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Summary
A several thousand year old virgin? Hardly. But Diavolo's tongue flicks over his nipple, and the strangled noise that escapes is not of his own volition. When Diavolo drops to his knees before Lucifer, all that’s left of his rational thought comes to a screeching stop.
This, Lucifer, Diavolo’s mirthful eyes seem to say, his pale gold irises nearly eclipsed by his blown pupils, his lips pressed to the curve of Lucifer’s exposed hip as he looks up.
This is just the worship you deserve.
