Claiming Sammy Chapter 1 /15 - A New Game to Play
Title: Claiming Sammy
Author: TFWBT
Rating: NC-17
Genre/pairing: Lucifer/Sam. Brief: Memory Sam/Ruby. Memory Sam/Jess. Memory Sam/Madison
Word count: 26,000 written so far. 35,000 planned plus second part.
Summary: In the cage, Lucifer wants Sam's body, but like before, he won't take Sam until Sam says 'yes'. The last thing Sam wants is to be fucked by a sadist who tortures and kills him on a regular basis, but Lucifer is patient and persistent. Can Sam refuse him or will Lucifer wear him down? Why does Lucifer care about consent on this issue when he doesn't on anything else?
Spoilers: Set in season 6.
Warnings: Torture, non-con, dub-con
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just enjoy playing with them
Notes: Thanks to jdl71 for being an awesome beta and helping shape the story!
His first mistake was saying, “No.”
It was a stupid mistake. After all, it was one of the first lessons he learned in the cage. It only took a few days (weeks?) for him to realize that Lucifer happily devoured his fear and hatred. The more he struggled, the longer the torture lasted. The louder his screams, the greater the chance of the method being repeated again and again and again. A “no” was met by laughter and more pain. If Lucifer were in a particularly joyful mood, he'd hiss a breathless “Oh yes, Sammy” and soon Sam would wish for death.
In the weeks (months?) that followed, Sam had learned to damper his reactions. Not too much, though, or Lucifer would know, and there was nothing Lucifer hated more than Sam trying to deceive him. Sam suspected that Lucifer knew anyway. Either Lucifer could read his mind, or that brief period as Lucifer's vessel had been enough for Lucifer to know Sam almost as well as he knew himself.
Lately though, Lucifer had been playing a new game. Sometimes he'd let Sam win. Sam hadn't figured out all the rules - if there even were rules - but sometimes, if he fought, Lucifer would let him go. Not always. Sometimes resistance was met with punishment. A simple disembowelment would turn into being skinned alive. A freezing would take longer than usual, with Sam’s skin turning black and falling off for days instead of hours.
When Sam had tried to avoid the entire matter by dropping any form of resistance, Lucifer had severely punished him for that.
Begging was allowed - even rewarded occasionally, but Sam knew better than to press his luck with it or try to use it to get out of the tortures they both knew Sam really hated.
But saying “no”? After years (decades?) in the cage, Sam knew exactly how that would end. What Lucifer wanted, he got. Sam only ‘won’ when Lucifer wanted him to win.
It wasn't as if Sam could get away. The cage was sometimes just a box of iron, but usually it was whatever Lucifer wanted it to be. He could warp reality around him and change his form into anyone's. He was almost always in the body of his former vessel, Nick. When Michael showed up - always in angelic form - Lucifer would take on his angelic form too. Sam never lasted long after that. The piercing ringing would rise and rise until his eardrums burst. If he managed to shut his eyes in time, he could stop them from bursting, but a hemorrhaging death soon followed, no matter how well he hid his face in his arms.
Rescue had never crossed Sam's mind. He knew when he jumped he'd be in the cage for eternity. Hope could only hurt and Dean had promised. With Castiel and Bobby dead, Dean wouldn't have much help, anyway. Lucifer claimed that Adam's soul had been pulled to heaven shortly after arrival. “But not you, Sam. You're mine.” Sam didn't know if Adam had been rescued or not, but he didn't doubt that the angels would've left him behind if they did pull Adam out. The angels were probably glad that Sam was in the cage; after all, he'd drunk demon blood, started the apocalypse, and refused to follow Michael's plan.
With no concept of how time passed or anyone to talk to but Lucifer, he spent his days studying Lucifer, learning what he liked, and then Lucifer would get bored or change his mind, and Sam would be scrambling again to try to figure out how to reduce the pain. Never to avoid it. Sam had never had more than a day or two without torture, even when he did everything Lucifer wanted him to do.
