leabhar_leitheoir



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  1. Public Bookmark 88

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    Three weeks ago he’d been utterly convinced that everything would change. Sitting across from Aziraphale at the Ritz, and watching the angel’s giddy smile and lose posture and the way his eyes lit up as he spoke, Crowley had been sure—completely sure—that they were finally going to take the leap. That they were ready to acknowledge the thing they’d been delicately side-stepping for six thousand bloody years.

    And then nothing had changed.

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    823
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  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley lay back down, made an effort of will, and unfolded his wings. Black feathers stretched out to their full span before he brought them down to rest, one wing over the back of the couch and the other trailing off the edge to the floor. He hummed, revelling in the lose muscles, and closed his eyes. He was close to drifting off when he noticed that he couldn’t hear the sound of Aziraphale turning pages any longer. Curious, he looked up.

    The angel had his chin resting on his hand, staring at Crowley. The book was lying closed on his knees.

    Crowley’s heart lurched, a little jolt of feeling that he still wasn’t used to. “Angel?”

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    694
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    1/1
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    94
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  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley was standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost. Aziraphale eyed the distance between them. Five steps. Five steps, and six thousand years, and a battlefield spanning an eternity.

    The story of the little moments over the millennia that shape an angel’s regard for a demon, and the way he slowly, with great reluctance but inevitable surety, falls in love.

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    English
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    7,548
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    2/2
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  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends?

    Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

    Language:
    English
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  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Thank you.” Aziraphale stepped closer. His knees brushed against Crowley’s.

    “It’s just… it’s just cocoa, angel,” Crowley whispered. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the desk.

    Aziraphale didn’t answer. His eyes flicked down the line of Crowley’s throat as the demon swallowed, lingering on his shoulders, the taught line of his torso, his hips.

    Written for the prompt "when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more"

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    Language:
    English
    Words:
    390
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    1/1
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