Work Header

Eros Isn't Only For Demons

Work Text:

It had all started a good twenty years or so before the apocalypse, where an angel and a demon were enjoying a post-dinner nightcap in the back room of a pawn shop. They usually opted for this location rather than the plant nursery because angels, unlike their counterparts, usually had no sense of competence with paperwork. So they tended to walk in at any given time, without a care in the world beyond Heaven’s next major announcement.

Although it must be noted that the last time Gabriel had graced Antonia Crowley’s nursery was sometime in the late nineteenth century, right as she was opening it for the first time. There had been a whole scandal, what with Azirafell showing up with chocolates that she would end up eating by herself anyway. After that, she had been left well enough alone, although she still took precautions to make sure there would be no interrupting the drunken rambles she loved to go on.

Because while food was mediocre, alcohol, especially in quite extraordinary amounts, was rather nice. Especially when shared with Azirafell.

“My point is…” Azirafell trailed off, waving her glass around and watching the wine slosh as she tried to remember her words. She lounged on her leather armchair in a way that would’ve made even the most shameless people blush. Her elaborate silk trench coat hung off her shoulders, catching the light every time she waved an arm. “My point is: Greeks.”

Crowley looked up from where she was perched on the sofa across from Azirafell. She had made a sizable impact on the number of vintage bottles kept hoarded away. “Greeks?”

Azirafell nodded, taking a sip. “Greeks. Smart, sinful buggers—quite literally, too—came up with four types of love.”

Crowley closed her eyes and tried to think. She really needed to sober up soon. “Four’s a holy number.” Four Archangels, not that Crowley would know anything about that. She tried not to think about it too much, lest she accidentally let her true status slip and frighten Azirafell off. Usually, she would balk at the idea of the demon being frightened by anything, but the knowledge that your best friend could sneeze too hard and wipe you off the face of the universe would make most beings—occult or ethereal—uneasy.

“Yup.” Azirafell popped the p. “Obviously we have agape, which is your lot’s love. All that gooey, self-sacrificing bullshit. Something about friendship...philia, I think. Parental love, stork or whatever.” 

“Storge.” Crowley remembered it now. She didn’t read all too much, but the philosophers really were brilliant to research. Also, she enjoyed debunking them.

“Yeah, that. And then we have eros. As in erotic. As in—”

“Yes yes, I know you’re a demon. Of course you would enjoy that.”

If both of them were just a little bit more sober, Azirafell would accuse Crowley of racism, and then they would embark on a long-winded debate on whether or not being a demon was actually a race, and whether or not that warranted discrimination. But now, neither of them particularly cared. 

Azirafell shrugged, draining her glass and setting it aside. “Who said passion’s only limited to demons? Haven’t you read the Book of Enoch?”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to shrug. Actually, she had, and found the whole thing to be a great mess, based on only threads of truth. Technically, if one were to use the loophole of love, Crowley could be having some great old passions of her own right about now. But loopholes were more Azirafell’s deal, and Crowley had, for a plethora of reasons she rather preferred to keep quiet about, had never really gotten around to it in the first place. 

 The words left her before she could stop them. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, not understanding the weight of her speech before she looked up and saw all four of Azirafell’s pupils go wide. 

“You did not just say what I think you did,” she said, gawking. 

It was then that Crowley realized her mistake and desperately tried to remedy it. “Obviously not. Nope. Never. Absolutely not what you just heard—”

“Don’t tell me you have never had sex, Crowley?” Azirafell began to smile, a slow sort of expression that brought heat boiling to the surface of Crowley’s cheeks.

“That’s none of your business, is it?” she said, just a little too snappish to be casual.

“So you are a virgin!” Azirafell made a funny little sound in the back of her throat — the beginning of a laugh, perhaps. Her jaw tight, Crowley turned away; it was bad enough that Azirafell knew, but it was something else entirely that she laughed. 

“Oh, don't be like that, my dear.” The sound of Azirafell’s voice moved closer; the couch dipped ever-so-slightly as Azirafell came to sit beside Crowley. “I can always tell you all about it.”

This was the beginning of a temptation, and it was Crowley’s job as an angel to recognize and avoid it. Also, Azirafell’s smooth, saccharine voice wrapping itself around those types of words would make even a nun go insane. Especially with that layer of infuriating smugness, like a wrestling match she had already won. Probably the wrong thing to compare it to, but still. Crowley had to resist. 