Lucifer had been in a particularly sadistic mood after his last argument with Michael, so when the chains wrapped around Sam's neck and pulled him up on his tiptoes, Sam almost sighed with relief. He knew this. It varied, of course, the tortures always varied. Lucifer might beat, whip, burn, or carve him, but with Sam up on his toes, usually he just conjured a clock and vanished. Sam knew this game well enough that he no longer needed to be reminded of the rules - if he was able to match his old record for staying alive, nothing would happen other than slowly strangling to death. If he beat it, then he'd be rewarded. If he died too early or spent too many sessions just matching his old time… Well, he didn't want to think about that.
At first, Sam had thought the task had been designed to make him fail and deserve to be punished. After all, when his body was restored after each death, it was restored to the same state. He never got stronger. There was no need for food, water, or sleep in the cage, so only pain made him weaker and Lucifer only put them on his toes soon after being reborn, which meant he always started at the same strength. Through time and punishment, Sam had learned to alternate between pulling himself up on the chain by his hands, balancing on his toes, and carefully strangling himself enough to rest his legs and arms, but not enough to kill himself. He'd held steady at just about two hours for the past three sessions and knew he needed to find a way to beat that soon. He wasn't afraid though, he'd been practicing.
Besides, being on his toes usually meant being left alone. He'd grown to appreciate the tortures that didn't involve Lucifer talking, taunting, teasing. When he was by himself in the beginning, the ghosts of those he'd failed had haunted him, but after years of pain and penance, he'd learned how to focus his thoughts on Dean. He'd built a steady collection of hunts - real and imagined - to busy his mind. The last time he'd been on his toes, he'd died in the Impala, Dean at his side, singing Air Supply’s “I'm All Out of Love”. During his last slow roast, he'd thought up a new hunt - one involving vampires and strippers and couldn't wait to run through it from start to finish. He'd already timed it out so that he'd die drinking beers while leaning against the Impala, Dean making him laugh with a cheesy joke.
Sam wrapped his fingers around the chains on his neck, closed his eyes, and pulled up an image of Dean in the strip club with a plate full of greasy, cheap food, and drinks already poured. The best dreams were the ones where Dean got everything he wanted; it hurt too much to think on what Sam wanted.
“Going somewhere, Sam?” Lucifer's breath brushed his ear.
Startled, Sam jumped, and lost his footing, the chain strangling. He lurched forward - a little too far - and Lucifer's cold hand met his flaccid cock. Later, he'd realize that it had probably been an accident, but he wasn't thinking. One minute he had been with Dean, the next he was back in the cage, about to be tortured to death with a hand on his cock. He didn't think, and so he made his first mistake.
“No!”
“No?” Lucifer practically purred, his eyes gleaming. Sam hadn't seen that look since the early weeks of the cage when they both were learning how much pain Sam's body could take before breaking.
Sam's heart lurched in his throat, making him light headed even though he was now balanced perfectly on his toes again. He recognized his mistake and tried to calm himself down, to pretend that he hadn't reacted at all. If he showed no further reaction, maybe Lucifer would leave it alone.
Lucifer was a dog was a new chew toy. His eyes never leaving Sam's face, he fully grabbed Sam's cock and squeezed, enough to hurt a little. Please, no. Sam couldn't help but shudder a little. Still, he somehow managed to stay upright, his eyes meeting Lucifer's icy blue ones, trying to force his heart to calm and stop threatening to beat right from his chest.
“Say it again, Sam.”
Should he try begging? He had recently been rewarded for begging for relief from being nailed onto a plank. It was too soon to expect it to work again. Besides, begging would probably just excite Lucifer, maybe even turn him on. Did Lucifer even get turned on? To his horror, Sam realized he had assumed rape was one torture Lucifer wouldn't stoop to because of how much Lucifer looked down on humans. The entire time Lucifer had possessed his body, his cock had been dormant, not even used to take a piss. In his years in the cage, Lucifer had never once given him a sexual glance even though Sam was always naked because his body regenerated without his clothes. Lucifer often spoke of Sam being made for him and how they were meant to be, but it was more familial or romantic (if that term could apply) than sexual.
Sam's legs trembled and the clock ticked loudly, pounding in his head. There was no way he would make two hours. He licked his lips and wheezed out an answer to the original question, “I meant, not yet.”
Lucifer laughed - a genuine one - and released Sam's cock. Sam clamped down hard on his relief and made his second mistake. He thought that there was a way out. A way that didn't end in rape.
