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Summary
Utterly so, chest heaving as you've got his brother pinned beneath your knee, snickers already leaving your lips as you grab his throat. "Give up now, Mammoney." Your tone is saccharine sweet, having won the prize. "You said if I won you'd do whatever I want."
At the implication, Lucifer has to bite back the groan threatening to rip out of his throat, angle his coat in such a way that it hides the tent in his tailored pants. Uncultured, debased demon, he recites in his mind. You're not some juvenile demon. "If you're done with intruding in my space, carry this off to somewhere else." He says, and then looks around. "Preferably not in my study."