[identity profile] goe-mod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] go_exchange
Of Authors, Cosplayers, and Other Miracles (Pt 2)
Rated: Explicit/NC-17

He was only reminded that he hadn't moved in a while when Aziraphale tugged at his suit lapels and began to return the kiss demandingly, startling Crowley back into action. He took another half-step closer, pressing Aziraphale up against the Bentley. The angel retaliated by biting at Crowley's lower lip, not particularly hard, but unexpectedly enough to draw a small, surprised sound from the demon's throat as he parted his lips, allowing Aziraphale to deepen the kiss. Crowley went along willingly, trying to regain the control the angel's action had taken from him by tightening his hand in his hair; in response, Aziraphale slid his own hand from the demon's collarbone to his back, running it along his shoulder blade where the base of his wings would be if he had them out in the open.

The touch sent a jolt of dizzying pleasure through Crowley's body and he broke the kiss to draw a deep breath, licking his lips. Aziraphale had left a taste of chocolate and something else, something very him that made Crowley think of tea and books.

“Oh my,” the angel muttered. There was a flush high on his cheeks, his hair was a little mussed and his eyes looked a little darker than usual. “I haven't done that in a long time,” he mused.

“You have done this before?” Crowley asked incredulously. The angel raised one eyebrow at him (and when had he picked up that kind of non-verbal sarcasm? It must be Adam’s fault, for sure. Crowley had definitely had no part in that) and closed the small distance between them once again while at the same time pressing down on that same spot again.

Crowley practically melted into the touch this time and was about to move his own hands toward Aziraphale’s back to return the touch, but he found the connection between his brain and his hands surprisingly sluggish all of sudden, so he ended up holding on to the angel's shoulders instead.

He jumped at the sound of somebody clapping nearby and turned halfway while Aziraphale cleared his throat, startled, his hands dropping. A glance backwards showed him the cosplayer pair they had first met that morning walking across the street nearby, the Trekkie clapping while her friend elbowed her in the ribs, laughing.

“Way to go!” she called over to them. “Love the car.” She adjusted her greatcoat and extended a hand to her friend, who grudgingly shoved a crumpled five-pound-note into her general direction. “We didn’t mean to interrupt, don’t mind us.” They linked arms while they walked off, apparently not expecting a reply, and Crowley coughed when he took a small step back and threw Aziraphale (who was still holding the forgotten chocolate treat in one hand) a pointed look.

The angel tore his gaze away from the two cosplayers and looked up at Crowley, who added a tiny smirk and raised eyebrows to his meaningful look. After a few seconds, the angel seemed to understand and smiled sheepishly.

“Well,” he admitted, “I suppose the idea wasn’t that far off after all.” Crowley straightened his suit, grinning, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Do stop looking so smug, my dear, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Does too,” Crowley responded, with a little dose of extra smugness just for good measure, and opened the car’s door to slip into his seat. He escaped the evening chill by heating up the inside of the Bentley with no more than a thought and Aziraphale entered from the other side a second later, polishing off the last of his chocolate-coated fruit.

“What now?” Aziraphale inquired as the demon started the car.
Crowley was aware that the question was probably meant in a wide, all-encompassing way concerning the future in general and their lives in particular, but since Aziraphale’s phrasing hadn’t exactly been specific, so he answered casually: “I don’t know about you, but I have some plants waiting to be watered.”

Aziraphale shot him an exasperated look. “I hardly believe they’ll run away,” he pointed out.

“Are you saying I should leave them unattended?” Crowley demanded, feigning hurt.

Aziraphale didn’t look impressed. After a few seconds, the demon rolled his eyes behind his shades and added: “Why don’t you come along and we figure it out as we go. It’s always worked out so far.” No need to break a perfectly good habit after all.

The angel inclined his head in something that might be agreement, a tiny smile grazing his lips. “Good point,” he conceded, relaxing back into his seat a little as he lost some of his nervous tension.

“I always make good points,” Crowley responded without missing a beat. Aziraphale's huff softened his smirk to a smile. “Let's go home, angel.”

There was a card in the mail when they reached Crowley's flat, expressing Anathema's most sincere congratulations and her very best wishes for the two. The demon rolled his eyes at it, but Aziraphale pocketed it as he trailed after Crowley toward the kitchen.

They would figure it out as they went along, indeed.