She put her own glass aside and began the slow process of sobering up. Not so sudden, this time, but just enough to keep the alcohol steadily leaving her bloodstream. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“No, really. It’s no problem at all. Now, where shall I start?” Azirafell made a thoughtful sound. “The beginning, perhaps.”

“Oh, please don’t—

Azirafell spoke over her. “The tension… the anticipation… the waiting is the most delicious part of it all. Aside from the end, of course.” She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “But there’s nothing quite like feeling how much someone wants you, or even better yet, hearing them beg for it.”

A shiver raced down Crowley’s spine. In spite of herself, she found herself listening more intently than she had thought she would.

“And then there’s the undressing...oh, I must be boring you. Let's skip ahead to the good bit, shall we?” Azirafell clasped her hands together. “If you ask me, women are much better.” She made a lewd gesture with her hands. “Men are all thrusts and no substance. But, ah, there’s something much more satisfying about someone with the same thing going on down there.” 

Ah. Well that answered the question of what effort Azirafell was making currently. Not that Crowley had been asking, or anything. She could feel herself getting increasingly more embarrassed as Azirafell kept talking, torn between squirming away or leaning closer. 

“Rather disappointing that you haven’t tried it, you know. Slipping your hand between a girl’s legs, feeling how wet she is for you…” Azirafell made a sound that, if made in another context, could definitely qualify as a moan. “ Exquisite.

Crowley’s cheeks were definitely burning now. She was about ready to jump into a vat of hellfire if it meant burning away whatever imaginary tape recorder kept replaying Azirafell’s voice in her mind. 

“And in the end, oh , it’s positively—”

Maybe Crowley had gotten enough of the taunting, maybe she was just desperate to prove that she wasn’t Azirafell’s impression of her. In any case, the words left her before she could process them. “I know how that feels, don’t be daft.”

Azirafell’s eyes went shockingly wide, and she was in imminent danger of falling off the couch. “Really? Then tell me, with whom was that particular effort made?” She enunciated every syllable, and something in her expression said that she would never let this go, not until she got her answer.

Crowley suddenly found the floor very interesting to examine. “With myself,” she muttered. 

Azirafell burst into laughter. And kept laughing, until Crowley’s fluster turned into indignation. She wasn’t some caricature of an angel, so painfully innocent that even the talk of fucking made her blush. Crowley wasn’t like that at all. She just...never really had the inclination to do it. But that was a lie, of course, since she had one inclination over six thousand years, and that one inclination was what kept her gasping a very certain name in the early morning light.

But she could never admit to that, because Azirafell would never let her live it down. 

“So you…” Azirafell said between giggles. “You touch yourself, is that it? Oooh, big spooky secret.”

“Not a secret,” snapped Crowley. She suddenly wished she wasn’t sober again. “Just personal.”

Personal ?” Another bark of laughter from Azirafell, one that quickly turned quiet. “You wanna know what I think?”

“What.” Crowley wasn’t exactly looking at Azirafell, which is why she didn’t notice when the demon rose from where she was sitting, a couple of feet away from Crowley on the couch, and moved to place herself in Crowley’s lap. Not quite touching, no, just hovering above her in a maddening taunt. Her folded legs and arms that quickly caged Crowley in, made sure she was trapped.

Without looking away, Azirafell tilted Crowley’s chin to meet her eyes, Crowley glaring at her with all the holy righteousness she could muster up. When Azirafell spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I think that you’re a little blushing virgin who’s getting turned on just from talking about it.”

Well. Only one thing left to do now.

Crowley didn’t even know why she did it. First, the annoyance simmering within reached a boiling point, all that anger building up in her with nowhere to go. Then, she was grasping the silk lapels of Azirafell’s elaborate jacket and pulling her closer. Azirafell fell forward and Crowley crashed their lips together. Logically, it didn’t make any sense. But physically, emotionally? God, did it feel good.

Azirafell’s mouth was nothing short of heavenly—and if that was sacrilegious, Crowley couldn’t make herself care. When she ran her hands down Azirafell’s sides, bringing them to rest on her hips, she was rewarded with a fluid roll of Azirafell’s body against hers. Things got heated surprisingly quickly but Crowley supposed that tended to happen after millennia of waiting. Without stopping to overthink this, she pushed the coat from Azirafell’s shoulders, where it fell on the floor.

The kiss was broken, but only for a second.

