Chapter Text
1601 - London
The horse had been a nightmare. Aziraphale felt broken. Possibly forever.
He had of course miracled himself almost all the way there and the entire way back, which had negated the need for too much riding, but it had apparently been necessary to arrive by horse and that had meant almost an entire day spent in the saddle, given the number of outposts and scouts who needed to see him arriving in order for it not to look suspicious.
Then there had been the whole issue of riding out to see the clan leader that Crowley was supposed to be tempting. That had meant more time on the horse.
Aziraphale would have been quite happy never to see another of the creatures again in his life.
“You look tired, angel,” Crowley said, as he handed him a glass of wine. They were in Crowley’s current lodgings – a rather nice house in a fashionable part of London, and Aziraphale was slumped in a chair, in front of a raging fire that he was very glad for. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his outdoor clothes when he’d arrived. Scotland had been cold and wet and not nearly so refined as London.
“I don’t know why you couldn’t go to Edinburgh,” Aziraphale said somewhat testily as he accepted the wine, “You used to love Scotland.”
Crowley sat down, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand as he leant forward.
“I did,” he said almost dreamily. Aziraphale blinked in surprise and felt some of his tension drain away as he looked at the demon. Crowley’s face was soft and open, his eyes staring off into the distant reaches of the past. “It was a place the Romans couldn’t go. Safe behind a wall. Some of the wall is still there you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Aziraphale quietly. Crowley looked at him and Aziraphale had to look away, feeling his cheeks turning pink. They’d never ever discussed it in all the centuries since, but that look said, I know what you did, angel. It looked so affectionate. Aziraphale’s heart thumped a little more loudly in his chest.
He cleared his throat and took a sip of wine to try and distract himself. It was smooth and mellow, slipping over his tongue and down his throat like honey. Crowley always knew where to get the best wine.
“Things have changed, London’s much more interesting now,” Crowley said suddenly, his mood swinging away from the melancholic as swiftly as it had gone there.
Aziraphale looked at him. Things had changed, he thought. The world, humanity, Crowley; even Aziraphale himself. He’d thought he was going mad at one point. Now he realised he’d just been becoming more like a human – though if he was honest he wasn’t sure if the two things, madness and humanity, weren’t one and the same.
Crowley grinned at him – sinful, wicked and somehow still soft and joyful, even after all this time. Aziraphale found himself smiling back.
Some things hadn’t changed.
After a moment, he shifted awkwardly in his seat and winced. He had healed all the damage the riding had done to his corporeal form, but the body seemed to have an annoying memory of its own, completely independent from the one in his head. It told him that he was stiff and that he’d been shaken to pieces, even if the damage was no longer real.
“Horses,” Crowley scoffed, obviously realising what was wrong, “I told you. You should have tried to get out of that one, got yourself a carriage instead.”
“I can’t disobey orders,” said Aziraphale, temporarily shocked at the very idea. Crowley raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale lapsed into silence. He supposed the demon had a point.
He drank some more wine and tried to look surreptitiously at Crowley over the rim of his glass. The demon had slouched back in his chair and put his feet on the small table between them. Aziraphale eyed the leather boots, with their turned down tops, worn over the black hose that would have left little to the imagination if it hadn’t been for the fact Crowley was wearing something that looked like a cross between a laced shirt and a tunic over the top that came down to his to mid-thighs. Aziraphale half suspected it was a corrupted version of a woman’s chemise, a suspicion only increased by the fact that Crowley was also wearing a women’s hairstyle, long and loosely curled with most of it braided at the back. It wasn’t an up-to-date style by any means, but it was definitely female.
Aziraphale was used to the demon’s ever-changing litany of styles by now, but it was rather incongruous that he was dressed so differently from a week ago – he usually stuck with a style longer than that. It made Aziraphale wonder exactly what the demon had been up to whilst he was in Edinburgh and he found himself speculating whether the demon had changed his body configuration to go along with the hair. He was perfectly capable of it – Aziraphale had seen him do it over the years often enough, when looking female would play to his advantage, but he did tend to change back when he was at home afterwards, slipping back into the body he was most familiar with. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him, he’d always felt much more comfortable himself in the shape he used most often. Changing it, and keeping it stable in the changed form, was a terrible effort, although admittedly Crowley never seemed to have as much trouble with it as he did.