“You're right, Sammy, much too soon. Need to start at first base.” He grabbed Sam’s hair and pressed his lips against Sam's mouth, his tongue darting into Sam's gasping lips.
NO! He reacted on instinct; his hands released the chains and shoved Lucifer back.
Calmly, Lucifer grabbed one of his wrists and twisted as he walked behind Sam. Ow! Sam both heard and felt the pop of his dislocated shoulder, but somehow managed to stay up on his toes as Lucifer bound his arms together behind his back. No, no, no! He forced himself to bite back the words and remain still, not wanting to give Lucifer anymore encouragement.
“Hmm… it's been awhile since you've been this feisty. I’ve missed this side of you,” Lucifer said as he pressed himself against Sam's back, the cold of his body chilling Sam, even through his clothes. “Such a tease, but you're right, Sammy. We should take this slow.”
Don't touch me, asshole! Sam’s head swam, his stomach twisting on itself.
Lucifer’s cold hands grasped Sam's shoulders and trailed down, his thumbs gently brushing over Sam's nipples. The sensation made Sam's skin crawl, and he hissed in irritation.
Why? Why now? Sam knew the answer as soon as the question popped in his head. Because Lucifer saw the fear. Sam knew better than to beg, so he tried to reason. “I knew you were a sick freak, but beastiality? You hate humans. You think we are cockroaches. Worse!”
“You're right.” Lucifer's right hand drifted lower, his fingers curling around Sam's cock again.
In the years in the cage, Lucifer had never once touched him except to hurt him. The very feel of his cold fingers made Sam's skin crawl and he tensed, expecting pain at any moment.
Lucifer languidly stroked him instead. Sam grit his teeth, trying to stay calm and not react.
“But you aren't human, are you? You're my vessel. You were made for me. This body?” His grip tightened. “Mine. It's just masturbation.”
The cold hand on his cock felt horrible and each stroke made Sam want to gag.
“Don't be shy, Sam,” said Lucifer softly, his hand moving steadily. “I know you want this.”
I don't. He couldn't voice it or it would just encourage Lucifer.
Sam hadn't touched his cock in years. With no need to piss, no morning wood, nothing remotely sexual in the cage, and his body in a near constant state of pain and blood loss, he'd forgotten arousal. His cock hadn't. It eagerly filled in Lucifer's stroking hand as pleasure shot through him. His nerves were so used to pain, he almost didn't recognize it. Once he realized what that strange current running through his body was, he couldn't ignore it. Each subsequent stroke filled him with a terrible mix of pleasure and revulsion, his cock eager, but his mind wanting escape.
Sam froze, completely undone by the simple act, the chains on his neck and the clock forgotten for a moment.
This can't be happening. He didn't know what to do. There had to be a way out. Should he fight? Should he continue to be passive and bore Lucifer? It didn't seem to be working. He didn't know. He used to know. He thought he'd gotten used to everything Lucifer could throw at him.
“I saw this in your memories,” said Lucifer, sounding incredibly proud of himself, as if giving Sam a handjob was a point of personal pride. “I saw them. I saw you. I know what you like. What you want.”
“No,” gasped Sam, too lost to remember the rules. “Not you.”
In an instant, the chains tightened around Sam's neck and his vision swam.
“Don't lie to me, Sam,” warned Lucifer, his hands still. “I can see into your soul.” The chains relaxed enough for Sam to breathe again. Lucifer captured one of Sam's pebbled nipples in his fingers and twisted and pulled, drawing a hiss of pain from Sam. His other hand resumed its expert administrations. “Look at how much you enjoy it.” He slid his hand up and down Sam's hardening cock, each stroke filling Sam with a rotten mix of disgust and desire.
He didn't know how to argue with that. Or was this a trick? Lucifer could warp reality as he pleased. Maybe he had ways of making Sam's body react. It was the only thing that made sense with how his stomach could be so sour; his hate so thick and heavy, his chest hurt from the weight of it, and yet his cock so full.
Lucifer pressed his thumb against the sensitive head of Sam's cock and slid it in slow circles. “Look at how hard you are.”
Don't touch me! He forced himself to still and ignore how every fiber of his being wanted to fight. Lucifer was too interested for Sam to have any chance of fighting him off. The more boring he made this, the sooner Lucifer would lose interest. The less it would hurt.
