He really was surprisingly gentle, and Lucifer was relieved not to be treated like those tree trunks and all the other chunks of the bayou that the rut-minded creature treated like wet cardboard.

He was a pile of messy hair and feathers once he met the earth, but those wings had stopped trying to facilitate an escape once freed from the grip of so many tendrils. His tail whipping about beneath them, his claws sought some sort of hold on the buck, and he turned to catch the pinning arm with his teeth. But rather than shake and try to tear away flesh, his eyes burned and he held on.

A moment... just give him a moment to focus, form a thought-

His eyes closed, just as his knees did, pressed together when his pants were made short work of. His hooves, so small yet so strong, did not kick but gave a rather bratty little shove against Alastor's middle.

His chicken wings had finished molting and now they were a mess again from all the manhandling, you jerk-