About fifteen minutes later Crowley was shutting his apartment’s door behind himself, toeing off his shoes and watching as Aziraphale went ahead toward the kitchen, announcing that he was going to brew himself some tea. Crowley agreed in a murmur, then frowned.

“I don’t have any tea, angel,” he called toward the kitchen.

“You do now, my dear,” Aziraphale called back and Crowley entered just in time to see the angel glaring a cup filled with water into boiling itself quickly before he turned, clearing his throat.

Crowley gave him a crooked smile while he shed his coat and threw it over the back of a chair. Aziraphale gave it a disapproving look and straightened it fussily before he followed suit, draped his own tan overcoat over the next chair, and picked up his tea.

The demon gestured toward the living room area and picked up his plant mister in passing. He waved it for emphasis as he told the angel: “Well, sit down or something. I’ll take care of these weaklings, and then we’ll… Well… we could...” He trailed off, not quite sure how to approach the subject of… whatever he was going to propose to do.

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, apparently equally indecisive now that the heat of the moment had passed and they were alone in the spacious flat where everything seemed a lot louder and more intimate without the constant hum of London's streets in the background. For a while, the only sounds were Crowley’s steps and the murmur of him half-heartedly threatening his plants and Aziraphale sipping his tea while he watched his friend move around the flat.

The silence was slightly tense at first, but the discomfort melted away after a few minutes, Aziraphale melting back into the couch and Crowley getting into his work a little more. The plants appeared to notice the change, since they suddenly seemed to make much more of an effort to look presentable - a change the demon welcomed wholeheartedly.

Eventually, Crowley saw his friend rise from the couch and move into the direction of the kitchen, presumably to get a refill for his tea. He watched him go for a moment and then set the plant mister down determinedly before he followed Aziraphale on silent, bare feet. The angel was standing at the counter, fiddling with tea leaves that hadn’t been there before, and Crowley approached him soundlessly.

For a few more moments, he watched the angel, his mind almost inadvertently returning to the kiss an hour before that they had so masterfully avoided talking about. Crowley reached the decision that he didn't want it to be one of the things that happened and were never mentioned again* surprisingly quickly.

*There were some instances of those things scattered in the millennia they had spent on the planet together. Both had agreed they would never bring up 1428 again, under no circumstances, ever.

Unhurriedly, he crossed the last few steps separating him from Aziraphale, inwardly gathering his courage as he reached out slowly.

He placed his hands on the angel’s waist without premonition. Aziraphale dropped his tea leaves, going slightly tense, and Crowley closed the remaining distance, wrapping his arms around the angel’s waist all the way, and ran his lips along Aziraphale’s neck, slowly, relishing the slight gasp that escaped the angel's lips at the sudden contact.

After a few seconds, Aziraphale seemed to get over his initial surprise and exhaled slowly, dropping his head back onto Crowley’s shoulder. One of his hands found its way up into the demon’s hair, tangling in it as he tilted his head to the side to grant Crowley better access. Crowley got a little braver when he found himself affirmed in the assumption that the angel was just as willing for more as he was, running his hands up Aziraphale’s chest and pulling the angel against him. Slowly, he began to trail kisses along his neck, listening to every small hitch in Aziraphale's breath.

His hands wandered upward until he reached the angel's tie. He tugged at it, loosening the knot and undoing the first two buttons while he was at it already so he could move his collar aside, fingertips brushing over the skin beneath. The feeling from before was back, spreading throughout his body and reminding Crowley that no matter what shape he might currently be in, Aziraphale was very much different from any human he had ever done this with.

He wouldn't have it any other way, of course.

Tea forgotten, the angel turned in Crowley's arms and slid his hands under the demon's suit jacket to push it off of his shoulders. Crowley was momentarily stunned by his forwardness, but remembered this was indeed not the first time the angel had done this. Oh, well. He had said they would figure it out as they went along, so they would.

He reached for the hem of Aziraphale's pullover to pull it off. Once the garment had hit the floor, the angel's hands were on Crowley's shoulders as he leaned up, cheeks already flushed and his lips red as though he had been biting them. For a moment, they both stilled, breathing in each other's space, then Crowley leaned down to close the distance between them and kissed Aziraphale, his eyes falling shut at the feeling of the angel responding in kind.

