Crowley knows that dark urge all too well, has known it since he Fell, the one that says: grab this, take this, seize it, *now*, before it's ripped away from you, before it's taken. It's not fear or greed but something more primal than either, something uncontrolled and ravenous, something that devours from within.
He's been that before. It's not what he wants. It's not what they need. They've both been injured, in a way. They can heal, they'll heal each other, but not with that. It can only rend.
No. This, this thing that isn't angelic or infernal. This mortal communion they've made their own. Their choice.
I choose you. I've always only ever chosen you. I will always choose you. Only you, always.
"Love you," he says, as much grunts of exertion as words. The motion of his hips is deliberate, controlled, but speeding up a bit. Not too fast. Not too fast. But god, the tight slide in, the suction as he withdraws, the feeling of being surrounded by Aziraphale... "Fuck, angel, I love you."
no subject
He's been that before. It's not what he wants. It's not what they need. They've both been injured, in a way. They can heal, they'll heal each other, but not with that. It can only rend.
No. This, this thing that isn't angelic or infernal. This mortal communion they've made their own. Their choice.
I choose you. I've always only ever chosen you. I will always choose you. Only you, always.
"Love you," he says, as much grunts of exertion as words. The motion of his hips is deliberate, controlled, but speeding up a bit. Not too fast. Not too fast. But god, the tight slide in, the suction as he withdraws, the feeling of being surrounded by Aziraphale... "Fuck, angel, I love you."