A/N: This part contains rape.
Gasps left Sam at the Devil's cold touch against his bare skin, and for what must've been the thousandth time, Sam cursed his body for reacting in the way it did. Like the night before, he was completely trapped in his own mind, almost like he was watching what was happening rather than experiencing it. His body was doing things without his permission; arching into Lucifer's touch rather than shying away, lying prone while he was violated rather than fighting. What made it all worse was that Lucifer noticed these things, and he felt like the handcuffs weren't necessary. Sam would've preferred it to have that cold metal wrapped around his wrists, restraining him. It would've meant that he was still fighting. He wanted to fight with every fiber of his being, but his thoughts couldn't be turned into actions. It was like there was a block between his mind and his body.
See, torture was easy to deal with when compared to this. Torture was much more straightforward. The intent behind it was to dole out pain, to make the victim suffer in just that one way. There were no tricks, no mixed signals between the torturer and the victim. It was all very clear. Whereas with this, there was a mix of sensation; pain, both emotional and physical, mired within pleasure. The sheer confusion of it was enough to drive anyone mad.
Logically, Sam knew it wasn't his fault that his body liked the way it was being touched. He knew that his nerves were simply doing their job, feeling. But knowing something didn't mean that it would register emotionally. And that was why he felt ashamed. The shame burrowed so deep he wished there was a way to hide from even himself. There had to be some way to not react, to not feel. There had to!
I'm stronger than this, Sam thought wistfully. I should be.
To him, the heat in his body was his fault, the sparks that erupted from Lucifer's touch on his abdomen were his fault, the way his hips bucked against Lucifer's palm was his fault. All of it, every single little action, every sensation, was his fault. He was to blame.
Tears pricked at the corners of Sam's eyes as it hit him how weak he truly was. A voice whispered to him that it wasn't true. He was strong just for enduring, but that voice was so far away, so quiet. And it felt like it was simply whispering lies.
Lucifer used his thumbs to brush the tears away. "Why are you crying, Sammy? Is this too much for you?"
Moving his lips to form words seemed so difficult. At least Lucifer was busy caressing his face so that he wasn't touching another part of him.
Somehow, he managed to make the connection between his mind and his body, and he spoke in an almost strangled voice, "I don't want you to touch me."
As he said those words it seemed like he was thrown back into himself. The many sensations of this vile experience flooded him, overwhelming him, and he began to shake. Then, he found it in him to tear Lucifer's hands away from his face. He aimed a punch at him, but he missed. Now he was sitting up, Lucifer near him, his hands up in a gesture of peace. That angered Sam.
"Whoa, Sam, it's all good. Everything's fine."
And that was when Sam lunged at him, trying to get his hands around his neck. Taken by surprise, Lucifer ended up pinned underneath him, gasping for air. Sam was pleased to see the Devil struggle, to see him not be the one in power for once. But then realization struck him, this would do nothing, there was no killing him. As Sam's grip faltered a laugh left Lucifer.
"Losing your resolve there, bunk buddy? It's alright. You can choke me. There's no shame in being a little kinky."
The heat in Sam grew, and he was satisfied that it was no longer from arousal. It was from fury. This dark angel had tormented him, violated him in the deepest ways possible, and now he had the gall to joke about it? He took his hands away from his neck, and before Lucifer could react, Sam began to punch him. Punching him wasn't as satisfactory as he had thought it might be. Each hit jarred his arm all the way up to his shoulder. After landing a few blows his arms began to feel numb. And that was when Lucifer took action, tackling him so that Sam was on his stomach, lying beneath him. Sam screamed in blind rage and fear.
Now, the Devil's voice was in his ear, "You know, Sam, I really didn't want to use my knife, but you've given me no choice."
That was when Sam felt the blade dig into his abdomen. The pain made him tense beneath Lucifer, and he gasped at the way it burned. He struggled beneath him, attempting to get away. That just earned him another slice to his abdomen, and this time, Sam stayed still, realizing what his punishment would be if he didn't.
Lucifer raised himself up a bit, putting more of his weight in the lower half of his body. That made him press against him, and Sam swallowed roughly, utterly repulsed when it came to his attention that Lucifer was still aroused. Goosebumps rose up all over his body when Lucifer used the knife to brush some of his hair out of his face; it was wet with his blood.
"Are you going to be good?" he asked. "Because I'll be good, but only if you are."
Sam couldn't answer. Fear seized him as Lucifer placed the knife aside; now he had both hands free. The heat in Sam's body began to transform back into the heat of arousal as Lucifer's hands traveled over him, especially when he reached beneath him to pay attention to his manhood. Sam groaned in defeat as he felt himself becoming erect again. Of course, Lucifer misinterpreted that and took it as a sign that Sam was enjoying himself. That seemed to motivate him, and as he tugged at his length with just a bit more pressure and used his thumb to stroke the tip, he began to lavish his shoulders and the back of his neck with hungry, open-mouthed kisses.
Sam could feel himself slipping away again, into the recesses of his mind. And this time, he welcomed it. It was less complicated there, he realized. It was more frustrating, but for now, he was tired of fighting, tired of suffering, so all he could do was wait until the Devil expended himself.
