Dollia

It started, like most of their days, with bickering.

Lucifer sat regally on the sofa in the parlor lounge of the Hazbin Hotel, legs crossed and goblet in hand, exuding calm superiority.

“You’ve gone and scared another client off the premises,” he drawled lazily, not looking up from his wine. “Tell me, was your goal to exorcise them through sheer obnoxiousness, or was it just a happy accident?”

Across the room, Alastor adjusted the dial on his antique microphone, pointed teeth gleaming through his grin. “They were annoying. And slovenly. I did the hotel a favor, you’re welcome.”

“Oh yes,” Lucifer scoffed. “By all means, continue undermining my daughter’s dream with your charming homicidal tendencies.”

The two stared each other down like the air itself had dared to offend them. Charlie had made very specific rules—no bodily harm, no threats of violence, and, most critically, no reality-warping duels inside hotel walls. And yet here they were, toeing every line.

Alastor opened his mouth to respond, but Lucifer cut him off before he could even get a word out.

“You do know what shutting the fuck up is, yes?” Lucifer sipped his wine with an exaggerated sigh.

Alastor tilted his head, grin widening. “Coming from you? One would think your highness would hold some semblance of integrity.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched, eyes red as he jumped to his feet, chest flaring. “You insolent little—”

“Guys.”

Charlie’s voice chimed from down the hall. “Be nice. No violence, remember? I need everyone making an effort to get along here.”

Lucifer plastered on an innocent smile. “Of course, my dear. Just having a spirited discussion with my good friend Al, here.”

Alastor waved, far too innocently, the slight irritated twitch of his eye his only give away. “Just enlightening your father on the joys of radio etiquette.”

Charlie groaned audibly and walked off.

Alastor turned back to Lucifer. “You heard the princess. No violence.”

Lucifer grinned, sucking air through his teeth with a barely withheld sneer.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you.”

He stood, polished and precise, brushing a speck of dust from his vest. “But Charlie never said anything about shutting you up.”

Before Alastor could react, the world blinked out.

They reappeared in a flash of white light—crackling energy humming against the crimson marble floor of Lucifer’s personal tower suite. The doors slammed shut behind them.

Alastor snarled and spun, his cane raised.

“I will not tolerate—”

His words died in his throat when celestial restraints burst from thin air, golden cuffs locking around his wrists mid-motion and yanking his arms over his head. He stumbled, thrown off-balance, and his knees hit the floor with a thud. He gasped sharply as he felt cuffs loop around his ankles, keeping them locked to the ground.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he hissed, trying to phase through the bindings—only to find them maddeningly resistant to his usual power.

Lucifer approached, eyes glowing a soft, dangerous red. “A lesson, dear Bambi.”

Alastor bared his fangs, fur bristling, voice crackling. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh I will,” Lucifer purred. “Because it’s adorable. And you have gotten far too comfortable speaking to your king like an equal.”

“If you wish to be treated like royalty perhaps you should act like it.” The overlord spat.

Lucifer didn’t react to the disrespectful retort this time, crouching slowly to come face to face with Alastor’s kneeling form, though it wasn’t by much due to the sheer difference in height between the two.

Alastor met his gaze, unrelenting in the fury that blazed within his eyes.

Lucifer smirked, his face so close to Alastor’s he could almost feel the rageful heat radiating from his face. “You’re not in the position to be talking back, little fawn.”

Lucifer hadn’t intended to touch him, not really.

The plan had been simple: trap the Radio Demon in silence. Lock him in the tower with his own endless thoughts, away from Charlie, away from the staff, away from Lucifer. For once, a few hours of peace in the hotel without that grating, incessant voice chewing through every conversation like static on a wire. He’d let him go…eventually.

Alastor was still on his knees, wrists bound high above his head by golden celestial cuffs that shimmered and pulsed with divine energy. He scowled at the opulent room around him.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your petty little display of dominance,” he spat, “because once I’m free—”

Lucifer sighed dramatically, absentmindedly inspecting his fingernails. “You won’t be. Not for a while.”

He walked a lazy circle around the demon, hands clasped behind his back. “You see, bellhop, the very sound of your voice is like a fork scraping glass. And since Charlie won’t let me maim you…”

He circled back to Alastor’s front now, leaning down again to meet him there, punctuating his words with sharp pokes to Alastor’s chest.

“I’ve—had—enough—of you—talking.”

The last jab landed a little lower than the others—right against Alastor’s sternum—and that was when it happened.

The flinch.

Miniscule. Barely a twitch.