Lucifer pinched the other nipple between his fingers and pulled it out so far Sam could see his skin stretched taut. He laughed at Sam's sharp gasp and Sam bit his lip to avoid making any more noise.
Sam couldn't escape the way he normally did during torture. How could he think of Dean, or any other loved one, with his cock in Lucifer's hand?
“How many girls have you fucked with this, Sammy?” Lucifer’s hand gripped him tighter now. Despite his revulsion and fear, he was close to coming, which made no sense at all. Lucifer had to have done something to him. “You've never been fucked, have you?”
He wasn't naive enough to think that a hand job would be the end of it. Lucifer had discovered a new way of dealing pain and humiliation. He'd soon be pushing for Sam's bodily limits, the same way he'd always done. Sam had been stupid to think that lack of sexual interest didn't mean that Lucifer wouldn't rape him. Besides, Lucifer had already stuck all sorts of objects into Sam's body. He just tore new holes or pushed in with his power. Sam couldn't even remember how many times Lucifer had stuck his hand in Sam's chest and burnt his very soul.
Rape was inevitable, Sam knew. Lucifer could do a lot with eternity. Still, he refused to make it easy.
Sam cast one last look at the clock. Thirty minutes. Lucifer would torture him either way. He closed his eyes and dropped his heels, pressing forward as much as he could against the chains on his neck. He'd done this often enough to know exactly how long it would take to kill him, so he counted. He expected Lucifer to force him upright; maybe even remove the chain entirely, but Lucifer let him hang himself.
“Think I can get you off before you die?” Lucifer asked, almost conversationally, his hand quickening his pace.
It was never easy to die. His body always wanted to live. Let go, let go, let go… His limbs twitched, warning him of the lack of oxygen, but his cock stayed firm; his balls drawing in tight.
The pounding of his blood in his ears was so loud, he could tell Lucifer was talking, but couldn't make out any words. Pleasure and pain rose in unison and he couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. He focused on the pleasure and let it sweep him away.
So close.
The last thing he felt before he died was the burning rush of ecstasy.
Chapter 2
Author: TFWBT
Rating: NC-17
Genre/pairing: Lucifer/Sam. Brief: Memory Sam/Ruby. Memory Sam/Jess. Memory Sam/Madison
Word count: 26,000 written so far. 35,000 planned plus second part.
Summary: In the cage, Lucifer wants Sam's body, but like before, he won't take Sam until Sam says 'yes'. The last thing Sam wants is to be fucked by a sadist who tortures and kills him on a regular basis, but Lucifer is patient and persistent. Can Sam refuse him or will Lucifer wear him down? Why does Lucifer care about consent on this issue when he doesn't on anything else?
Spoilers: Set in season 6.
Warnings: Torture, non-con, dub-con
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just enjoy playing with them
Notes: Thanks to jdl71 for being an awesome beta and helping shape the story!
His first mistake was saying, “No.”
It was a stupid mistake. After all, it was one of the first lessons he learned in the cage. It only took a few days (weeks?) for him to realize that Lucifer happily devoured his fear and hatred. The more he struggled, the longer the torture lasted. The louder his screams, the greater the chance of the method being repeated again and again and again. A “no” was met by laughter and more pain. If Lucifer were in a particularly joyful mood, he'd hiss a breathless “Oh yes, Sammy” and soon Sam would wish for death.
In the weeks (months?) that followed, Sam had learned to damper his reactions. Not too much, though, or Lucifer would know, and there was nothing Lucifer hated more than Sam trying to deceive him. Sam suspected that Lucifer knew anyway. Either Lucifer could read his mind, or that brief period as Lucifer's vessel had been enough for Lucifer to know Sam almost as well as he knew himself.
Lately though, Lucifer had been playing a new game. Sometimes he'd let Sam win. Sam hadn't figured out all the rules - if there even were rules - but sometimes, if he fought, Lucifer would let him go. Not always. Sometimes resistance was met with punishment. A simple disembowelment would turn into being skinned alive. A freezing would take longer than usual, with Sam’s skin turning black and falling off for days instead of hours.
When Sam had tried to avoid the entire matter by dropping any form of resistance, Lucifer had severely punished him for that.
