Sam's eyes snap open at the sound of footsteps. Barely awake, he's already moving to defend himself when the bed dips under added weight, and someone's hand skates up his spine to the back of his head. Sam twists, grasping at whoever is behind him, but with one shove, they force him facedown into his pillow. Sam can't breathe. None of his struggling connects, and their grip on him remains firm, pushing down until his lungs burn. Fighting only exhausts what little oxygen he has left in his lungs faster.
Soon, he feels his body going limp. His head spins as he tries to get any air that he can, but it won't be enough. He can't see anything, just the suffocating darkness he's being pressed into. He weakly pushes at the pillow, unable to dislodge it, and just as his consciousness is about to fade, the grip on his hair yanks him up. Sam gasps painfully. The rush of air hits him like a drug. His neck aches from the position he's been pulled into, and he tries to alleviate it, pushing up onto his hands.
"I've been very patient with you, Sam," murmurs a voice, not quite in his ear but close enough to make his hair stand on end. Sam swallows. "I tried to give you space. I wanted you to choose this on your own," they lament, "but you won't stop running from me." Sam turns in the direction of the voice and kicks as hard as he can. The kick connects, but the body he hits doesn't give an inch. The only reaction he gets is his head being forced down again. He struggles harder when he knows what's coming, but it's as useless as the first time and he ends up smothered by his pillow again. The fight goes out of him faster, his chest already aching from the deprivation. When he's dragged up a second time, he coughs as he inhales. The hand in his hair is the only thing holding him up, and when it releases him, he collapses into the mattress, just trying to breathe.
"That's better," they continue. Sam forces his head up to see them. Their voice is familiar, but Sam needs it to be anyone else.
Lucifer smiles at him. His eyes are full of affection. The hand he strokes the side of Sam's face with is the same one he used to suffocate him. Uselessly, Sam tries to get away from him, but he only makes it a few inches before Lucifer grabs his arm and drags him back. He rolls Sam over so that he can't hide his face in the mattress, forced to look up at the devil as he sits next to Sam on the bed. "The only person you're hurting here is you, Sam." He caresses Sam's face and Sam turns away from the touch, but he can still see how Lucifer's eyes narrow in annoyance when he does. "You think you have a choice in this."
"Go to Hell," Sam spits. It's one defiance too many. He's expecting to be shoved into the pillow again, but this time, Lucifer covers his mouth with his palm and pinches his nose shut. Sam grabs at his arms in vain to pull them off, but it's like trying to bend steel with his bare hands. Sam sees dark spots clouding his vision as his air runs thin. His eyes dart to Lucifer, and he must look desperate, cheeks flushed with tears escaping the corners of his eyes. Lucifer holds him there a few seconds longer. Then he lifts his hands away to pet Sam, to comfort him as he chokes down air a third time.
"Stop making me do that, Sam. I don't enjoy it," Lucifer says. He trails his fingers over Sam's chest as it quickly rises and falls. "I want my yes." He pauses, waiting, but Sam clenches his jaw and gives him nothing. "You've always been mine. This whole song-and-dance is for your benefit. If I want you"—Lucifer's hand flattens against his chest, pressing down hard enough to force Sam's next breath from him—"then I can take you."
"You're not a demon," Sam argues against his better judgement. He's all too aware of the inch Lucifer's hand creeps up his body, like he wants to cover Sam's mouth again. "You still need my consent."
"Your body existing is consent," Lucifer tells him. Sam's heart skips a beat. Lucifer touches him like he owns every inch. "Do you know how hard it was to stay away?" His hand slides lower, and Sam can hear his own breaths coming loud and fast. "Knowing that you were…" Lucifer trails off as he reaches Sam's boxers. He cups Sam's unwanted erection. Sam can watch in agonizing detail as his expression goes from confused to hungry, squeezing Sam's cock through the fabric.
"Don't- Stop touching me there," Sam says, but his voice wavers as Lucifer rubs his palm over the bulge.
"Why?" Lucifer asks. "You're enjoying it." He squeezes again. Sam's cock twitches traitorously. "You can lie about what you want, but your body won't."
"Stop!" Sam grabs at Lucifer's hand. He can't remove it.
