Considering everything he's been put through, Sam should flinch away from Lucifer's touch. He should whimper and sob and try to get away. He's too tired to do any of that, and instead, he takes the kindness for what it is, not thinking about what will happen if this turns out to be a trick or how he'll pay for it later. The fingers slide over behind his ear, and he turns his head obediently to allow them to scratch. It feels good. That's always the most humiliating part of this torture, that Lucifer can flip between furiously tearing him apart for caging them up and lovingly taking care of him, and Sam will always roll over for that gentle hand when it's offered. Lucifer traces the shell of his ear before his fingers glide back through Sam's hair, long, steady strokes like he's petting Sam.
Maybe today will be a better day. Sam can hope.
"Isn't this easier?" Lucifer says. It's not the kind of question Sam's supposed to answer. "I tried to treat you like an equal, and look where that landed us." Lucifer's hand slides down Sam's neck and a little ways down his back before coming back to his hair again. Sam maps out his body. His head is against Lucifer's thigh, the rest of his curled up naked beside him. The nudity doesn't even bother him anymore. Exposure has become about whether his skin is covering his organs, not whether he's allowed to wear a shirt. He can acclimate to some of what Lucifer wants, and that makes it easier to survive.
"You can be a proper bitch this way," Lucifer continues, and like always, he says it like it's a term of endearment. Sam suppresses a shudder. He's trying not to react at all. The longer he stays still and quiet, the longer Lucifer will be content with laying here and petting him. "You should thank me." Lucifer pauses. His fingers curl in Sam's hair until pain sparks in his scalp. Sam swallows.
"Thank you," he tries to say. What comes out instead is the whimper of a kicked dog. Sam panics. Lucifer wants gratitude, and Sam- He opens his mouth to speak again, and he barks. Lucifer laughs.
"Good boy. That's enough, Sammy." Sam hates the relief he feels. The thing is: Lucifer never sets tasks that are impossible, not really (or so he says.) It's Sam who fails to follow through. It's Sam who deserves his punishments when he can't do the simple things Lucifer wants from him. Lucifer keeps playing with his hair, and despite himself, Sam tries to press closer, lapping up the attention. He'll feels Lucifer's hands inside his guts tomorrow or those same fingers digging into his skull until it breaks open under them, but for now, he treats Sam like he's precious.
"You're a better pet than a person." Lucifer keeps talking absently. He's lifting Sam's hair off the back of his neck with one hand. Sam hears a clink of metal before there's something being slid under and around his throat. "Pretty," Lucifer murmurs. He fastens the collar up tight. Sam can feel it when he inhales. It's a small mercy that it doesn't choke him with every breath. Turning his head slightly makes the tags jingle again. He wonders what Lucifer's named him, but he also really doesn't want to look. "Up," Lucifer orders. Sam hates to leave his respite, but he always knew it would end. He doesn't hesitate to sit up.
Lucifer slides his fingers over the collar, readjusting it slightly. Sam keeps his head tilted up, exposing his throat. "I missed having a hound of my own." Lucifer pats him. "Show me your hands." Sam does, still waiting for the cruelty of whatever game this is to rear its ugly head. Instead, Lucifer slides thick gloves onto his hands that make his fingers useless. Paws, Sam thinks.
Next, Lucifer fixes a pair of floppy dog ears onto his head. Sam waits for some kind of muzzle to follow, but instead, Lucifer clicks a leash onto his collar. When he tugs, Sam stands to follow and gets a disappointed look. Lucifer doesn't even have to say anything before he gets down onto his hands and knees. He shuffles after Lucifer, the leash yanking him whenever he slows too much. "Take a look at yourself, Sammy," Lucifer says, dragging Sam to a mirror. He tugs Sam up into a kneeling position so that Lucifer can pet his hair as Sam watches himself in the mirror. He looks ridiculous. The collar and leash shine a bright white as opposed to the dark brown of the ears or paws.
"Well?" Lucifer prompts.
Sam barks again. He didn't even try to say anything. Lucifer smiles. There's a terrible spot in Sam's chest that gets warm when it pleases him.
"Bend over, puppy." Sam sees his eyes widen a fraction in the mirror, but he bows down before Lucifer can catch his fear. "Ah, no. Bad dog. Keep looking at yourself. I want you to see." Sam drags his gaze back to the mirror, keeping his ass presented. Exactly like Lucifer trained him to. Exactly like a good bitch.
Lucifer sits behind him and spreads his cheeks. To Sam's horror, his cock stirs. Lucifer massages his perineum. He knows how to turn Sam on. He knows what feels good, what'll make Sam come, what'll have him begging for more. I'm not raping you, Sam, he'd said once while buried in Sam, wringing a third orgasm out of him while Sam's eyes rolled back into his head, if it was rape, I wouldn't care if you were enjoying yourself, but I do care, and you do enjoy it, so it can't be rape, can it?
