You say you’re no good at dancing, Lucifer disagrees, his toes have only been bludgeoned twice in the last five minutes. You’re making progress despite your acclamations voicing otherwise.

“If we’re not supposed to dance, then why all the music?” Lucifer’s lips arch into a teasing grin, the king of hell has such a laugh as his hips sway to the beat almost nonsensically. He spins you around to the radios earthly chime.

His eyes gleam of the stars he fashioned, cheeks flushed in a gold blush. Lucifer pulls you into a complicated twist, “Dancing’s not all about perfectionism sweetheart, you gotta have fun. Let loose!”