Aziraphale squinted a little as these thoughts ran through his head. It was hard to tell what Crowley really looked like when the only light was from the fire – the flames were casting odd shadows over his dark clothing.
“What?” asked Crowley suddenly, breaking his reverie and startling Aziraphale into nearly spilling his wine.
“What? Nothing!” Aziraphale babbled, trying to pretend he hadn’t been looking at the demon at all. How long had Crowley been aware of his gaze?
“You were staring,” Crowley pointed out, “I was watching you.”
Darn.
He fished around for a safe excuse and latched on to the first thing he could think of.
“I was um… just wondering what you’d done to your hair.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow and tipping his head so the un-braided curls tumbled gently around his shoulders.
“No… I, um… I mean, yes.” Aziraphale rambled to a stop and Crowley’s other eyebrow joined the first one.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” said Aziraphale rather desperately, “I didn’t mean I didn’t like it.” He paused, and when the demon just looked at him, his tongue bypassed his brain and added, “You have lovely hair.”
Crowley smiled as if Aziraphale had just made his day.
“You were the one who told me modern humans have odd ideas about hairstyles a few years ago,” he said conversationally, settling back in his chair again, “They used to be a lot nicer in the past, didn’t they?”
“Um… I suppose,” said Aziraphale, thinking this it at least explained the out-of-date hairstyle. He tried to get his heartrate under control but was hampered somewhat by the fact Crowley was doing something that made his hair unwind from the braids and instead flow down over his shoulders in glorious red waves.
“Funny old world, isn’t it?” Crowley said, drinking some more wine and twisting in the chair so he could dangle one leg over the armrest. Aziraphale looked at his boots and wondered where the style had come from – he wouldn’t have put it past the demon to have made it up entirely. Aziraphale just wished they didn’t look so ridiculously sexy.
He tugged uncomfortably at his collar, thinking it was suddenly rather hot in here, stifling almost. Hadn’t he been cold not long ago?
“If you’re hot you should try taking off some of your clothes,” Crowley said sounding amused. Aziraphale made a strangled sort of noise in his throat and tried to cover it with a cough and a very large gulp of wine.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, as if explaining something to someone very small and silly, “I just mean you’ve got your hat and cloak on still.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale tried to look as if he’d known that all along. And then glared at Crowley because he’d known him a very long time now and he knew Crowley had deliberately phrased it like that to upset his equilibrium.
Insufferable demon.
There was some sense in what he said though unfortunately. Why was he sitting around in his outdoor clothes? Clearly the frigid temperatures in the north had done something to his brain. He stood, stretching a little to try and relieve the aching muscles, and took off his cloak and hat.
Crowley waved his hand vaguely towards the coat stand behind him in response to Aziraphale’s questioning look and Aziraphale went to hang them neatly, taking advantage of being out of the demon’s sight to pull himself together and give himself a talking to about not letting Crowley play him for a fool.
Unfortunately for all his good intentions, Crowley grabbed him as he was walking back to his seat. One moment he was lounging in the chair twirling his wineglass through his fingers and the next moment his hand was closing in a vice like grip around Aziraphale’s wrist.
“Very good, angel,” he purred, “Maybe we should take the rest off now.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley pulled, using a touch of demonic strength to override Aziraphale’s attempt at resistance and ensure that he landed right in the demon’s lap, his back hitting the arm of the chair as he almost tipped right over. Crowley caught him with his spare arm and kept him upright.
“Crowley!” he snapped, trying to get up and failing, mostly because Crowley had let go of his hand and instead wrapped an arm over Aziraphale’s thighs and up around his waist to hold him in place. “Stop it,” he added, trying to come up with something more comprehensive and failing.
“But it’s such fun,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale risked looking at his face and immediately regretted it. The demon’s eyes were half closed, and he was smirking in what Aziraphale felt was a very unnecessary and very lascivious way.
“We are not taking off my clothes,” he said firmly, trying to tug at the demon’s arm so he could get up.
“Oh but, angel,” Crowley said, “You’re so pretty and these clothes are so very silly. Let me take them off.”
Aziraphale froze. Crowley had just called him pretty.
Hadn’t he?
Yes.
No.
Surely not?
“Pretty?” he said nervously, wondering how drunk Crowley was. He hadn’t seemed drunk when Aziraphale had arrived, but maybe he was just hiding it well.
