"We're in accord," Alastor agreed, pressing a kiss to Lucifer's sweaty hair. "Don't fret, my dear. I do not intend to hesitate at any hands reaching out for a touch without your explicit permission. I'll cut them right off~"

A little light laugh.

"And we'll chat about whatever we feel like on the radio. We'll defer any persistent, prying questioners in that direction. In fact..."

That gives him an idea. After testing the water and plugging the tub, he slid away in the shadows.



Once back, he had the doll he'd made of Lucifer in hand, and was already wrapping and pinning new additions to it, pinning through the charming crown and coat. Not to worry, Lucifer, there's not a single whisper of phantom pains! Just a fuzzy, subtle feeling.

"Vox and his little curious media lackies doesn't deserve the chance to take photos or video, either. You're mine."