duckshaveears: (| femme - smooth operator)
Crowley's eyelids only slide shut at the last moment before their lips meet.

They've spent the entire evening in a state of excitement, teasing and passionate and almost wildly happy. But this level of joy is something else again. It's almost painful in its strength and purity, transcendent. If Crowley didn't know better she'd wonder if she'd Risen, if the strength of Aziraphale's love was great enough to pull her out of damnation and make her holy again.

But it isn't that. It's better.

Aziraphale's mouth on hers is warm, soft and sure, as is the touch of his fingers on Crowley's jaw. Their wings curve, caress, envelope the two of them in a cocoon shutting out the outside world. Crowley's free hand rests on Aziraphale's hip, and their ringed fingers stay entwined. Bound. As the two of them are bound, now--as they always have been, but now formally, openly, freely. With every step they take to be taken together, the future unquestionably one they share.

This is my beloved, and this is my friend.

If a tear or two slide down Crowley's face, she doesn't notice or care. Nothing matters except their joined hands, joined mouths, joined hearts, joined lives.
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musebox for Ashfae's minions

May 2025

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