There was something about kissing Aziraphale that made the demon feel, in a way that transcended the simple pleasure of doing it, like he had finally had something clicking into place that had been waiting forever to find its place. Something that had built up during long hours in St James Park, dinners at the Ritz and the following drunken discussions in the back of the bookshop, with neither of them sure what it actually was until it had been blatantly shoved in their faces.

Crowley began to undo the buttons of Aziraphale's shirt one by one, fumbling with each one for longer than he'd like to admit because kissing the angel was incredibly distracting. Finally, he managed to slip the last one out of its hole and pulled Aziraphale's tie off completely before he rid him of his shirt so he could run his hands over soft, warm skin. The angel shivered lightly under his cool hands and made a surprised, stunned little sound when Crowley ran both his hands up his back over his shoulder blades.

The demon broke their kiss to lean his forehead against Aziraphale's as he stepped back, pulling the angel away from the kitchen counter. He stroked his thumbs over Aziraphale's shoulder blades and felt his sharp exhale at the insistent touch.

“I want to see them,” Crowley murmured against the angel's lips. Aziraphale's eyes opened uncertainly, darker than usual but still seeming a little intimidated. Crowley flattened his hands on the angel's back. “Please?”

Aziraphale hesitated for another moment before he nodded minutely and conceded: “Alright, I suppose.”

The demon beamed at him and slid his hands down to rest at the other's waist so they wouldn't get in the way. Aziraphale had his hands fisted in the red fabric of Crowley's shirt and left them there as he unfurled his wings to spread them behind him. They were large enough to make the kitchen feel crowded all of sudden and after a moment, their subtle scent was starting to be noticeable, something Crowley had never been to pin down exactly, something entirely angelic. In Aziraphale's case, it reminded him of honey and old books and summer rain, calming and unobtrusive.

Of course, they were also tousled and in a general state of disarray with some feathers sticking out at odd angles and the coverts looking like the angelic equivalent of a human bed-head.

Crowley reached out to smooth them down and drew a shudder from Aziraphale when he ran his hands over the arch of the the angel's wing. He could feel the nervous tension leaving the angel as his wings curved inwards, loosely wrapping around them, and he leaned up to resume the kiss they had broken earlier, but they separated again as Crowley dug his fingers into the downy feathers at the top. Aziraphale moaned, a small, breathy little sound, his eyes fluttering shut as his wings pushed back into the touch like a cat demanding more attention. The demon indulged him all too happily; despite their dishevelled state, Aziraphale’s feathers were incredibly soft, plus he was starting to make the most delightful little noises when Crowley grew bolder and brushed over the pearly white wings with slow, steady strokes.

Aziraphale was practically melting against him, his hands still clenched around the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. He was breathing quick, little gasps against the side of the demon’s neck where he had hidden his face against the other’s shoulder and his wings were wrapping closer around them in a wordless demand not to stop. Crowley moved his hands to the base of Aziraphale’s wings, where they met his back and the coverts were the softest, which drew another pleased sigh from the angel, who was shifting closer to Crowley almost greedily. The demon stilled for a second when he felt something pressing against his thigh, then smirked.

“Is that you making an effort, angel?” he inquired casually, punctuating his words by messing up the angel’s wings some more as he ran his fingers through them.

Aziraphale stilled almost guiltily, the breath near Crowley’s neck halting for a moment, and then his wings rustled nervously. “It's not that much of an effort once you figure it out,” he murmured eventually and his wings pushed against Crowley’s hands because he had dared to cease in his movements. Honestly, Aziraphale would make a great cat. So bloody demanding.

Placatingly, Crowley ran his hands through the angel’s wings again. “Happy to hear that,” he replied lowly. Then, because it should probably be addressed sooner or later, he added: “So would you like to remain in the kitchen, because I can think of a list of things to do if that's the case, or shall we move this to the bedroom?”

It had been meant as a joke, but Aziraphale seemed to be considering the option of just staying where they were for a few seconds before he answered: “I believe the bedroom would be the more comfortable option for now*.” He seemed reluctant to move, but apparently the promise of a bed was enough to make him step away, wings folding up a little so he could move without knocking things over on the way.

The demon brushed his hand over one wing promisingly and then led the angel toward the bedroom, which was conveniently located right opposite of the kitchen**.