“Mmm,” Crowley hummed. He’d taken advantage of Aziraphale’s stillness to run his hand up Aziraphale’s back and also nuzzle his nose against Aziraphale’s cheek. “Of course you’re pretty, angel. Look at you. Look at your pretty hair.”
The hand running up his back reached his head and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s fingers burying into his hair. He didn’t move. He was afraid that if he did this might all turn out to be a dream.
Crowley had said he was pretty. Again. He hadn’t said it since that time two years ago when Aziraphale had accidently tempted the King, and in the intervening time Aziraphale had decided he probably hadn’t meant it.
Now he was saying it again.
The demon shifted, twisting Aziraphale so they were facing each other.
Before he could say anything else Aziraphale lunged forward and kissed him.
Crowley’s surprised noise was rather satisfying and Aziraphale found himself smirking against his lips. He adjusted his angle, accidently rubbing his thigh across Crowley’s hips and found the answer to his earlier speculation was that the demon was very definitely in his usual male body.
“Angel,” Crowley whimpered and Aziraphale swiped his tongue over Crowley’s lower lip, tasting the sweetness of the wine, mixed with the warmth of the demon’s scent. His lips parted and Aziraphale flicked his tongue forward, feeling the demon’s slide over his, sending tingles through his body.
They sat like that, kissing and licking and twisting their tongues together until Aziraphale realised other parts of his body were starting to ache and demand attention of their own.
He pulled back and looked at Crowley. The demon didn’t look soft anymore. He looked sharp and hungry, burning with desire and wickedness. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Just as he knew he shouldn’t have done it last time, or the time before, or the countless times before that, but it didn’t make any difference.
Crowley had said he was pretty.
Aziraphale raised his hand to his collar, unhooking it and throwing it to one side. Crowley watched the movement greedily, his hands resting on Aziraphale’s waist.
“If I’m so pretty,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward and dropping his voice low, because frankly they hadn’t been doing this for all this time without him learning a thing or two, “Then why don’t you take all my clothes off and fuck me right there.” He gestured to the rug in front of the fire and then brought his hands back round to the laces of the demon’s strange tunic and started carefully undoing them. Crowley just watched him lustfully, panting slightly, his eyes flickering orange in the firelight.
When he’d got enough of the laces loosened Aziraphale tugged on the tunic and the demon obediently lifted his arms, letting Aziraphale pull it over his head. His hair changed, morphing into something short and tousled that Aziraphale thought had never been in fashion anywhere, even among the short-haired loving Romans. Somehow it looked unbelievably good on Crowley anyway.
“Fuck me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said again, running his hands up the newly exposed skin and dipping his lips to kiss the demon’s neck, “Fuck me until I scream your name.”
He’d known the demon would react to that. He always did react when Aziraphale goaded him a little, flipping their roles so that he was the one taking the lead, doing the tempting. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t enjoy it so much, but he did anyway. There was something thrilling about using such unangelic language.
Crowley growled, pushing him off the chair and standing with him, his greater height combined with the heels on his boots meaning he loomed over Aziraphale just a little.
“Pretty angel,” Crowley growled, “Who taught you such dirty words?” Then he claimed Aziraphale’s lips in a heated kiss, grabbing onto his wrists and holding them away from his body, not letting Aziraphale touch him.
Aziraphale groaned into his mouth and nipped at his lips, feeling Crowley smirk even as he did so.
Crowley dropped one of his wrists, and miracled open the fastenings of his clothes. Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss and Crowley looked at him again. One heartbeat. Two. Three. And then Crowley was pulling his clothes off, frantically tugging at the fabric until Aziraphale couldn’t tell what was actually being taken off and what was simply being miracled away.
Frankly he didn’t care.
Crowley was leaning over him, alternately kissing his lips, his jaw, his neck, licking and nipping at the skin, until he’d managed to rid Aziraphale of everything he’d been wearing.
“On the floor, angel,” he growled, and Aziraphale dropped to his knees, Crowley following him down and shoving him lightly so he tipped backwards onto the sheepskin rug. Crowley had miracled away the rest of his own clothes and boots now and Aziraphale grabbed at his hips as he tipped over, dragging Crowley down on top of him and immediately grinding upwards, using his grip to hold Crowley in place. The demon hissed and sank his teeth into Aziraphale’s shoulder.
