"Like this, my lord?"

"Yes, something like that, but more casually. See, your teeth are closed too tight on it, so it sticks up at a funny angle... relax." Lucifer's fingers stroked along Azazel's jaw, and obediently his servant's jaw loosened. The unlit tip of the cigarette drooped.

"I see..." One of Azazel's bright red nails lifted, ghosting across the tip of the cigarette; when it pulled away the cigarette was lit, a second cherry glowing in the near-dark. And he held it just there, breathing through his nose.

"No, no," Lucifer laughed. "You breathe through it. Like a tube. And it brings the smoke down into your lungs, and you breathe it out again. It's supposed to be relaxing."

"Ah..." Azazel clumsily rolled the cigarette to the center of his mouth and started himself breathing. The smoke rolled down the back of his throat, scratchy and hot, and while he did not cough he did stop breathing again, startled by the sensation. The smoke roiled in his lungs, trapped there. Eventually he remembered to push it back out in a ragged cloud, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it like a tiny torch between his fingers.

Lucifer, who had watched this entire process with amusement and something not unlike affection, turned his own head away to breathe two plumes of smoke out of his own nostrils. "You need to watch more Bette Davis films, Azazel."

"... Betty Davis, my lord?" Azazel asked uncertainly.

"Exactly. B-E-T-T-E, though."

"As my lord will..." Azazel's eyes drooped shut. And they were both silent for five minutes or so, while Lucifer smoked his cigarette down to the filter and Azazel's burned out unnoticed between his fingers.

Finally, Azazel breathed, "Oh. I see." His fingers stole out to brush Lucifer's bare shoulder. "Might I have another, my lord?"

Eyebrow quirking, Lucifer shook another cigarette out of the pack and held it out for Azazel's jeweled fingers to pluck. The cigarette slid between Azazel's lips, and in perfect seriousness Azazel turned to his lord, the cigarette held in the perfect pout of his mouth. "And... might I have a light?"

... truly, it was all Lucifer could do not to laugh. Instead he produced his battered Zippo and held out its flame; Azazel cupped both hands around his and drew in a breath, his eyes fluttering closed. A breathless moment passed between them.

Azazel's mouth slipped open, his fingers bearing the cigarette away in a graceful arc, like a glowing jewel. And the smoke rolled lazily from the perfect 'o' of his lips, drifting past Lucifer in graceful arabesques; when it had left him, Azazel smiled, the tip of his tongue flicking out to dampen his lips. And his eyes drifted half-open, seeking and finding Lucifer's own. "Have I done it correctly, then?"

"Yes," Lucifer breathed, a little smile on his face. "That's much better."