But to Lucifer?

Obvious.

He paused, one brow lifting with interest. Alastor’s face was already tightening, going carefully blank as though to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. But it had. And Lucifer had seen it.

“Well, well…” he mused.

Alastor’s glare sharpened. “What?”

Lucifer said nothing. Just smiled. That infuriating, cocky smile.

Without a word, he stepped behind the kneeling demon, slow and deliberate. Alastor’s posture stiffened.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice now edged with something beyond his rageful snarl, something more raw.

Lucifer didn’t answer. He simply stood behind him, letting the silence stretch long and taut like a string about to snap.

Then—lightly, almost thoughtfully—he placed his fingertips against Alastor’s sides.

Not moving. Not prodding. Just resting them there. Barely any pressure.

Alastor froze.

The tension in his shoulders was immediate. His breath hitched, and he held perfectly still, spine rigid.

A devious grin curled its way along Lucifer’s face. Oh, this was far more effective than expected.

“Is something the matter, Bambi?” he purred near his ear, letting the nickname slither through the air like smoke.

Alastor didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched.

Lucifer didn’t move his hands—yet. But the lack of motion was the worst part. Every breath, every micro-shift in Alastor’s body threatened to cause a ghost of a twitch from those poised fingers, and he knew it.

Lucifer’s voice dropped into a whisper. “You flinched.”

“No, I did not,” Alastor muttered, a little too fast.

“Oh, but you did.” Lucifer let his fingers flex the tiniest bit, barely enough to count. But it sent a tremor through the demon’s abdomen.

“You are,” Lucifer started, amused wonder in his voice as he paused between words, “sensitive, I take it?”

Alastor growled low in his throat. “This is juvenile. You-“

“You’re nervous.” Lucifer leaned close, breath brushing Alastor’s ear and causing it to twitch. “Which means this is going to be fun.”

Alastor’s entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

The weight of Lucifer’s fingers hadn’t changed—still feather-light against his sides—but it might as well have been claws pressed to bare nerves for all the fire it sent crackling under his skin. The radio demon grit his teeth, refusing to react. Refusing.

Lucifer let the silence hang for a few excruciating beats, just breathing steadily behind him, his presence commanding and smug and infuriating. Then, ever so softly, he whispered, “You’re practically vibrating, little buck.”

“I am not,” Alastor snapped through clenched teeth. His tone thickened with effort, voice like glass cracking under strain. “Get your filthy hands off me.”

Lucifer chuckled—a deep, indulgent hum that rattled straight down Alastor’s spine.

“Oh, no. No, no, I don’t think I will. I think I’ve just discovered something precious, and I’m not the type to waste an opportunity when it lands in my lap.”

He gave one finger the slightest twitch. Just one.

Alastor inhaled sharply, the sound thin and ragged. He kept his expression hard, but a bead of sweat rolled near his brow.

“This is beneath you,” Alastor hissed. “A cheap trick. You’re the King of Hell, not a petulant schoolgirl—”

“Oho, is that your angle?” Lucifer laughed, slipping a hand down to rest just at the curve of Alastor’s waist. His fingers were splayed lazily, not yet moving. “Trying to shame me out of it? Sweetheart, I’m the devil. Shame isn’t really in my wheelhouse.”

He leaned in close again, and this time, his voice was syrupy with threat. “And Charlie said no violence. But she didn’t say a word about this.”

Alastor turned his head just enough to glare at him, eyes narrow and dark. “You’re delusional.”

Lucifer chuckled in amusement, his breath against the back of Alastor’s neck making his fur prickle with goosebumps. “You really hate my guts, don’t you?”

“Passionately.”

Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. “Such a shame. After all the grace I’ve given you.”

Without warning, he let his fingers barely flutter against Alastor’s sides.

Soft, hardly there, but enough to remind the demon how perilously close he was to total humiliation.

Alastor twitched. His whole torso jumped a centimetre forward, restrained only by the cuffs above.

Lucifer chuckled slyly, and in a teasing voice sang, “You’re trembliiiing.”

Alastor growled low in his throat. “Release me. Now.” His voice was raspy, broken and pitched up, and if he listened closely, Lucifer could hear the smile on his lips, which the king of hell found especially interesting. The radio demon was never without a smile, but this was different, to hear it this way through his voice, almost as though it was more raw, real.

Lucifer trailed a finger in a slow, lazy arc just below his ribs, a ghost of a touch. “Say please.”

Alastor’s breath hitched again—another giveaway, another tiny thread of composure unraveling.

