Crowley wants to laugh. He also wants to sob, to split into a thousand pieces and scatter himself across the sky, to drive around the city as fast as he can, and to stay completely, utterly still.
He leans forward, resting his head against Aziraphale's, smelling his breath, the angel's taste still lingering in his mouth. There's still a pull towards Aziraphale's lips as strong as any suction from a black hole, and Crowley resists just for the moment because this time he knows the resistance is temporary and therefore sweet with anticipation of more. "Better than crepes?" he teases, still breathless. His hands are splayed on Aziraphale's black, one between the shoulderblades and the other at the base of the spine, and there's no space between them at all.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-09-12 11:10 am (UTC)He leans forward, resting his head against Aziraphale's, smelling his breath, the angel's taste still lingering in his mouth. There's still a pull towards Aziraphale's lips as strong as any suction from a black hole, and Crowley resists just for the moment because this time he knows the resistance is temporary and therefore sweet with anticipation of more. "Better than crepes?" he teases, still breathless. His hands are splayed on Aziraphale's black, one between the shoulderblades and the other at the base of the spine, and there's no space between them at all.