[Intimacy. Sexuality. Crane feels mildly satisfied by both, but he keeps a tight control on his emotions; he focuses intently on what Lucifer's doing to his mask, his other face, opening his mouth slightly when the bigger devil slides his hand inside and investigates its innards with his fingertips. From the sackcloth to the piping, every single stitch, every single touch is so important because someone understands him.

A large breath of air, because though some call him a devil, Crane within his skin is still quite human. It's a mortal failing, and he's aware; he can be cut, he can be bled and he can be killed. Not that it worries him. He'd just become a glorious martyr to his cause. His entire body relaxes, and he leans into his chair and balances his chin on his fist to watch the rest of the encounter.

His satisfaction is a result of more than sexual lust and base motivations; it's acceptance, yes, but he's never really cared for anyone's acceptance in his life, and won't start now. What he feels is resonance.

His brow furrows at the question, and he decides at that moment.]

I require advance knowledge and foresight. Time, one might say.

[He scratches his chin.]

I am more than capable of creating my drug in liquid, gas and solid states. But what I cannot create is misfortune out of chance. I want you to help me make Hell on Earth.

[He leans back in his chair. He doesn't want to be dependent on Walt, either.]

Of course. I am also seeking alternate means of acquiring base materials. A place to work... And people I can use that don't actually think.