“The radio demon does not beg,” he spat.

“No? You sure?” Lucifer crooned. He danced a fingertip in a slow circle around Alastor’s side, just light enough to make the muscle twitch beneath it. “You’ve got that ‘barely holding it together’ vibe. Very overlord-in-distress.”

Alastor flinched again, his face darkening. His lips were pressed tight, like holding back a damful of water behind cracking concrete. His ears twitched. His jaw was clenched so hard it might shatter, and his usual smug grin had abandoned him, something more unrestrained in its place.

“Ticklish little fawn,” Lucifer cooed softly. “All that power, all that pomp. And one well-placed touch and you’re already squirming.” The king stepped around to face alastor again, fingers not leaving their place on his sides.

“I’m not—squirming.” The word sounded like poison on Alastor’s tongue.

Lucifer’s voice dropped again, sweet and dripping with honey. “You’re blushing.”

Alastor turned his head away sharply. “It’s the lighting.”

Lucifer snorted. “Oh, I’m sure it is.”

He let his fingers drift down toward the softest part of Alastor’s belly, stilling them there. Not moving yet, but the threat hung in the air like static before a storm.

“I wonder,” Lucifer murmured, “how long you would last if I really tried. I’ve barely touched you.”

“F-fuck you!” Alastor’s breathing was faster now—still controlled, but uneven. The cuffed position left him completely open, completely vulnerable, and Lucifer hadn’t even begun.

Lucifer smirked. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

And with that, he let his thumbs give the barest stroke along the curve of Alastor’s ribs- soft, slow, and so light it almost shouldn’t have registered aside from the pressure of his nails against the delicate bones.

But it did.

Alastor made a sound—half gasp, half growl. His back arched a fraction of an inch before he stiffened up again, pressing his knees into the marble floor, as if grounding himself would help somehow.

Lucifer’s grin was positively devious. “So, not ticklish, hmm?”

“Go to hell.”

“I built it.”

Lucifer didn’t relent.

His fingers, still dancing just over Alastor’s clothes, pressed with a growing boldness now—softly stroking at his sides, lightly tapping along his ribs, and occasionally letting his thumbs draw slow, lazy circles against the soft fabric of his waistcoat. Nothing direct, nothing skin-on-skin—but it didn’t matter. Alastor was already feeling the effects deep in his gut.

And Lucifer knew it.

“You’re doing wonderfully, by the way,” he said smoothly, as though praising a child for good behavior. “Your composure is truly impressive. I would’ve cracked already, if I were a lesser king.”

Alastor’s jaw clenched tighter, nearly aching. His fists were still tight, shoulders locked, but the cracks were starting to show. His breath was just a touch too fast. His spine arched just slightly away from Lucifer’s hand every time he grazed too close to a sensitive spot. And most delicious of all—his silence was growing tense, strained.

Lucifer’s smirk sharpened.

“Still haven’t answered my question. ” he sang, his fingers now skimming along Alastor’s lower ribs with deliberate precision. “You’re holding up so well. But I do wonder… if you’re not ticklish, why is your heart pounding like a trapped rabbit’s?”

“I am not—” Alastor snapped, before catching himself, grinding his teeth together and looking away with fury burning in his eyes.

Lucifer only chuckled. “Ah. So we’re continuing with denial.”

He moved behind Alastor again, slow and purposeful, fingers never leaving him. One hand rested gently at his waist, the other now tracing the soft spaces between his ribs, testing pressure and rhythm like a pianist searching for the right key. Alastor barely suppressed a jolt when Lucifer hit a particularly vulnerable angle—just beneath the edge of his ribcage, where the fabric of his vest was thinner, less structured.

“I think we’re getting close to something interesting,” Lucifer murmured, pulling his hands away. “But maybe I’m being too polite. Perhaps your pride needs a firmer push.” With that, Alastor’s coat and vest vanished, leaving his dress shirt as the only remaining barrier.

Alastor snarled, eyes blazing. “You think this will win you anything?”

“I’m not trying to win,” Lucifer replied easily, stepping forward. “I’m just reminding you of your place.”

He placed both hands firmly on Alastor’s sides now, fingers splayed across his ribs through his shirt. He gave a slow, experimental squeeze, pressing deeper than all his previous touches had.

Alastor jolted like he’d been electrocuted.

Lucifer’s grin widened, pupils blown like a shark sensing blood.

“Well now. That was a reaction.”

“You will regret this,” Alastor growled, voice ragged around the edge, pitched higher than it was just moments ago.

