Balthazar is lovely this way, dazed by pleasure and desire, so close to undone. His eyes move over his flushed face, his unfocused gaze, the lips parted for breath as though air is something he can't seem to draw enough of. And the smile, the sweet aching joy in his expression as he begins to move on his cock--Lucifer savors all of it, watching closely to see the ways his servant has changed in his absence, the ways he is the same as he ever was. "Like that," he whispers, tender, encouraging, his own eyes closing briefly as the man sinks down onto him again; pleasure makes him shiver, a ravishing, reflexive motion, a susurrus of the feathers of his wings. They twitch and press closer around Balthazar, long primaries brushing his skin, the barbs as cool and soft as silk.

He lets Balthazar establish their pace, their rhythm, lifting hips when he sinks down to meet him in slippery, exquisite thrusts. There's no hurry in him, the motions easy and rocking and slow, his hands slipping from hips to thighs, then up again to caress his ribs, his back, following the way muscles shift beneath warm skin and the smooth ridges of scars. They cup his ass, strong fingers indenting his flanks and keeping him spread apart for the hot thickness of his shaft, penetrating again, again, again. He smiles at the way Balthazar holds him, the strength in his own grasp, his fingers tugging pleasurably at the roots of his hair, and kisses him again, briefly, indulgently. "It's sweet, isn't it?" The words breathe against his skin, his mouth moving tenderly over his hollow cheek and the slight curve of the bone. "Do you like this, Balthazar?"