Alastor was a mess, and in every sense of the word. He'd be flushed if he weren't so pallid, his shirt and vest torn open at the shoulder and flesh slowly, barely knitting together even as he wept and bled all over the bed.

Lucifer was stunning like this... horns out, eyes fiery, and all of his pristine white skin and clothing absolutely stained by his filthy Sinner blood. Blood that the man indulged in with just as much rabid fervor as Alastor always was tempted to.

It all felt as good as the victory he just claimed.

"What... no kiss?" he croaked in amusement, smiling madly (albeit warmly).