Lucifer only tilted his head, amused. “Eh, maybe. But I’ll enjoy it first.”

With wicked patience, Lucifer began to explore Alastor’s ribs again in earnest—light prodding, circular rubs, sudden jabs—all still over the shirt, but expertly placed. It was maddening. Every touch seemed to find a pressure point Alastor didn’t know he had. His whole torso was tense, back slightly arched, head turned away in desperate concentration.

But Lucifer didn’t need to see his face to know he was losing control.

He could feel it. The twitching. The trembling. He leaned in again, his voice velvety with taunt.

“You know what I love about this?” he whispered near Alastor’s ear. “You still think you have the upper hand. You’re still pretending you can handle me.”

Alastor didn’t respond.

Because if he did—he might laugh.

Lucifer smirked.

“Let’s ruin that little fantasy.”

With a casual snap of his fingers, Alastor’s dress shirt vanished in a puff of golden smoke, like the coat before it, leaving behind the soft curve of furred skin and faint, fawn-like spotting that began where the fur darkened on his sides, curling around to his back. Lucifer took a moment, just a moment, to appreciate the sight. If the radio demon felt exposed before, it was nothing quite like this.

“Adorable,” Lucifer cooed with venomous delight. “No wonder you keep this hidden. All those pointy teeth, that smug grin—and underneath it all, you’re just a sweet little forest creature.”

Alastor snarled, cheeks now burning a dark red. “Would you just shut up—”

Lucifer didn’t even wait for him to finish.

He placed his fingers gently on either side of Alastor’s now-exposed ribs—just the pads of his thumbs, resting right on the soft, vulnerable dip under the lowest rib. He didn’t move them. Just stayed there. Still.

Alastor froze.

No breath. No twitch.

Just wide, furious eyes and an internal storm of panic.

Lucifer leaned in, savoring the moment.

“I could break you with two fingers right now.”

Alastor remained silent—but his lips trembled. His jaw clenched tighter than ever, and a soft, involuntary twitch rippled down his side as Lucifer applied the faintest pressure. Still not moving. Not yet. And the worst part was, Alastor wanted to laugh. Laughter was begging, pleading with his body for release. But he couldn’t. He could not stomach the thought of Lucifer’s satisfaction, the humiliation.

Lucifer smiled.

“I wonder… how long you’ll last, now that there’s nothing between us.”

A deep, ragged inhale from Alastor fuelled the fire further within Lucifer.

And as he began to trace a circle, just one, around the bare fur of Alastor’s side—

The Radio Demon bit his lip, the corners of his mouth twitching further upwards.

Lucifer didn’t move fast.

He didn’t need to.

His fingers skimmed across the short, velvet-soft fur along Alastor’s bare ribs with maddening patience—just enough pressure to keep the nerves lit up like wires beneath the skin. He didn’t tickle, not exactly. It was worse than that. It was anticipation, dragged out into something more unbearable, and Alastor found himself wishing the king would just get it over with instead of holding him here in this uncertainty.

“Still holding strong?” Lucifer asked sweetly, his tone smooth, smug and silky.

Alastor didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

His lips were pursed so tightly they were nearly white. His whole body was trembling in his restraints, like a violin string pulled taut. His soft fur bristled, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow gasps.

Lucifer tilted his head. “Hm. No comeback? I was almost starting to enjoy our little debates.”

Still no answer.

But when Lucifer’s thumb gently stroked under the edge of his ribcage—just once, the edge of his nail gently scraping the lowest rib—, Alastor gave a sudden, helpless hiccup of breath.

Lucifer froze.

Then grinned, slow and wide.

“There it is.”

Alastor immediately growled, low and foreboding, forcing his expression back to a mask of fury. But Lucifer had caught it. That moment. And he was not going to let it go.

Lucifer lightly fluttered his fingers for just a beat against Alastor’s side. Breath caught in Alastor’s throat.

A little stammer. A harsh, involuntary huff of air through his nose.

Lucifer’s grin widened to something absolutely devious. “Sorry, what was that?”

Alastor glared at the ground, fuming, his mouth still clamped shut. His cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, his ears pressed tight to his skull in humiliation.

Lucifer leaned closer, voice a whisper against his neck. “Was that a giggle, Bambi?”

Alastor jerked at the nickname—an instant, furious flinch that made his sides tense—and Lucifer took advantage, letting both hands slide firmly around his bare ribs and squeeze, just once, quick and sharp.

“hh-hf —!”

Alastor’s head snapped down, still biting hard on his lip.

Too late.

