Lucifer lined up his shot and gave a few practice swings with his number nine thigh bone. The shrunken skull waited for him to putt. He pulled back and –

“I demand you castrate him!”

– his shot went wild, careening off the pillars and missing his interior putting green entirely. Sighing, he turned and faced Ysabel, who, as usual, appeared annoyed.

“What has he done this time?” he asked as she flopped into a chair.

“He kissed me.”

He’d always known Remy was braver than most. “The horror. The shame. And?”

“What do you mean, and? I didn’t want him to.”

“So tell him no.”

“I did. Kind of.” He stared at her. She sighed. “Fine, I kissed him back. But I didn’t want to. He made me do it.”

Lucifer blinked. Stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. Surely he misunderstood. “He made you do it? I’m sorry, did I suddenly enter an alternate universe? Since when does anyone make you do anything? I’ve been trying to get you to show up on time for five hundred years and you still insist on making your own hours.”

A smirk graced her face. “I do it to keep you on your toes. But, back to the kissing demon. I want to know how to stop him from using his magic or potion or whatever it was he used to make me like it.”

Now this was interesting. “You’re mad because you enjoyed it?”

“Loved it, actually,” Remy announced, striding in unannounced. It seemed his witch’s bad habits were rubbing off.

“Does no one knock anymore?” But they weren’t paying Lucifer any attention as they faced off.

“I did not like it.”

“Liar. The tongue in my mouth said otherwise.”

“I was pushing yours out.”

“Then what were the moans of pleasure?”

“I did not moan.”

“Mmm. Mmm.” Remy closed his eyes and adopted a blissful expression with puckered lips.

It occurred to Lucifer as Ysabel raised her fingers that he might want to take cover.