Sam used to be able to argue with him. He doesn't anymore. It's easier.
Lucifer leans down, and Sam feels his tongue press against his hole. Lucifer takes his time, lapping at his hole, the broad flat of his tongue sliding over the sensitive nerves at Sam's rim. Sam's cock gets harder with every swipe. Sam gives in. Lucifer knows how much he loves getting eaten out, and it's always reserved for when Sam's been very good. And maybe Sam doesn't want it, doesn't want any of it, but it's going to happen either way. He's better off not fighting Lucifer. He's better off enjoying it. (Which only proves Lucifer's point. Sam doesn't even fight him. How is it rape if Sam doesn't even try to get away?)
Sam moans when Lucifer's tongue breaches his hole. It squirms, cold and wet, against his inner walls and rim. Sam rocks back when Lucifer thrusts his tongue in again. It's split at the end, some sort of inside joke, and Lucifer uses it to his advantage, dragging the ends of his tongue against two different swaths of nerves inside Sam. Sam watches in the mirror as his expression goes from blank and stoic to a slutty mess, his cheeks going pink and his mouth open around his whines. Half the noses coming out of him don't sound human. He pants, tongue hanging out like he really is a dog.
Lucifer tonguefucks him languorously, turning every inch of Sam's insides into his playground. His tongue is longer than it should be, sliding in deeper than anyone who ever rimmed Sam on Earth, because Lucifer needs to be better than anyone Sam's ever had. Even if Sam got out of here, if Dean pulled off some goddamn miracle to save him, no one he could get with would compare to Lucifer. Sex was only ever going to feel this good with him. When Lucifer drags his tongue back out, Sam's cock twitches. He's fully hard now, and Lucifer detours, tongue pressing down his perineum and over his balls.
"You taste as delicious as always," Lucifer praises, with the voice of someone who has repeatedly eaten Sam out and eaten him alive, "and now you're ready for your tail." The blunt head of a plug presses against Sam's hole. He's loose enough from Lucifer's tongue that the stretch only burns a little. The plug nestles against his prostate, constant pressure helping to switch Sam's brain off.
"Wag your tail for me," Lucifer says. Sam looks up at his ass in the mirror and sees the fake tail attached to the plug. When he clenches, it wags, but what Lucifer wants is what's more humiliating and that's Sam shaking his ass back and forth to make the tail go. His whole face burns as he does it, but the motion jostles the plug against his prostate again and again. It rewards him for debasing himself with little shocks of pleasure. "Good boy, Sammy! What a good dog!" Lucifer's hand is in his hair again, scratching at his scalp. Sam keeps wagging his tail, half afraid to stop in case Lucifer's not satisfied, half beginning to enjoy the sensations it sends through him.
"Do you want a treat, puppy?" Lucifer asks. "You deserve one. A nice, yummy treat." He picks up the leash again and yanks it, nearly toppling Sam over.
Dragging Sam around is more for show than any real need to go anywhere. Lucifer could snap his fingers and make their surroundings whatever he wanted. With every step, the toy inside Sam teases him more and more. He's leaving a messy trail of precome behind, dripping it all over the floor, and he hopes Lucifer doesn't punish him for that.
"Sit." Sam does, and it shoves the plug deeper into him. He yips in surprise. His cock bobs in front of him, dabbing his stomach with precome. He waits for further orders, and instead, Lucifer sets a bowl in front of him. Sam glances down. The liquid in it is clear, but that doesn't make it water. Sam knows better than that. Still, he doesn't have much of a choice. His hands are useless to him in the gloves he's wearing. He has to bow his head and drink from the bowl like a dog. He sticks his tongue out to taste it, expecting it to burn like acid. He's greeted with fresh, cool water. Sam backs off, looking up at Lucifer in confusion. "What? Did you want something else to drink?" Sam shakes his head. "You sure? I could scrounge up some demon blood for you, puppy. Get you high for a few hours and then detox you afterwards." Sam shakes his head harder and then ducks, drinking greedily from the bowl to show just how much he appreciates Lucifer's gift. It's been so long since he's drank actual water. Lucifer doesn't need to give him that to keep him alive in Hell. He guzzles it down. His shoulders shake, and he can't stop himself from starting to cry, it's so good.
Lucifer gets down beside him as he drinks, stroking his spine. Sam's flushed from humiliation and sobbing from gratitude and hard as a rock, and Lucifer's the only steady thing he has to hold on to. He shushes Sam as he reaches under his stomach until he finds his cock. "Let me see that," he says, and then tsks as he strokes Sam's cock. "What kind of bitch has one of these, Sammy?" Sam cringes. He has a vivid, terribly recent memory of the last time Lucifer said something along those lines. Nothing gets torn off this time. Instead, Lucifer lets go. "I'll take care of that. Keep drinking." Sam gulps down more water. The bowl is almost empty when he hears Lucifer snap his fingers. Pleasure immediately shocks through Sam's body, so hard he howls. It could have felt good, if Lucifer was still holding him, but there's nothing for him to rut against. There's barely any relief in it as he comes, more tears escaping him. He shoots rope after rope of come from his dick, and he's so disoriented that he misses the sound of his come landing in something.