Since Crowley had discovered quite a while ago that he enjoyed sleep a great deal, the bed was a spacious affair with expensive crimson silk sheets*** which never seemed to be in disarray despite the fact that he rarely bothered to tidy them; a stark contrast to Aziraphale's bed over the bookshop, which was there only because it already had been when he had acquired the flat.

*Crowley tried not to think about what for now implied, he really did. He wasn’t particularly successful.
**Crowley wasn't sure if it had been that way before, but it was now, so he decided not to question it. Sometimes you just had to take your miracles at face value, no matter what they did to the layout of your flat. He could always correct that later on. Or perhaps he'd even keep it, who knew.
***At least, he assumed they were expensive. When he was in the right mood, people tended to forget they wanted to charge him for his purchases and the alarms installed at the entrances of stores nowadays spontaneously developed enough self-awareness to understand that it might just be better for them not to go off in that particular moment.

He cast a smug glance over toward the angel, who had the decency to look a little awed at the sheer size of the bed, and placed a hand in the small of Aziraphale's back to steer him toward it. The angel slipped out of his shoes as he went, which Crowley noted with a nod of approval, and after a slightly questioning glance over his shoulder, tested the mattress with a hand and crawled toward its middle before he turned to face Crowley again.

The demon was pulling off his tie and let it drop to the floor carelessly. Aziraphale seemed almost a little disappointed to see it go; something Crowley decided to keep in mind for future reference, just in case. He followed the angel then, moving in to straddle his lap. He wrapped both arms around Aziraphale's soft waist as he leaned down to kiss him again.

Aziraphale's ridiculously neatly manicured fingers found their way to the buttons of Crowley's shirt and he undid them one by one. About halfway through, he pulled back with a frown and reached up to pluck the demon's sunglasses off his nose and toss them somewhere on the bed before he cupped the back of the demon's neck with one hand to pull him back down into the kiss. The other hand continued to work on the shirt buttons.

Crowley distantly wondered how Aziraphale even mustered up the concentration. In his position, he could clearly feel the proof of the angel's efforts press against him and his kisses had become more demanding; together with the way he held him in place, they left Crowley slightly dizzy and more than happy to just follow Aziraphale's lead for the moment.

Eventually, he could feel the shirt being pushed off of his shoulders and shrugged it off, momentarily relinquishing his hold so he could slip out of the sleeves until the fabric was pooling somewhere behind him. He slung his arms around the angel's shoulders this time. Like that, it was easy to reach out and brush his fingers through the soft coverts of Aziraphale's wings, which were curled around them loosely.
He stilled when Aziraphale ran a hand up his spine to his shoulder blades and broke their kiss to mutter against Crowley's lips: “Your turn, my dear.”

The demon kept his eyes closed and swallowed, slightly nervous all of sudden. He tended to be a little paranoid about his wings – well, he tended to be a little paranoid, period. The wings were both angels' and demons' most vulnerable part and while he logically knew he had nothing to fear from Aziraphale, it was basically a lifelong habit that originated from spending time around other Fallen to watch out for his wings.

“I don't know,” he murmured uncertainly.

Aziraphale's thumb stroked the back of his neck soothingly. Apparently, he interpreted Crowley's hesitation the right way, because he reminded him: “It's just me, dear.”

The demon nodded imperceptibly. “Yeah,” he breathed. There was nothing to be nervous about, not here. “I guess.”

He took a deep breath and, after another moment, his wings took tangible form behind him, folded against his back. Aziraphale used the hand still placed on the back of Crowley's neck to draw him down gently for a soothing, brief kiss. His free hand came up to brush over the demon's wing, pale skin in a stark contrast with the dark feathers, and Crowley shivered as he began to relax the tense muscles of his back and, in consequence of that, his wings, too. They drooped slightly frown their drawn-up position and, as Aziraphale kept up the slow movements, spread slightly to allow him better access.

Crowley let go of a shuddering sigh when the angel's fingers began to card through his feathers gently. He leaned closer, nipping at Aziraphale's neck while his hands ran down the other's sides. The angel tipped his head to the side with a contended little hum and dug perfectly manicured fingers into Crowley's feathers.

The touch sent a rush of pleasure down the demon's spine and he stifled a moan in the crook of Aziraphale's neck, his hips twitching forward almost involuntarily. When the movement elicited a surprised, breathy sound from Aziraphale, he ground down his hips more purposefully this time. The angel pressed back against him and a heartbeat later, their remaining clothing was gone*.