"You never learn," he says, and before Sam can react, he's flat on his back again. There's nothing covering his mouth this time, but when he tries to breathe, he can't. Something won't let him. Lucifer ignores his thrashing, focusing on massaging his cock through his boxers. Sam's thoughts blur as he chokes, his vision darkening again, and all he can focus on is Lucifer's hand. He hates how good it feels. The pleasure flows into his empty head, filling all the space oxygen should go, and despite himself, Sam moans as he teeters at the edge of passing out.
Lucifer slips a hand under his boxers to stroke him at the same time he lets Sam breathe. Both sensations slam into him at once, the relief and the pleasure too powerful for him to withstand, and suddenly, Sam's cock is twitching in Lucifer's hand as he comes, messing up his boxers. Warm come seeps into the fabric and slides back down Sam's length. Sam pants, barely able to comprehend what just happened.
Lucifer doesn't stop, even as Sam's dick starts to soften. With each stroke, Sam grimaces and tries to arch away from the touch, begging softly, "No, don't, stop." Lucifer rubs his thumb over the wet head.
(There's a pause, the briefest flicker of uncertainty across Lucifer's features as he glances over at Sam. Sam takes a deep breath, nods, and it's gone.)
"See? I can make you feel good," Lucifer says, despite the way Sam is squirming to get away from his touch. It is good, too good, and Sam's cock stays half-hard because of Lucifer's attention.
"Don't," Sam begs again, but it is only begging. He's learned his lesson about fighting Lucifer. His lungs hurt. Lucifer reaches over to wipe the tears he caused away.
"Say yes, and I'll stop," Lucifer promises. Sam looks away, squeezing his eyes shut, but that's no escape when all it does is bring the next stroke of Lucifer's hand into stark relief, every oversensitive nerve screaming for Sam to make it stop. Sam keeps his mouth shut. Lucifer bows over him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "If that's how you want it to be..." The note in his voice is almost indulgent.
Sam can almost stand Lucifer jerking him off. The pleasure is so sharp that it can't be ignored, but he's felt worse. (He's felt far worse, because Lucifer is right, he learns quickly how to touch Sam, how to make the cracks begin to show in his stoicism.) His cock is forced back to full hardness. Lucifer won't let him move. He keeps one hand on Sam's chest, a reminder of how easily he can take his breath away, and the other strokes him and plays with his balls. The hunger in Lucifer's eyes never goes away. He licks his lips watching the dripping head of Sam's cock slide in and out of his fist.
Sam grips the sheets. He pushes his mind away from what's happening, but each time, Lucifer drags him right back. Sam clenches his jaw tight, but he can't stop the noises welling in the back of his throat. Whimpers, mostly, helpless and too loud, but every few strokes, he has to choke down a humiliating moan instead. Each one is another of his body's betrayals.
He swallows them all down for another weak protest, "Lucifer, please." It goes ignored, and Sam's plea backfires on him as he's pushed closer to the edge. "Stop. Fuck, stop, I don't- No! Stop!" Sam's voice rises, but the words fall out soaked in coerced pleasure, ringing loudly as he comes a second time.
Lucifer doesn't let him recover. He goes right back to stroking Sam, even as tears spring to his eyes. "Say yes," Lucifer urges. Sam shakes his head, but he can't close his mouth around his whimpers. "One little word, Sam." He dips his fingers to rub Sam's tight balls. He's been drained dry, and Lucifer won't let him rest.
"No." It shakes on the way out, dragged out into two syllables.
Lucifer manages to force him through a third orgasm. Sam feels his release weakly dribble from his slit onto Lucifer's waiting fingers. Lucifer lifts them to his mouth, tasting Sam and watching as his erection wilts. Sam knows there won't be any end to it, but he's hoping that Lucifer will lose interest in his dick once it's soft. He has no such luck. Lucifer groans around his own fingers, and his gaze falls on Sam's cock, resting unprotected against his thigh.
His mouth is so much worse than his hand. Lucifer licks Sam clean, his tongue wrapping around his cock. Sam's cock gives the weakest of twitches, giving Lucifer a few drops but remaining soft. The forks of Lucifer's tongue slide under the head, drawing it into Lucifer's mouth to be sucked on. It's too much for Sam. He screams, unsure if he's in pain or not. His whole body flushes with heat as Lucifer gently slides down his shaft. Sam feels too small in his mouth. Lucifer hums, and the vibrations roll all the way up Sam's spine.
