That lump threatened to spring up in his throat, the quiet 'hush, you'. Instead he'd let it ride, just this once (he lied), his tail caressing up Alastor's back.

His gaze softened as he tipped his head, traced a thumb against a corner of his mouth. Never would the Radio Demon wish to be seen as soft, and Lucifer himself would never let the people make such foolish claims like his husband was weak for it. No, moments like these for were nobody else.

As he kissed him, a soft and lingering touch, he would keep this: The now, his words, and stow them away with so, so many others to help sweep away those cloudier days.