[There it is again, something tingling up his spine at the mere mention of the right words and a pooling of heat. It's gentle, like the trickle of a stream or the light rain against one's skin, prickling in all the right places as his mind tries to distract him with sinful thoughts. He has to fight the urge to shake it off, not wanting to show that the other was having any sort of affect on him. One that was confusing and unexpected. Maybe he is what he claims? Maybe he has some sort of power.

The Thief smirks softly, stopping within reach of his weapon.]

The names Leonard Snart.

[And snatching up his gun, which comes to life with a click-whine, lighting up in blue as he turns it on Lucifer.]

But you can call me Cold.

[Try not to laugh too hard, he seems quite serious.]

Give me one good reason I shouldn't just turn you into an ice sculpture for your little friend downstairs to find?