Begging was allowed - even rewarded occasionally, but Sam knew better than to press his luck with it or try to use it to get out of the tortures they both knew Sam really hated.
But saying “no”? After years (decades?) in the cage, Sam knew exactly how that would end. What Lucifer wanted, he got. Sam only ‘won’ when Lucifer wanted him to win.
It wasn't as if Sam could get away. The cage was sometimes just a box of iron, but usually it was whatever Lucifer wanted it to be. He could warp reality around him and change his form into anyone's. He was almost always in the body of his former vessel, Nick. When Michael showed up - always in angelic form - Lucifer would take on his angelic form too. Sam never lasted long after that. The piercing ringing would rise and rise until his eardrums burst. If he managed to shut his eyes in time, he could stop them from bursting, but a hemorrhaging death soon followed, no matter how well he hid his face in his arms.
Rescue had never crossed Sam's mind. He knew when he jumped he'd be in the cage for eternity. Hope could only hurt and Dean had promised. With Castiel and Bobby dead, Dean wouldn't have much help, anyway. Lucifer claimed that Adam's soul had been pulled to heaven shortly after arrival. “But not you, Sam. You're mine.” Sam didn't know if Adam had been rescued or not, but he didn't doubt that the angels would've left him behind if they did pull Adam out. The angels were probably glad that Sam was in the cage; after all, he'd drunk demon blood, started the apocalypse, and refused to follow Michael's plan.
With no concept of how time passed or anyone to talk to but Lucifer, he spent his days studying Lucifer, learning what he liked, and then Lucifer would get bored or change his mind, and Sam would be scrambling again to try to figure out how to reduce the pain. Never to avoid it. Sam had never had more than a day or two without torture, even when he did everything Lucifer wanted him to do.
Lucifer had been in a particularly sadistic mood after his last argument with Michael, so when the chains wrapped around Sam's neck and pulled him up on his tiptoes, Sam almost sighed with relief. He knew this. It varied, of course, the tortures always varied. Lucifer might beat, whip, burn, or carve him, but with Sam up on his toes, usually he just conjured a clock and vanished. Sam knew this game well enough that he no longer needed to be reminded of the rules - if he was able to match his old record for staying alive, nothing would happen other than slowly strangling to death. If he beat it, then he'd be rewarded. If he died too early or spent too many sessions just matching his old time… Well, he didn't want to think about that.
At first, Sam had thought the task had been designed to make him fail and deserve to be punished. After all, when his body was restored after each death, it was restored to the same state. He never got stronger. There was no need for food, water, or sleep in the cage, so only pain made him weaker and Lucifer only put them on his toes soon after being reborn, which meant he always started at the same strength. Through time and punishment, Sam had learned to alternate between pulling himself up on the chain by his hands, balancing on his toes, and carefully strangling himself enough to rest his legs and arms, but not enough to kill himself. He'd held steady at just about two hours for the past three sessions and knew he needed to find a way to beat that soon. He wasn't afraid though, he'd been practicing.
Besides, being on his toes usually meant being left alone. He'd grown to appreciate the tortures that didn't involve Lucifer talking, taunting, teasing. When he was by himself in the beginning, the ghosts of those he'd failed had haunted him, but after years of pain and penance, he'd learned how to focus his thoughts on Dean. He'd built a steady collection of hunts - real and imagined - to busy his mind. The last time he'd been on his toes, he'd died in the Impala, Dean at his side, singing Air Supply’s “I'm All Out of Love”. During his last slow roast, he'd thought up a new hunt - one involving vampires and strippers and couldn't wait to run through it from start to finish. He'd already timed it out so that he'd die drinking beers while leaning against the Impala, Dean making him laugh with a cheesy joke.
Sam wrapped his fingers around the chains on his neck, closed his eyes, and pulled up an image of Dean in the strip club with a plate full of greasy, cheap food, and drinks already poured. The best dreams were the ones where Dean got everything he wanted; it hurt too much to think on what Sam wanted.
“Going somewhere, Sam?” Lucifer's breath brushed his ear.