Aziraphale gasped and jerked. His whole body thrumming with delight as Crowley bit him again, scrapping his teeth over his chest, down to his nipple. He lathed his tongue over the pink flesh and then bit down lightly, before sucking it into his mouth and teasing it alternately with his tongue and teeth. Aziraphale moaned, squirming his hips to try and grind against Crowley again, needing some friction to relieve the mounting pressure inside him.
Crowley was on the wrong angle, too raised up on his knees for it to work, but he realised what Aziraphale was trying to do and slid himself down letting Aziraphale push his cock into the soft flesh of his stomach. It wasn’t enough but it was something at least and Aziraphale whimpered, winding his hands in Crowley’s hair as he licked his way across his chest to his other nipple.
“Crowley,” he groaned as the demon teased him mercilessly. He was bucking his hips up into Crowley’s body, twisting as far as he could to try and get more friction.
“What do you want, angel?” Crowley said, sliding himself back up nibble on his earlobe.
“You know what I want,” Aziraphale groaned. He scraped his fingernails over Crowley’s back, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from the demon.
“Turn over,” he commanded, pulling himself away so Aziraphale could obey. Aziraphale glared at him briefly, but decided not to argue given the circumstances, and rolled over onto his front. At least like this there was some friction from the rug underneath him – he found himself grinding his hips into the softness almost mindlessly.
“Keep still, angel,” Crowley growled, and gripped one of his hips in a vicelike hold before tipping himself forward and biting down on Aziraphale’s shoulder blade, dragging his teeth across the skin until he reached the spine, and then switching to running his tongue down it, tracing the ridges of the bones. Aziraphale cried out and tried to buck his hips, hampered by Crowley’s hand.
“Crowley,” he complained, and then decided since he was clearly already far too deep into this whole thing he might as well push the demon some more. “I thought you were going to fuck me, not eat me.”
“Oh, I am, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed against his skin, “Patience, angel.”
Crowley pulled away again. Aziraphale felt the miracle as he slicked them both with oil in all the places they needed it, and then he was spreading his buttocks – as he’d so elegantly referred to them back in the theatre – and pushing two fingers inside.
Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and willed his corporeal body to relax. He’d got a lot better at it after so long, in fact they didn’t really need to do this at all anymore, but Crowley was clearly in the mood to tease and he twisted his fingers until he found that spot that made Aziraphale jerk his hips and then press up into his hand.
“Oh, right there,” he gasped, as if he needed to tell Crowley. As if it wasn’t bloody obvious.
Crowley twisted his fingers again, bumping against the perfect spot that made Aziraphale squirm, and then withdrawing his fingers a little. Aziraphale whined in annoyance and followed him up, grunting when he managed to move enough that Crowley’s fingers sent another jolt through his body.
“Very nice, angel,” chuckled Crowley, after a few minutes of this, and Aziraphale realised Crowley had got him to rise onto his hands and knees without him even noticing he was doing it. He grunted again in annoyance.
“You’re still not fucking me,” he snapped, looking over his shoulder and glaring in the face of the demon’s annoying smirk.
“What did I say about patience, angel?” Crowley said.
Annoying bloody demon.
Aziraphale half thought about turning the tables and pushing Crowley to the floor instead. He wasn’t sure who’d win if he tried, but he had a suspicion the demon wouldn’t put up too much resistance.
Before he could put that plan into action Crowley grabbed his hips and pushed himself inside in one long, smooth stroke that had Aziraphale crying out in surprise.
“Crowley!” he objected, although really, he didn’t have much objection. He just wished Crowley would get on with it.
“Hmm?” Crowley hummed, running his hands over Aziraphale’s back, obviously enjoying being an annoying tease. Aziraphale braced his hands on the floor and managed to jerk his hips out of Crowley’s hands, sliding his cock halfway out his body before going to push back against him.
Halfway through the movement he heard Crowley growl, and the demon grabbed his hips again, fingers digging into flesh as he gripped hard and thrust.
“Fuck!” Aziraphale only just kept his balance as Crowley’s hips snapped against his. He re-braced his hands just in time for Crowley to do it again and then his ears rang and his mind swirled, as all the blood in his head decided it had better places to be.
“Fuck,” he said again, as Crowley ground against him and then started fucking him properly, in and out, every stroke stretching and gliding and hitting that perfect spot inside him.
