to his anger.
Yet Eliot almost recoiled when the Devil took him in hand. The hand that touched him felt normal, no claws, no burning heat or raging cold, but something about it felt so inherently unclean that it made him want to turn and hide away. It was completely different from the normal touches that Sam placed on him, and Eliot could not get even an inkling of how much worse it must be for Sam to be taken by this creature, time after time after time.
Then they began to move and it was more pain than pleasure. The rocking motion of Sam inside him was rough with friction, not far enough to reach his prostate but deep enough to keep Eliot stretched and full. None of this was about pleasure and Eliot didn't try to seek it, but the Devil wouldn't let him be. Lucifer stroke and squeezed at him with rough hard pulls. It wasn't good, but it was stimulation and his tortured body sought it like an olive branch.
It was when he hardened at the Devil's hand that Eliot finally closed his eyes as well. His breathing had deepened and his body was balanced perfectly between arousal and pain. There was little he could do to tip the scales towards either, and when he gasped, he couldn't be sure for which reason it was for.
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Stunned by the unexpected, Sam shot a glance over his shoulder, frightened by Lucifer's abrupt change in tack. The archangel bent down, lifting Sam physically with his shoulder, his feet coming off the ground. Sam, consequently, was quick to move, even though it jerked his wrists briefly to do so, his legs going across Eliot's hips before the Devil finally stopped pushing him, and let him settle back down.
Meanwhile, Sam's attention had snapped back to Eliot, brow twisted in confusion to try and get across the fact that he had no idea what was happening either--no idea at all, in fact, until Lucifer guided him down on Eliot's cock, his back going rigid as the position angled straight into that magical bundle of nerves.
But the Devil wasn't done. He pressed Sam forward again, folding him down over the other man, until Sam's nose was brushing Eliot's collarbone, and then nudged the head of his cock back in, beside Eliot's, something that made even Sam, with his experience of all Lucifer's toys, gasp and whimper, wet tears making the room between them damp as he pressed his cheek against Eliot's chest. It hurt - God it hurt, even if he hadn't been this full in a long time - but mostly it was new. New tortures so rarely came along--they were saved for moments like this.
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Eliot's relief at Sam pulling out was short lived as immediately after he could see Lucifer manipulating the other man. The movement tugged on the anchored ring, making him gasp out as sharp bolts of pain hammered into his chest seconds before Sam was there, in his face and, oh god, settling down over his cock.
"Fuck," Eliot expelled the air in his lungs in a quick rush, caught off guard by this sudden change in tactics as well. He glanced over at Sam quickly, wanting to check if the other man was okay with this, but Sam had buried his face against Eliot and he couldn't catch his eyes.
Nor did he need to, not when he felt the hot tears against his skin when Lucifer forced his way in beside Eliot.
"Sam," Eliot breathed, his whisper practically in Sam's ear from how close they were. "Hold onto my shoulders an' just keep breathin'." He knew the other didn't need advice from him but this was as much of a gesture of support as anything else. To hold that position would pull on the cuffs, but Eliot could take the pain if it would help ease Sam's even a little.
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Eliot invited him to move his hands upward, but that would cause him pain, Sam knew. He knew how the metal would pull uncomfortably, how it would hurt deep inside, where all those nerves had been healed into place, where they could feel the pain, experience it.
So he refused with a little shake of his head, raising his head just a little so that Eliot could see that he wasn't afraid, that he could take it on full strength.
He shuddered, as Lucifer began to move, sliding against Eliot inside him, thrusting him up and forward, and then pulling him back as he slid away. Sam groaned, digging his nails into Eliot's chest, the blunt touch much more reasonable than the alternative. Breathe. Keep breathing. He could get through this. He was strong; Eliot had to know that. He was surviving Hell and he wasn't even dead, that had to count for something.
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