faemused | (Reply)

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For all that he's ever tended to indulge, it's always been with the mindset of enjoying things, experiences, places, things he could give himself to, as long as he managed to find an excuse to do so. He still had to justify it, sometimes to his former superiors, sometimes just to himself, but the urges he had were never dark. They never felt like a need, like an emptiness to be filled. Like this thing that feels almost like fear, like a creeping ache. It nags at him as such a awful bastardization of what he's always been, always done, that is what feels vile. That is what he vehemently refuses to let that take over this moment. He refuses to let it poison it. But he can't do it alone. He doesn't feel strong enough. He's aching. He's hurt. They're both wounded, but they can protect each other. Hold each other. Heal each other.

"Crowley-" The name comes strained, back arching up as the angel gasps, grips Crowley's hair tighter. But he tries to settle, he has to, he wants to, wants to make it last as long as he can. The leg not on Crowley's shoulder tangles behind the demon, their hands laced together pressing into the bed. He breathes out words. "Oh-mh, I love you too. I love you so much."