Azirafell’s eyes had gone completely wide, while all of her pupils were dilated. She looked shocked, which was fairly unusual for her, but not for long. The expression melted into something Crowley recognized as hunger, before they were kissing again, this time with a lot more fire. Their lips moved with unrestrained passion, like ocean waves that continuously broke against a cliff face. 

When Azirafell’s tongue pressed up against Crowley’s teeth, she dropped her jaw to allow her in. And then their tongues were brushing and although Crowley didn’t exactly have a solid frame of reference, she was willing to bet that this was the best French-kiss out of every French-kiss ever done in the entire universe and everything beyond it. Crowley nibbled on Azirafell’s bottom lip, only to hear a growl that made her knees go weak. She wanted to hear that again, wanted to get even closer.

She had been wanting for so long. 

Crowley let out a whimper of her own when she felt Azirafell’s hands on her, tugging uselessly at her clothes before moving to tangle in her hair. She ran her fingertips down Azirafell’s spine, pulling her closer by the bottom and hearing another one of those wonderful sounds vibrating against her lips. Now that they had started, how were they ever supposed to stop?

Luckily, Azirafell made the decision for her. She pulled away, leaving only a thin string of saliva between them. Her lips were brighter than usual, and they curled into a smug smirk as she looked at Crowley. Slowly, she lifted her weight back up, so that she was no longer pressed against Crowley, but hovering just barely above her lap. Damn her. Or bless her, whatever one was worse, because Crowley was left with that weak, helpless heat in her gut. 

“So…” Azirafell let her bottom lip slide from between her teeth. “Not quite so innocent after all. Where’d you learn to kiss like that, I wonder? Don’t think your pals Upstairs would approve.” 

“I’ve done lots of things they wouldn’t approve of.” While this normally wouldn’t have been a bragging matter, Crowley was rather desperate to impress.

Azirafell quirked an eyebrow, eyes quickly flicking down between Crowley’s legs. How subtle . “Really? But did you do it right is the question. Better find out, don’t you think?” She undid the knot of Crowley’s tie, slipping it free of the curve of her neck before throwing the pink fabric elsewhere. 

It was then that Crowley realized what Azirafell wanted her to do, and a fresh new wave of lust coursed through her. “Could’ve paid me a visit a few days ago, then maybe you would’ve found out.” She had no idea where all this bold talk was coming from, but she was in no place to question it, considering Azirafell was looking more impressed by the minute

“Maybe I want a live show right now.” She was demanding, but then again, she always had been. 

Good thing that Crowley never refused her. Meeting the demon’s eyes, Crowley blindly unbuttoned her jeans, realizing that slipping out of them the human style simply would not do. Skinny pants of any sort were an invention of the devil. So she simply snapped her fingers and the article of clothing appeared, folded, a few feet away. 

A slight flicker of surprise passed Azirafell, like she wasn't expecting Crowley to slip a hand past the elastic band of her underwear. The warmth of her fingers alone was enough to make her moan. Biting her lip, Crowley made sure her fingers were slick enough before touching herself. Nothing fancy, yet she normally didn’t go for that sort of thing anyway. Just smooth caresses of her fingertips over her clit.

Neither of them said anything, probably because it would’ve been awkward. Crowley’s eye-contact was unwavering as she began to move in counterclockwise strokes between her thighs, starting off slow and growing faster the more aware she became of Azirafell’s presence. There was something equal parts unnerving and exciting about Azirafell watching her. Crowley didn’t exactly know how to feel about it, but at least she knew how to pleasure herself. 

She focused on that sensation, hearing her own breaths grow heavier, the occasional soft grunt slipping out. Crowley finally let her eyes slip closed as the fingertips circling her clit grew faster. A breathy moan left her, and right before that heat tightening in her gut grew unbearable, Azirafell grabbed Crowley’s hand and pulled it out of her panties. Her grin was as enticing as it was wicked. 

“Me first,” she said, and fell back on the couch, pulling Crowley on top of her with a playful growl. 

“Rath...rather selfish, isn’t it?” Crowley could barely form a coherent sentence. 

“Not exactly virtuous though, am I?” Azirafell licked her lips, gaze raking down Crowley’s body above her own. “Also, I got fed up with those talented fingers of yours not being put to good use.”

“What now?” Crowley itched with the urge to touch Azirafell, but she’d be damned if she was going to do it first and make a fool of herself. 

