Those poor shoes. He'd only apologize for those later, knowing full well the work it takes to keep things like that in working order. But he would be envious of those pants, clinging to spots he wanted to taste before they fell free, catching his eye and hooking him. The number of times he wanted to take those fucking garters off with his teeth were... too many, but that was fine. Al took care of those himself, too. There was always a next time.

It was the casual way with which he'd disrobed that was like a grab to the chin, a teasing stroke. It was business, all business, with an air of not entirely caring who was watching... or not noticing he'd been watching at all.

Intentionally or not, the king had rendered the bath water hotter, the steam in thicker vapors by the time Alastor climbed his way in. Lucifer's hands disappeared into the water, only the golden head of hair and wide, red eyes above the water's surface by the time the Sinner settled in. His horns were little nubs.

When he swallowed it was a mouthful of hungered drool, a merciful change of pace.

Maybe he should have himself a little bit of a deer breakfast. It was breakfast time somewhere...