Aziraphale surrendered to the pleasure, letting it sweep him away and not thinking about anything except how amazing this all was and how good Crowley was making him feel.
“Yes, right there. Just like that. Fuck me,” he panted, past caring about how he sounded, lost in his world of pleasure. He felt Crowley reach round and wrap his fingers around his cock, and the double stimulation was suddenly too much and not enough and everything all at once. His arms gave way, and he collapsed onto his elbows, pressing his forehead into his arms and swearing under his breath.
“Angel,” Crowley growled, somehow making it sound like a command and a plea both at the same time. “Angel.”
“Oh fuck, yesss,” Aziraphale hissed, trying to push himself back up onto his hands and feeling the pleasure already coalescing into a wave that threatened to overwhelm him, “Crowley, oh fuck.” His voice was getting louder, more desperate, his need for a release scattering his senses. “Crowley, Crowley. Oh!”
He came hard, spiralling into oblivion and back again, feeling his body spasming around Crowley’s cock as the demon was swept up in his own pleasure. It was glorious and for that one shining moment Aziraphale felt like the whole world was perfect – that this right here, this weird and wonderful connection he had with Crowley was all he would ever need.
Reality came back all too quickly and they tumbled down to the rug, Aziraphale grimacing slightly as he landed in the sticky remains of his own orgasm, with Crowley sprawled over his back. At least the demon didn’t weigh much, and it was a good job Aziraphale didn’t need to breathe, because Crowley didn’t seem inclined to move.
Aziraphale didn’t really mind. Crowley was warm and solid against his body, his cheek resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder, one arm draped casually along Aziraphale’s outstretched one and the other tucked up against his side, fingers stroking absentmindedly at his skin.
Eventually though Crowley got to his knees and cleaned away the stickiness with a miracle. Aziraphale rolled onto his back and sat up, watching as Crowley reformed his clothes. Well, the odd tunic anyway – he didn’t seem inclined to bother with any of the other parts of the outfit and Aziraphale noticed for the first time that he didn’t have any body hair today, his bare legs long, smooth and pale in the dim light. Their original angelic shapes hadn’t had body hair, anymore than they had had Efforts, and sometimes Crowley reverted to that smoothed-skinned state and sometimes he didn’t. Aziraphale was used to seeing him with all sorts of combinations, though usually he noticed much earlier on in the whole taking-off-the-clothes process. Apparently tonight he really hadn’t been paying attention.
He wondered vaguely what he was expected to do now. They’d got better recently at managing to pretend they hadn’t just had amazing sex, right after they had in fact had amazing sex. It had become necessary really, since they had stopped limiting their activities to the evenings and to the bedroom. There was no excuse to sleep when it wasn’t evening and less excuse to leave when it wasn’t morning. Crowley seemed less inclined to do either anyway, lingering longer and longer, even when there was no reason for them to remain in the same place, until one day they’d had sex and then gone out for dinner afterwards as if nothing had happened.
It was odd and probably not the best way to deal with the situation, but Aziraphale wasn’t inclined to complain. He never wanted to leave afterwards anyway, or at least not for any reason other than to outrun the embarrassment caused by his own depraved behaviour. Mostly he wanted to stay and be in Crowley’s company some more, and maybe never leave him again.
It would never be possible, but sometimes he wished it was.
For now he settled for getting dressed. He managed to locate his shirt and pulled it on as Crowley flopped back down in his chair and put his bare feet up on the table. He’d already retrieved his glass of wine and sipped on it as he watched Aziraphale cast his eyes around for the rest of his clothes.
“I might have miracled the rest away,” Crowley said, smirking in response to Aziraphale raising a questioning eyebrow in his direction. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He hated miracling clothes, he tended to buy them whenever he could, but he was used to Crowley’s rather annoying habits by now. He gestured and restored the rest of his outfit, wincing as he pushed himself onto his knees and his corporeal body informed him it wasn’t very happy about all that activity after the whole horse thing.
Crowley sniggered rather unsympathetically and Aziraphale subjected him to another glare, snagging the glass and bottle of wine from the table and pouring himself a generous amount, which he immediately drank.
“I am never riding a horse again,” he groaned, scooting over to Crowley’s chair, which was the nearest thing sturdy enough to grab to help him stand up. He wondered if he was going to need to perform another healing miracle on himself to sort this out.
