The office was quiet save for the sharp scratching of Lucifer’s pen and the crisp turning of papers. His posture was perfect, back straight, expression unreadable as he spoke into the receiver, handling yet another call with the elegance of a man who carried the Devildom on his shoulders.

He didn’t glance up when you drifted near, not even when you leaned against his desk—though he felt it immediately, that deliberate presence meant only to test his restraint.

The low timbre of his voice continued, controlled and professional, but his jaw tightened when you brushed your hand lightly over the polished wood, closer to his own. He caught the movement from the corner of his eye, forcing himself not to react.

When the call ended, Lucifer set the receiver down with composure, though his fingers lingered longer than necessary. He reached for another document, ignoring the warmth of you perched far too close, ignoring how you shifted just enough to catch his attention, tempting him to look away from his endless responsibilities.

“...You never tire of testing me, do you?” he finally murmured, tone steady, though his crimson eyes betrayed the faintest gleam of amusement. He dipped his pen into the ink, deliberately continuing his work even as your presence grew bolder.

But when you leaned in just slightly, close enough that he could catch your scent, Lucifer’s hand stilled mid-word. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, sharp, heated, restrained.

For a long moment, he said nothing—letting the silence stretch, letting you feel the weight of his control. Then, in a voice lower, more dangerous than before, he spoke:

“Another moment of this… and I’ll abandon all of this paperwork without a second thought. Is that truly what you want?”

The pen rolled from his fingers, forgotten. The Devil himself was seconds away from giving in.