And still, his body gives in to what Lucifer wants. Every time his tongue caresses the limp shaft, Sam can feel a familiar tug in his guts. He has nothing to give, but his balls still clench. Lucifer pops off his cock to suck on them, only making it worse.
"Don't make me come again, please, Lucifer, I'll do anything." Lucifer's tongue rolls along the underside of his balls and then back up his shaft, leaving it balanced helplessly on the tip of his tongue before Lucifer swallows him back down again. "I don't want to come! Stop!" Sam is so tense that his muscles ache dully, and his head is starting to pound from the overstimulation.
Lucifer lets his dick fall from his lips. He sits higher so that he can gaze down at Sam.
"Yes," he prompts. It's tempting. Sam pants, the word right there, on the tip of his tongue. "Yes. Say it."
"I can't. I can't. Just stop."
Lucifer makes him come again, screaming.
He won't stop. Sam loses track of how long Lucifer has him trapped, how many times he comes begging for Lucifer to stop, how many times pleasure becomes pain becomes pleasure again until his mind finally ceases to tell the difference. His dick is so sensitive that every drag of Lucifer's tongue up the shaft makes him sob. His whole body feels like a bruise that's been pressed down on. Lucifer's fingers abuse his prostate from inside him as his tongue tortures his cock, and Sam can't think.
And every time he comes, Lucifer asks again, "Say yes, stop fighting, let me in," and Sam barely holds onto enough of his sanity to shake his head.
Until, finally, it's too much. Lucifer is working his cock against the back of his tongue because Sam's too soft to reach his throat, and he's milking non-existant come from Sam by rubbing his prostate, making his balls cramp with nothing to give up. He's going to come again. Lucifer won't stop. Sam's mind is blank, grasping and desperate for any kind of relief. He's babbling, "Lucifer, stop, stop, no, fuck, stop, it's too much, I can't, don't, please don't," and he's ignored. Sam tosses his head, so close, he can't take it, and he whimpers, "Yes, yes, yes, stop, Lucifer, yes!"
Lucifer lets him go immediately. Sam winces from his dick flopping down against his crotch. Lucifer pulls his fingers out. Sam's breath comes out harshly, still filled with him whispering, "yes, yes, yes," in case Lucifer didn't hear him.
Sam catches his breath. Everything hurts, the most satisfying soreness he's ever felt. Even the throbbing headache he's earned feels worth it. He's not going to be able to get hard for a week, and that makes him chuckle weakly as he pants. He raises a hand to his head to where the pounding is the worst, but he stops, diverting his course to seek out Lucifer's hand instead. Lucifer lets him lay his palm over his forehead, soothed by his touch alone, the coolness of his skin, but then Lucifer's grace takes the headache away.
"Can I have some water?" Sam asks. His throat is dryer than it is sore. Lucifer takes care of him very attentively. While Sam drinks, he checks over the rest of his body, careful to avoid the spots that Sam redirects his hands away from. His grace relaxes Sam's muscles and eases any strain in his lungs, and when Sam won't allow Lucifer to check where he's most sensitive, he busies himself by massaging Sam's feet instead. They aren't even sore, but Lucifer needs to feel like he's doing something to help. He's a little too quiet now that he's dropped character. Sam drains the bottle he was handed, and says, "That was really good, Lucifer." Lucifer digs his thumb into Sam's sole with enough pressure to make him groan. Sam spreads his legs, stretching. Even that little movement feels like too much for him right now. "Are you okay?" Lucifer takes a deep breath, running the backs of his nails over the side of Sam's foot. It's almost ticklish, making Sam smile.
"I will be. Let me do this?" The uncertainty is back.
"I want you to," Sam reassures, and Lucifer carries on with his other foot. "I wanted all of that. If I didn't, I would have told you to stop."
"You did tell me to stop," Lucifer says, but it doesn't sound upset.
"I would have said yes sooner." Sam wiggles his foot in Lucifer's lap. Despite his turmoil, Sam can feel how hard he is. All of that pleasure given to Sam, and Lucifer didn't take any for himself. Sam will have to fix that. "Come here," Sam says, pulling his foot away. Lucifer follows. He cups Sam's face in his hands, hesitates like he thinks Sam might try to pull away like he did earlier, and Sam wraps his hand around the back of Lucifer's neck to pull him into a kiss.
And to feel him moan into Sam's mouth as Sam returns the favor.