Startled, Sam jumped, and lost his footing, the chain strangling. He lurched forward - a little too far - and Lucifer's cold hand met his flaccid cock. Later, he'd realize that it had probably been an accident, but he wasn't thinking. One minute he had been with Dean, the next he was back in the cage, about to be tortured to death with a hand on his cock. He didn't think, and so he made his first mistake.
“No!”
“No?” Lucifer practically purred, his eyes gleaming. Sam hadn't seen that look since the early weeks of the cage when they both were learning how much pain Sam's body could take before breaking.
Sam's heart lurched in his throat, making him light headed even though he was now balanced perfectly on his toes again. He recognized his mistake and tried to calm himself down, to pretend that he hadn't reacted at all. If he showed no further reaction, maybe Lucifer would leave it alone.
Lucifer was a dog was a new chew toy. His eyes never leaving Sam's face, he fully grabbed Sam's cock and squeezed, enough to hurt a little. Please, no. Sam couldn't help but shudder a little. Still, he somehow managed to stay upright, his eyes meeting Lucifer's icy blue ones, trying to force his heart to calm and stop threatening to beat right from his chest.
“Say it again, Sam.”
Should he try begging? He had recently been rewarded for begging for relief from being nailed onto a plank. It was too soon to expect it to work again. Besides, begging would probably just excite Lucifer, maybe even turn him on. Did Lucifer even get turned on? To his horror, Sam realized he had assumed rape was one torture Lucifer wouldn't stoop to because of how much Lucifer looked down on humans. The entire time Lucifer had possessed his body, his cock had been dormant, not even used to take a piss. In his years in the cage, Lucifer had never once given him a sexual glance even though Sam was always naked because his body regenerated without his clothes. Lucifer often spoke of Sam being made for him and how they were meant to be, but it was more familial or romantic (if that term could apply) than sexual.
Sam's legs trembled and the clock ticked loudly, pounding in his head. There was no way he would make two hours. He licked his lips and wheezed out an answer to the original question, “I meant, not yet.”
Lucifer laughed - a genuine one - and released Sam's cock. Sam clamped down hard on his relief and made his second mistake. He thought that there was a way out. A way that didn't end in rape.
“You're right, Sammy, much too soon. Need to start at first base.” He grabbed Sam’s hair and pressed his lips against Sam's mouth, his tongue darting into Sam's gasping lips.
NO! He reacted on instinct; his hands released the chains and shoved Lucifer back.
Calmly, Lucifer grabbed one of his wrists and twisted as he walked behind Sam. Ow! Sam both heard and felt the pop of his dislocated shoulder, but somehow managed to stay up on his toes as Lucifer bound his arms together behind his back. No, no, no! He forced himself to bite back the words and remain still, not wanting to give Lucifer anymore encouragement.
“Hmm… it's been awhile since you've been this feisty. I’ve missed this side of you,” Lucifer said as he pressed himself against Sam's back, the cold of his body chilling Sam, even through his clothes. “Such a tease, but you're right, Sammy. We should take this slow.”
Don't touch me, asshole! Sam’s head swam, his stomach twisting on itself.
Lucifer’s cold hands grasped Sam's shoulders and trailed down, his thumbs gently brushing over Sam's nipples. The sensation made Sam's skin crawl, and he hissed in irritation.
Why? Why now? Sam knew the answer as soon as the question popped in his head. Because Lucifer saw the fear. Sam knew better than to beg, so he tried to reason. “I knew you were a sick freak, but beastiality? You hate humans. You think we are cockroaches. Worse!”
“You're right.” Lucifer's right hand drifted lower, his fingers curling around Sam's cock again.
In the years in the cage, Lucifer had never once touched him except to hurt him. The very feel of his cold fingers made Sam's skin crawl and he tensed, expecting pain at any moment.
Lucifer languidly stroked him instead. Sam grit his teeth, trying to stay calm and not react.
“But you aren't human, are you? You're my vessel. You were made for me. This body?” His grip tightened. “Mine. It's just masturbation.”
The cold hand on his cock felt horrible and each stroke made Sam want to gag.
“Don't be shy, Sam,” said Lucifer softly, his hand moving steadily. “I know you want this.”
I don't. He couldn't voice it or it would just encourage Lucifer.
