Balthazar tilts his head at a deeper angle, feeling the lips and tongue hover over his pulse, like a threat, or a promise. The feel of teeth wrings a low groan from him, one that builds in volume and intensity as the bite bruises him. It's a vivid contrast of pain and pleasure, like the spectrum of contradictions he has learned to associate with Lucifer; possessive dominance and tender words, seduction and demand, love and rage. When he releases his throat and speaks, the groan trails off in a soft whine, neither plea nor protest, and completely involuntary.

The look in his eyes as they meet Lucifer's shows he's dazed with the experience, and quivering on the edge, but he strains to keep his master's gaze, enchanted. The words trickle through the haze of sensual pleasure clouding his brain, and a slow, warm smile appears. For one blessed moment, he's not a servant with a master, not just, but a man with a lover, and the details don't matter. "...y-yes," he manages, out of breath and seconds from orgasm, too far gone to articulate much more. "Love you."

Then another thrust hits home, pushing him past the point of thought. His grasp tightens and his eyelids flutter as he struggles not to close them completely, as if hoping to allow Lucifer to read his soul through them as he comes. His movements are erratic, shaky and desperate, and punctuated with tiny wordless whimpers until the surge of pleasure steals his ability to breathe at all, at least for a few seconds.