“Now, dear girl.” Azirafell’s eyes glowed with the same slyness as her smile. “I want you to fuck me.” Her legs shifted open ever-so-slightly as if to punctuate. 

Crowley did a wonderful job of acting nonchalant, although at this, a choked off sound left her. Of course, she was no stranger to such vulgar words coming from the demon, but to have them directed at her was something else entirely. She spluttered, cheeks burning red. The sight only fueled Azirafell’s amusement. 

“Er, how? ” Crowley supposed she could take on a male form if it was required, although she preferred not to. “Not that I don’t want to, I’m just...not clear on, er, how you want me.” She trailed off, not knowing how to word anything without coming off like a complete disaster.

Azirafell raised an eyebrow. “Fingers will work just fine.”

Crowley nodded, trying her best not to spontaneously combust. Discorporation under these circumstances would be rather difficult to explain away. “Right. So,” she wriggled her arm in between them, angling her hand to drift up Azirafell’s thigh. May as well jump right in. She was just preparing to move Azirafell’s underwear aside when she was swatted away.

Azirafell batted her hand away. “No, no. You have to start slow, dear girl, you can’t just go sticking your hand up my skirt when you feel like it.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who told me to,” she pointed out, with no lack of irony. Leave it to Azirafell to be fussy at a time like this.

“Not right away,” Azirafell said, taking Crowley’s hands and guiding them to her chest. Carefully, Crowley cupped the swell of her breasts, already struck with the dizzying longing to touch past the layer of clothes. “Start right there and hmm, I might want your mouth on them too. All in good time.” 

Trying her best not to snort, Crowley set herself on the task of unlacing Azirafell’s elaborate blouse, pleased to find that Azirafell didn’t bother with the usual undergarments. When enough skin was revealed, Crowley kissed her way down Azirafell’s neck. As payback, she took care to suck at the tender flesh of her throat, biting at her collarbone and soothing it with her tongue until she had left a number of reddened marks.

Running her thumb curiously over a nipple, Crowley heard a pleased sigh leave Azirafell as she arched into the touch. Encouraged by the response, she let her lips drift lower, until she could press them to the hard nub. Opening her mouth up, she swirled her tongue around it, and felt Azirafell push her hips up against Crowley’s thigh.

As Crowley’s mouth was otherwise occupied, she had to use her hands to blindly fumble for the hem of Azirafell’s skirt, pushing it up. Azirafell’s panties were silk because of course they were, and Crowley had to pull away in order to be able to slide them down Azirafell’s thighs. She tossed them over her shoulder, giggling as she did so, and then she looked down at Azirafell and suddenly she wasn’t laughing anymore.

Crowley didn’t exactly mean to falter once she got Azirafell in a state of semi-undress, it was just that the sight of her—blouse undone, skirt hiked up, undergarments gone—was enough to make something in Crowley’s brain fizzle out. All she could do was stare, entranced, and wonder how Azirafell hadn’t replaced Asmodeus in terms of demon of lust.  

“Get on with it, then,” said Azirafell, smirking. “Unless I’m too distracting, that is.”

Crowley ran her fingertips over the pale curls between Azirafell’s legs before dipping into her wetness. Azirafell had been right; there was a certain jolt that hit her when she realized that she had done this. Azirafell was aroused by her. She had to do a double take before continuing, stroking along Azirafell’s folds with experimental curiosity. Then, she inhaled deeply. Now or never, as they said.

Something that Crowley learned, right as she slid a finger into Azirafell’s waiting heat, was that Azirafell was loud. A shameless moan left her as soon as Crowley was inside her to the second knuckle. She lunged up to press their lips together with a desperate sort of hunger. 

“Another one,” she said, voice turning rough around the edges.

Crowley smirked. “Are you going to say please?”

Azirafell glared, although the look was significantly lessened by the pleasure scrunching up the rest of her face. “I do not say— ah, Crowley.

Crowley pressed a second finger into Azirafell just as she was speaking. Watch the demon try to call her a blushing virgin again when she was the one gasping Crowley’s name like it was a prayer. And she hadn’t even done anything yet. 

Azirafell squirmed impatiently. “Start moving now.”

Crowley let her fingers slide out, only to push them back in at a languid pace, relishing in the wet sounds that proved just how affected Azirafell was by all of this. She relished in being able to slowly explore Azirafell’s body, every place that made her shiver with pleasure.

