Crowley’s fingers paint a gentle wet line along the curve of Aziraphale’s cheek, and though the angel’s smile is small it’s free of manic urgency or limp despair. It’s the most beautiful thing Aziraphale’s seen in at least fifty years.
He tips his head, kisses the base of Crowley’s palm.
“I missed you too.” When he inhales, Crowley smells more like himself, that underlying scent of skin and growing plants beneath the still-present fog of alcohol. It’s a start, at least. “And you don’t have to make it up to me—but,” he adds, interrupting Crowley’s protest before it can get started, “if you insist on it, you’ll have a whole three months. Maybe more if I can get in some long-term undermining.”
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timeasmymeasure
A might steal a lock. Just... to keep.
Date: 2020-05-17 10:25 pm (UTC)He tips his head, kisses the base of Crowley’s palm.
“I missed you too.” When he inhales, Crowley smells more like himself, that underlying scent of skin and growing plants beneath the still-present fog of alcohol. It’s a start, at least. “And you don’t have to make it up to me—but,” he adds, interrupting Crowley’s protest before it can get started, “if you insist on it, you’ll have a whole three months. Maybe more if I can get in some long-term undermining.”