Lucifer heard it. Felt it.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Another squeeze. This time slower, fingers digging gently between each rib.

Alastor gave a wheezy gasp and a stuttered, “d-don’t—!” before falling silent again, muscles shaking with effort.

“Don’t what?” Lucifer purred.

Alastor growled, low in his throat. Though, to Lucifer, it would be described as much closer to a desperate whine.

“I wonder,” Lucifer murmured, trailing two fingers in a lazy figure-eight over Alastor’s sides, “how much longer you can keep that in. This act. This is very… dignified of you.”

Alastor clenched his teeth again , his entire body rigid with effort. His ribs twitched beneath Lucifer’s fingers, responding involuntarily to the maddening softness of the touch.

He could feel the heat in his face rising sharply—his blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and down the back of his neck like wildfire. He knew he must look ridiculous. His nose crinkled. His jaw was locked tight. His tail was twitching erratically behind him in barely-contained panic.

Not here. Not in front of him.

“I know you’re not laughing,” Lucifer continued smoothly, brushing a fingertip along the lower swell of Alastor’s side, where the fur was softer—embarrassingly reactive, “but you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

He was.

Alastor hated how right he was.

Alastor scowled, his teeth bared now, but his face—oh, his face was burning. He was glowing red all the way down his chest, the blush utterly betraying him. His body was twitching in tiny spasms, no matter how still he tried to remain.

He was falling apart.

“hh-he—!”

Lucifer laughed triumphantly. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Alastor gave a wheezy gasp, teeth still gritted.

“D-don’t—!” His voice cracked.

The muscles in his kneeling legs were trembling, and despite the red-hot rage in his chest, he couldn’t stop the shudder that tore through him.

Lucifer chuckled, wicked and sweet. “Oh come on, just let it out. You know you want to.”

His thumbs brushed gentle, fluttering circles just under his ribcage—soft and agonizing . It was unbearable.

A soft, high-pitched titter escaped before Alastor could clamp down on it.

No. No no no—

His heart slammed against his ribs, horrified. He could feel the laughter rising, pressing up into his throat like it was boiling over. His blush deepened—how was that even possible? He was sizzling.

Lucifer looked positively gleeful. “Oh. Oh. That’s precious.”

“Stop—” Alastor tried, but it came out strangled.

His entire body was shaking with the effort to remain composed. He was a breath away from collapse. His pride screamed. He was the one who broke others. He did not get reduced to a trembling, twitching mess.

Lucifer let him sit in that silence—hovering, poised, watching.

“You’re trying so hard not to laugh,” he murmured. “You’ve got that whole overlord reputation to protect. But here you are. Quivering like a scared fawn, ears pinned back, blushing so sweetly.”

Alastor snarled through his teeth again. His ears were so flat now they nearly disappeared into his hair.

His mind was spinning so fast, he was completely unprepared for Lucifer’s next move.

Both hands dove under Alastor’s arms from behind, latching onto his ribs, squeezing and vibrating fingertips in deep, wicked pressure.

Alastor broke.

“—p-Phfff—! N-Nohohoho—!”

No, he exploded.

Squeaky, frantic giggles burst out of him like a dam breaking.

He folded forward in the restraints, shoulders trembling violently as the laughter overwhelmed him.

“Pffhehehehehe—aAHAHA–! NO! HA–h-hold on–! You basta–AHAHA!”

Lucifer howled with joy.

“There it is! I can’t believe you thought you’d ever be able to hold out on me.”

Alastor was wrecked. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t think. His mind was a haze of horror and helplessness.

His chest burned. His face was on fire. His laugh spiraled upward into frantic, hiccupy bursts, broken and wild and nothing like the composed, elegant, terrifying image he clung to.

He hated it.

He hated how good it felt to let go.

Suddenly, lucifer was in front of him again, not wanting to miss another moment of Alastor’s wild smile. The demon was always smiling, but this was different. It was so…untethered. His hands slid lower.

Alastor knew, with the last thread of dignity he had left, that he was completely at the King’s mercy.

Lucifer’s grin widened when his fingers reached their final destination—the center of Alastor’s torment.

That soft, vulnerable, absurdly sensitive belly.

“Ohhh,” he purred, watching Alastor flinch even before he made contact. “Now what do we have here…”

Alastor tensed all over, teeth gritted through the giggles still tumbling out of him in helpless waves. “D-Dohohon’t—HAH!—y-you wouldn’t—!”

