Don't let it go too much to your head, he groans, but you do that simply by existing in my presence.

... Most times, anyway. There are definitely times Lucifer wants to ring his neck, and not in an appealing way. And it should still go to the idiot's head.

His hips buck involuntary the lower Istredd goes, his thoughts for the first time becoming fuzzy. Distracted. Highly distracted. He usually shifts so frequently back and forth between thoughts and speaking and he's having more trouble with one more than the other.

There's a loose power about him, dribbling out and around and back through mostly unnoticed by Lucifer like a leaking helium balloon. Just a subtle shift in air currents. That might not be able to handle it. The part of him that recognizes it surely doesn't care.

Istredd. It's close a whine. Words, he needs words. He's all about words. Won't know until we find out.