Sam hadn't touched his cock in years. With no need to piss, no morning wood, nothing remotely sexual in the cage, and his body in a near constant state of pain and blood loss, he'd forgotten arousal. His cock hadn't. It eagerly filled in Lucifer's stroking hand as pleasure shot through him. His nerves were so used to pain, he almost didn't recognize it. Once he realized what that strange current running through his body was, he couldn't ignore it. Each subsequent stroke filled him with a terrible mix of pleasure and revulsion, his cock eager, but his mind wanting escape.
Sam froze, completely undone by the simple act, the chains on his neck and the clock forgotten for a moment.
This can't be happening. He didn't know what to do. There had to be a way out. Should he fight? Should he continue to be passive and bore Lucifer? It didn't seem to be working. He didn't know. He used to know. He thought he'd gotten used to everything Lucifer could throw at him.
“I saw this in your memories,” said Lucifer, sounding incredibly proud of himself, as if giving Sam a handjob was a point of personal pride. “I saw them. I saw you. I know what you like. What you want.”
“No,” gasped Sam, too lost to remember the rules. “Not you.”
In an instant, the chains tightened around Sam's neck and his vision swam.
“Don't lie to me, Sam,” warned Lucifer, his hands still. “I can see into your soul.” The chains relaxed enough for Sam to breathe again. Lucifer captured one of Sam's pebbled nipples in his fingers and twisted and pulled, drawing a hiss of pain from Sam. His other hand resumed its expert administrations. “Look at how much you enjoy it.” He slid his hand up and down Sam's hardening cock, each stroke filling Sam with a rotten mix of disgust and desire.
He didn't know how to argue with that. Or was this a trick? Lucifer could warp reality as he pleased. Maybe he had ways of making Sam's body react. It was the only thing that made sense with how his stomach could be so sour; his hate so thick and heavy, his chest hurt from the weight of it, and yet his cock so full.
Lucifer pressed his thumb against the sensitive head of Sam's cock and slid it in slow circles. “Look at how hard you are.”
Don't touch me! He forced himself to still and ignore how every fiber of his being wanted to fight. Lucifer was too interested for Sam to have any chance of fighting him off. The more boring he made this, the sooner Lucifer would lose interest. The less it would hurt.
Lucifer pinched the other nipple between his fingers and pulled it out so far Sam could see his skin stretched taut. He laughed at Sam's sharp gasp and Sam bit his lip to avoid making any more noise.
Sam couldn't escape the way he normally did during torture. How could he think of Dean, or any other loved one, with his cock in Lucifer's hand?
“How many girls have you fucked with this, Sammy?” Lucifer’s hand gripped him tighter now. Despite his revulsion and fear, he was close to coming, which made no sense at all. Lucifer had to have done something to him. “You've never been fucked, have you?”
He wasn't naive enough to think that a hand job would be the end of it. Lucifer had discovered a new way of dealing pain and humiliation. He'd soon be pushing for Sam's bodily limits, the same way he'd always done. Sam had been stupid to think that lack of sexual interest didn't mean that Lucifer wouldn't rape him. Besides, Lucifer had already stuck all sorts of objects into Sam's body. He just tore new holes or pushed in with his power. Sam couldn't even remember how many times Lucifer had stuck his hand in Sam's chest and burnt his very soul.
Rape was inevitable, Sam knew. Lucifer could do a lot with eternity. Still, he refused to make it easy.
Sam cast one last look at the clock. Thirty minutes. Lucifer would torture him either way. He closed his eyes and dropped his heels, pressing forward as much as he could against the chains on his neck. He'd done this often enough to know exactly how long it would take to kill him, so he counted. He expected Lucifer to force him upright; maybe even remove the chain entirely, but Lucifer let him hang himself.
“Think I can get you off before you die?” Lucifer asked, almost conversationally, his hand quickening his pace.
It was never easy to die. His body always wanted to live. Let go, let go, let go… His limbs twitched, warning him of the lack of oxygen, but his cock stayed firm; his balls drawing in tight.
The pounding of his blood in his ears was so loud, he could tell Lucifer was talking, but couldn't make out any words. Pleasure and pain rose in unison and he couldn't tell where one began and the other ended. He focused on the pleasure and let it sweep him away.
So close.
The last thing he felt before he died was the burning rush of ecstasy.
Chapter 2