“Poor angel,” murmured Crowley, giving him an unexpectedly sympathetic look. He tugged on Aziraphale’s shoulder and after a moment of confusion, Aziraphale realised Crowley wanted him to sit down. He acquiesced, mostly because he wanted to know what Crowley was going to do, sliding down onto the ground, and letting Crowley coax him into place so that he was sat on the floor with his back to Crowley, leaning against the front of his chair.
He heard Crowley shift in the chair and after a moment felt long fingers slide into his hair.
He sighed without really meaning to, letting his eyes drop closed as he leaned back into Crowley’s touch. The demon played with his hair for a while and then Aziraphale felt a wash of healing energy pour through his body, starting in his head and flowing downwards, easing all the aches far better than his own miracle had. It seemed like his body was just more convinced when someone else did it.
“Thank you,” he murmured, enjoying the feeling of both the miracle and the tingles of Crowley’s hand in his hair. He thought now Crowley had done what he’d been intending he would remove his hand and that would be Aziraphale’s cue to get up, but he didn’t. Instead he kept his hand in Aziraphale’s hair, gently twisting it around his fingers, and gliding his fingertips over Aziraphale’s scalp.
It felt lovely and Aziraphale found himself drifting, tilting his head to give Crowley easier access, letting out little hums of pleasure every now and then.
Crowley had said he was pretty.
He wondered if Crowley really had meant it. It felt like it right now, with the firelight making everything warm and soft, and Crowley’s fingers in his hair.
Aziraphale let the feeling wrap around him like a comforting blanket, soothing him into believing that this was so very right. That this was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Crowley’s fingers stilled, resting there among the curls, as if this was exactly where they were supposed to be as well.
Time slipped by. Hours and hours in which there was no need to speak or move or sleep or think, just time to sit in together and pretend that this was how it would always be.
“Do you think it bothers them?” Crowley said quietly, breaking the silence. Aziraphale blinked, slowly coming out of his comfortable waking dream world. The real world had the calm stillness that only came in the early hours of the morning, when the winter’s dawn was still hours away and everything slumbered.
“What?” he asked blearily.
“The humans,” said Crowley, “Do you think it bothers them that their time here is over so quickly?”
Aziraphale twisted slightly to look up at Crowley. He looked soft and contemplative; peaceful despite the solemnity of the question.
“They have such short lives,” Crowley continued, “Over in the blink of an eye really. And they’re so fragile, there are so many things that can kill them. They have to live each day knowing that it might be their last. Knowing that one day, sooner or later, it will all be over and there will be nothing left of them but dust.”
“For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return,” quoted Aziraphale without thinking.
For once the reference to the Bible didn’t draw a derisive comment from the demon.
“I think it’s why they are like they are,” said Crowley, “Everyday they wake up and it might be for the last time. Every night their bodies force them to go to sleep and they know they might never wake up again.”
Aziraphale had thought about this on and off over the centuries, but if he was honest he had been unable to ever grasp how it must feel. Not truly.
“Perhaps it’s what drives them toward madness,” said Aziraphale, voicing his fear that had been brewing for several centuries now, that humans were in fact just a little bit insane.
“No, it’s not insanity,” said Crowley softly, “I think they’re just a little bit sad all of the time, they just don’t always know it.”
Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat as it struck him that Crowley was right. Crowley, who was supposed to be a demon, supposed to represent everything bad in the world, supposed to see and bring out the very worst in humanity, understood the people who walked this earth far better than he, an angel, ever had.
He had never wanted to kiss him more than right in that moment.
Instead he reached up his hand, plucking Crowley’s fingers from his hair and enfolding them in his own.
“Yes,” he said simply and quietly, pressing the demon’s hand against his cheek and closing his eyes again, “I’d be sad too if I didn’t have eternity.”
Eternity meant there was always hope. Always time to hope that things would change. That he wouldn’t always be stuck in this dance of heaven and hell and good and evil and angels and demons. Always hope that one day things would be better. That one day he wouldn’t feel so torn in two.
They lapsed back into silence, sitting there together, in front of a fire that never burnt any lower, in bodies that would never get any older, in lives where they could afford the time to sit like this, until the sun rose high in the sky and started to descend towards nightfall again.
Time to pretend that things were other than they were.
For now, it was all they had.