Sam buries his face in his arms, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. His dick twinges painfully. He's got nothing left to give, but he still feels like he's on the edge. Lucifer slaps his thigh hard enough that it'll leave a mark. Sam can hear him jerking himself off. It's a terribly familiar sound, and his first instinct is to turn to Lucifer and offer him his mouth or his hole. He shakes and keeps still.
Lucifer groans when he comes. This time, Sam does hear the splatter of it landing in a container.
"What are you doing?" Lucifer sounds annoyed. Sam stops hiding his face. "I got you something to eat, puppy. Close your eyes."
Please, no, but Sam doesn't dare say that out loud. Even thinking about denying Lucifer feels dangerous. He shuts his eyes. There's a clunk of another bowl being placed in front of him, the contents sloshing softly. Lucifer grabs his hair again. He shoves Sam's face down into the bowl of their mixed come. Sam gags as come splashes up onto his face. He struggles until Lucifer snaps, "Either eat it, or I'll fill up something large enough to drown you in." Sam's bound hands scrabble uselessly on the ground before he stops fighting. Haltingly, he sticks his tongue out. If nothing else, at least the taste is familiar. It coats his tongue as he laps it up. "That's a good bitch." Sam restrains himself from gagging again as he swallows. The come slides down his throat, thick and slimy. He clenches down on the plug in his ass, trying to distract himself from what's happening. Lucifer starts petting him again.
"Who knew you were so eager?" he taunts. "You think you can get addicted to angel come, Sammy?" Sam's stomach turns dangerously at the thought. It's not like throwing this up now would help. Lucifer's been fucking him for... For... Sam doesn't want to think about it. The devil doesn't bother with condoms. Come goes on Sam or in him, nowhere else.
Lucifer drags him up by the leash. Sam catches his breath, coughing. Lucifer grabs his chin and pulls his mouth open. Sam sees him smile, which is never a good thing. "Keep it open, puppy," he says. With another yank, Sam falls face-first into his lap, and Lucifer's cock presses against his cheek, still hard. Lucifer repositions him, resting his cock on Sam's lips before thrusting inside. Sam tries to find some sort of leverage, but between the rough thrusts and his hands sliding uselessly against the floor or Lucifer's thighs, he can't. Lucifer fucks his mouth like that's all it was ever made for. His cock hits the back of Sam's throat and makes him gag. "Fuck, Sam." He pushes Sam down until he's shoved every inch down Sam's throat. He swipes a thumb under Sam's eye, catching a fresh tear there and smearing it over his face. "Tell you what, you manage not to spill a drop, and I'll be nice to you for a while. We can play house. That sound like a good deal?" Sam chokes on his dick. "You can do it, Sammy. I believe in you."
Lucifer lodges his cock down Sam's throat when he comes. Sam's fine for a moment, able to swallow down what he's given, but then his lungs start to burn, his throat rebelling against the intrusion. He tries to stop himself from struggling, but self-preservation wins out. Lucifer holds him still until he's finished with Sam. He pulls Sam off and throws him back. Sam catches himself before his head collides with the ground.
But he did it. Every drop. Sam licks his lips. He feels sick, but he won't throw up and risk making Lucifer angry when he's so close to having some peace.
"Come on. That's not all of it." Sam looks at Lucifer, horrified. Lucifer taps the bowl of come. Sam's hope dies a quiet death.
Lucifer picks up the bowl in one hand. He holds Sam's head with the other, cupping the back gently. "Let me help," he says, sweet as honey before it smothers the fly that flew down for a taste. He puts the bowl at Sam's lips and tilts it. Slowly, at first, and it's almost manageable. Sam still wants to hurl, but he can do it. Then, further, and Sam feels come slide past his lips and down his chin and chest. He opens his mouth as wide as he can manage and sticks his tongue out. It escapes him despite his efforts. All he gets for his trouble is too much come at once. Sam starts choking as it goes down the wrong pipe and more keeps coming. The collar is not helping, suddenly feeling tighter than before. Lucifer pulls the bowl from his lips and upends the rest of the contents over his head as Sam coughs up more come. He stands, leaving Sam struggling for air, circling him. A swift kick in his side sends Sam sprawled over the floor, gasping now from his lungs being hit and from the come clogging his throat. The plug still lodged in his ass sends a sharp bolt of pleasure up through his body, completely unwelcome.
"Better luck next time," Lucifer says, managing to sound genuinely apologetic as he watches Sam retch. He kicks Sam again just to hear him whimper.