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, scanning Alastor’s kneeling form. The way he had resolved to going slack in his restraints, head flopped forward in a last ditch effort to hide his flushed face. The trembling pale fur along his belly and sides—quivering, drawn tight with nerves, absolutely begging for attention.

“Hmm,” Lucifer murmured, cocking his head. “You didn’t say ‘can’t.’ You said wouldn’t. What a funny choice of words.”

Alastor’s eyes blew wide. “D-Don’t you dare—”

Lucifer gently wiggled his fingers just above the exposed skin, slowly bringing them closer to their destination. Alastor nearly stopped breathing altogether, whiny giggles tumbling from his lips, shoulders tight, every single nerve in his body screaming at him to brace.

“You’re already laughing,” Lucifer observed softly. “And I haven’t even touched your belly yet. What’s got you so nervous, little deer?”

He waited.

Waited.

Alastor made the mistake of shifting—just an inch—and Lucifer pounced.

Ten fingers descended like lightning, scribbling up and down the plush fur of Alastor’s stomach in erratic, devastating zigzags. He didn’t give him a moment to recover—each flick and scritch was purposefully uneven, unpredictable, keeping Alastor’s nerves overloaded and confused.

“NAHAHAHAHA—! LUHUHUHUHUCIFER—!!”

“Oh yes,” Lucifer breathed, positively delighted. “There it is. There’s the sound I wanted to hear.”

Alastor lost it.

He thrashed in his restraints, but they held firm, his knees trembling against the floor. His body shook with overstimulation, laughter pouring from him in high-pitched bursts, interrupted only by gasps and the occasional shriek when Lucifer zeroed in on a particularly brutal spot just above his hips.

“G-Get your h-haHAHANDS—! OFF—AHAHA—YOU SADISTIC—!!”

“Ah ah,” Lucifer scolded, brushing his thumbs in slow, lazy spirals around the shallow dip of Alastor’s bellybutton. “Charlie said no hurting each other, remember? This isn’t hurting. This is… correcting.”

“Y-YOU’RE DEAD—AHAHAHAHA!!—DEAD WHEN I GET OUT OF—!!”

Lucifer just clicked his tongue, his smile growing somehow even more smug.

“Oh? Is that a threat? I wouldn’t do that if I were your position right now.”

Alastor wheezed, red-faced and blinking back tears, laughter breaking into desperate little hiccups. Lucifer gave him a moment—just a moment—his fingers still resting wickedly over his belly. Alastor drew in three ragged, giggly breaths.

And then he dug in again, this time with rapid, focused scribbles across his lowest ribs, and Alastor squealed.

A high, undignified sound ripped from his throat as he threw his head back, laughter spilling out uncontained, pure and raw and broken.

“NOHOHOHO—STOHOP—THAHAHAT’S—THAHAHAT’S NOT F-FAIR—!!”

“Oh sweetheart,” Lucifer crooned, his voice practically a purr. “You thought this was ever going to be fair?”

He leaned down, lips nearly brushing Alastor’s ear.

“You ticklish little thing. If anyone finds out about this—well. I’m sure your reputation will never recover.”

Alastor hiccuped. “I—I’ll—I’ll rip yoHOHOU l-limb from liHIHIHIMB—!!”

Lucifer gave his ribs one last, devilishly calculated bout of pinches, fingers zeroing in on the soft flesh between them.

Alastor’s laugh shot up an octave, wild and unrestrained, as he sagged entirely in the binds, all his fight gone, reduced to nothing more than a flushed, breathless, giggling mess.

Lucifer finally relented.

His fingers stilled, drifting lightly off the trembling curve of Alastor’s belly, admiring his handiwork. The deer demon nothing like his usual composed image before—ears drooped, hair disheveled, fur tousled, cheeks cherry-red, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. Lucifer chose to ignore the warmth that spread within his chest at the way Alastor smiled, bright and wide, so different from the one he normally wore.

And—most satisfying of all—he was silent.

“Not so chatty now, are we?” Lucifer said, mock-gently, brushing a thumb over Alastor’s shoulder like he was petting something fragile. “You should thank me. You’ve been begging for someone to knock you off that high horse since the day you arrived.”

Alastor didn’t speak.

Couldn’t speak.

Just glared, panting, still trembling from the aftermath. Still giggling.

Lucifer stepped back, smug and slow, and let the bindings begin to fade.

“You’ll be free in 10 minutes,” he said casually. “I’m off to enjoy the silence now. Do let me know when you’re ready to behave.”

He paused in the doorway, glancing back with one last smirk.

“And don’t worry, Bambi…your secret’s safe with me.”

He winked.