*Of course, it was not gone, as such. For some inexplicable reason, Crowley would find it neatly folded in one of his kitchen cupboards later.

Crowley did not squeak. That would have been entirely un-demonic. He simply decided to express his surprise in a possibly not entirely dignified way.

“I thought patience was a virtue, angel,” he remarked, slightly breathless. Aziraphale didn't dignify that with a verbal response; instead, he rocked his hips against the demon's again while he ran nimble fingers through his wings. Crowley arched his back, feathers bristling as his wings fanned out around them, and he needed a moment before he was able to gasp out: “Alright, point taken.”

He angled his head for another kiss, eager bordering on greedy, and reached down between them to take them both in one hand for a few lazy, experimental strokes. Aziraphale made a needy little sound, muffled by their kiss, and Crowley leaned forward slowly with one hand on the angel's chest, pushing him down slowly. Aziraphale went with the movement, wings spreading and rearranging themselves so he could lay on them without being uncomfortable or even damaging them.

Once he was completely on his back, Crowley broke the kiss and sat up, one hand still resting on the angel's chest. Aziraphale's curls were spilled on the sheets around him like an unruly halo and the red of the silken sheets contrasted deliciously with the white of his wings while complimenting his flush wonderfully. He was staring up at Crowley out of darkened eyes, his pulse under the demon's hand erratic.

They remained like that for a moment, with Crowley's wings hovering above them, curled around them like a shield made of shimmering, dark feathers until Aziraphale's own wings gave an impatient, demanding little twitch and the demon leaned down for a kiss, brief, but slow like a promise. One of his hands found their way into white, downy feathers and stayed there as he straightened.

While the actions they were currently engaging in may be very much human in their basic nature, the two of them were not, regardless of the forms they were currently occupying. Certain limitations didn't apply to them unless they allowed it and fond though he was of the human ways, Crowley decided to take shameless advantage of that fact now as he lifted himself up and, one hand reaching behind himself to make sure he was positioned correctly, sank down on Aziraphale's length in one slow, smooth movement.

The angel exhaled a shaky breath that sounded a little like “oh dear”. His hands had found their way to Crowley's hips, guiding but not urging him downwards until the demon had fully taken him in. Crowley took a second to let them both breathe and adjust and felt the unmistakable tingle of a small miracle being worked. He blinked down at Aziraphale suspiciously.

“Just being helpful, that's all, my dear,” assured the angel innocently (or as innocently as was possible in his current position, which wasn't very much so).
Crowley understood as soon as he began to move. The glide was a lot easier than it had been before and he stifled a moan as he sank back down and remarked: “I am reasonably certain that lubrication counts as an abuse of miracles, too.”

Despite his flushed state and his short nails digging into the demon's hips, Aziraphale somehow managed to look unimpressed by that. “Do stop complaining, would you,” he managed before Crowley was moving again, revelling at the feeling of being this close, slowly falling into a rhythm with the angel who was starting to meet his thrusts halfway and oh, Aziraphale's fingers had found their way into his feathers again. Every touch to his wings sent sparks of pleasure down his spine and he caught himself spreading and fanning out his feathers with a pleased, quiet moan.

He bent forward, trying to kiss Aziraphale without interrupting their movements, and ran his fingers through the angel's pearly white feathers. They seemed vibrant enough to be nearly glowing and caused a stinging sensation wherever Crowley touched them, but it wasn't present enough for him to care much when he had Aziraphale's lips parting beneath his and could feel every breathy little noise the angel made against his lips.

After a minute, he straightened back up reluctantly and reached behind himself to steady himself on Aziraphale's thighs as he began moving up and down in earnest. He heard himself utter a pleased, hissed “yesss” as the change in angle caused Aziraphale to hit another part of human anatomy Crowley was very fond of, while simultaneously stroking through the feathers of the wing he could still reach, curled around them as it was.

The angel's head was thrown back and his eyes tightly closed, his lips parted as he gasped for air. His free hand was fisted in the sheets at his side as he writhed underneath the demon and his wings made shivering little twitching motions, feathers bristling and stretching out to both sides of the bed.

He looked perfect.

Crowley might have told him as much, but he wasn't quite sure of what he was saying anymore. His brain wasn't all that involved in the process anymore as both their movements became more frantic, less sinuous rolls of hips and more frantic, fast-paced thrusting with not much in the way of rhythm anymore.

Aziraphale's control of his true form seemed to be slipping (not that Crowley was much better, probably); his wings were radiant and just before he squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back with a moan as the heat that had been pooling in his belly was finally relieved in a rush of pleasure, he could swear he saw the vague shape of a halo outlined that was more than just the angel's messy blond hair.

His counterpart followed him over the edge, a quiet, breathless sound spilling from his lips. The hand tangled in Crowley's wing tightened to the point of near-pain as he rode out his climax with the demon still moving above him.

A few beats later, they both stilled and Crowley exhaled a shaky breath. Carefully, he lifted himself up one last time to collapse onto the bed next to Aziraphale, blinking his eyes open while he did. Dishevelled and flushed definitely suited heaven's agent, he decided, though...

“You're, ah, glowing, angel.” Crowley frowned at how wrecked his voice sounded while he draped himself over Aziraphale sleepily, one leg thrown over the angel's and his head resting on a comfortable shoulder.

“Oh,” the other made. “Excuse me.” He smoothed down some tousled feathers he had messed up earlier and his inherent glow subsided somewhat. “You seem to have rather more scales than before,” he then pointed out, stroking a palm over a scattering of dark, iridescent scales in the small of Crowley's back.

“Oopsss,” the demon made, his voice low and sated. He couldn't really find the energy to feel bothered right now. Contently, he pushed himself up on one elbow to bestow another kiss on Aziraphale, this time lazy and unhurried. The angel responded in kind, one hand tangled in the demon's hair, and breathing became a secondary concern for a while until they separated again.

Aziraphale regarded Crowley with a look that looked far too soft and fond to be comfortable, so the demon maturely hid his face in the crook of his angel's neck. He could feel the other's chuckle and him quietly clearing his throat before he asked: “What now, my dear?”

“Sleep, angel,” Crowley told him. “Just sleep.”

“It's not really something I usually indulge in,” Aziraphale pointed out carefully.

“Then learn,” responded the demon. “Get comfy. Close your eyes. The rest comes all on its own.”

The next minute or two, after Aziraphale had carefully agreed to giving it a try, was spent trying to comfortable position (“no, not – not like this, angel” – “you're on my wing, dear” – “wait, put your arm... no... that's better” – “your feet are cold!” – “I can't breathe like this, angel” – “you don't technically need to” – “well, I'd like to” – “alright, just put it – wait – yes, this works” – “let me get the blanket”) until they both ended up more or less on their sides, wings comfortably folded against their backs and one of Aziraphale's draped over them since the blanket was only pulled up enough to cover their hips. The rest of their limbs was entangled comfortably* and Crowley found himself drifting off unusually quickly after he had mumbled a last “goodnight, angel” into Aziraphale's shoulder.

*Actually, Crowley was pretty sure his arm would be asleep come morning, but he couldn't say he minded much.

Crowley woke up to the quiet, periodic sound of a page being turned and a calm pulse underneath his ear. Reluctantly, he blinked his eyes open; apparently, they had shifted without him noticing and Aziraphale was now propped up against the headboard, nearly-sitting, with Crowley draped over his torso. One of the angel's hands was absently stroking his hair and the other held a book – Adam's book, as it turned out on closer observation, however he had managed to get it without leaving the bed*.
Stories involving celestial and occult beings can be inconsistent like that.

“Mornin',” Crowley made while simultaneously snuggling closer, determined not to get up anytime soon.

“Good morning, my dear,” the angel replied with a smile. That was all the conversation between them for a few minutes until he closed the book and remarked thoughtfully: “It is a rather lovely ending, actually.” He placed the book on the night stand and leaned back into the pillows.

“You think so?” the demon inquired, glancing up with a teasing little smirk*. “And there I thought romance novels were beneath you.”

*It might have come out rather adorable thanks to his bedhead and the fact he was not completely awake just yet, but Aziraphale knew how much image meant to Crowley and would never tell him that.

“It's not a romance novel,” Aziraphale argued. “It just happens to have a very happy ending.”

“Mh-hmm,” Crowley made amusedly and leaned up for a chaste good-morning-kiss.

“Whatever you say, angel.”

He decided he was very much content to enjoy a happy ending that had been a long way coming.


Happy Holidays, [livejournal.com profile] shire13, from your Secret Writer!
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