The fiend in question whined: “Are you trying to fuck me or bore me to sleep? Faster, Crowley,” Azirafell’s next words were rather lost in translation when Crowley picked up the pace, hand moving at an increasing tempo until Azirafell was crying out her praises. She threw a leg around Crowley waist, which only seemed to make things better.

“Fuck me harder, just like that.” Her face had gone slack with pleasure. “Good girl,” she said, and Crowley shivered. Just that phrase alone made heat curl within her stomach, like a fever burning her up from the inside out. And Azirafell seemed to know exactly what she was doing to Crowley, because everything she said seemed to be targeted particularly to make Crowley hold back whimpers of her own. “ Good girl. Who would’ve known you would be so good at this? Should’ve gotten you on top of me a long time ago... oh fuck… pleasing me so well .”

Crowley ground her own hips down, seeking any sort of friction to relieve the ache that had built between her legs because of Azirafell’s words. She was being too chatty anyway. Crowley redoubled her efforts, setting a quick pace with the rock of her fingers, until Azirafell’s back bent into a pretty arch and all she could manage to say in between moans were gasps for more.

Then, suddenly, she grasped Crowley’s wrist. “Stop.” 

Confused, Crowley stilled, keeping her fingers deep inside Azirafell. Had she done something wrong? All the evidence pointed to the contrary, starting from Azirafell’s disheveled hair and leading down the flush on her body. Not to mention the colorful marks on her neck.

The demon grinned. “Are you this obedient in Heaven? Doubt it. You’re only this nice for me,” She tensed her muscles, and Crowley felt her tighten around her fingers. A low moan dragged from Azirafell’s lips and she threw her head back.

Mmm , can you feel that? So good . Now, be a sweet girl and curl them for me.” 

Crowley did, and almost fell off her precarious perch on the couch when Azirafell cried out, scrabbling for a handhold. “Right—right there. Do that again, oh fuck.” She bucked her hips forward, obscene sounds leaving her every time Crowley moved her fingertips up, pressing against that perfect spot within Azirafell. It must’ve been something truly magical, because all sassy remarks had died on Azirafell’s tongue, replaced by fractured moans. 

Crowley took a final look at how Azirafell was splayed out beneath her, eyebrows scrunched up, lips opened in an o, a thin sheen of sweat building on her forehead. Then, she ducked her head down to press kisses to Azirafell’s jaw, her throat, her breasts. Not stopping the quick but intense curling of her fingers, Crowley brought her other hand around to press her fingers up against Azirafell’s clit. That was all it took, really.

Azirafell clutched Crowley’s shoulders as she came, shaking and pulsing, rolling her hips forward to make the most of it. Her mouth gasped hot breaths onto the curve of Crowley’s neck. But instead of relaxing, she gasped out: “ don’t stop,” her iron grip on the sofa tightening. Crowley kept going, although this time, she started to move the hand that was on Azirafell’s clit. This time, when Azirafell tipped over the edge, it was with a cry of Crowley’s name, her whole body tensing up and then relaxing. 

Crowley was half-prepared for Azirafell to want a third orgasm, but she seemed content with going perfectly boneless against the couch cushions, using the armrest as a pillow as she smiled lazily up at Crowley. “Thanks,” she all but purred, and Crowley breathed a laugh, withdrawing her fingers and miracling away the slick shine on them. Azirafell muttered something about wastefulness and Crowley responded with a vague comment about next time, like it was already decided.

Azirafell grasped Crowley’s chin with surprising gentleness, and moved to brush their lips together. Her other hand moved down Crowley’s side, only to settle suggestively at her waist. “It’s all well and good doing the work yourself,” she murmured against Crowley’s lips. “But it’s so much better when someone else does it for you.” As if to emphasize her words, Crowley’s panties chose that moment to miraculously vanish.

Crowley understood what she was saying, but didn’t exactly know what to do. Her hesitation must’ve shown on her face, because Azirafell rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around Crowley’s thighs. “Come up here,” she said, and Crowley had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“Uh, why?”

“Because, dear, I’d rather not give myself a crick in the neck eating you out—oh don’t make that shocked face at me, you know exactly what I mean.” Azirafell licked her lips eagerly, watching as Crowley shuffled forward until her knees were on either side of Azirafell’s head. She pulled Crowley down even lower, until her mouth pressed at the junction of Crowley’s thighs. 

The first flick of Azirafell’s tongue was soft, but no less experienced, seeking out the bundle of nerves between Crowley’s legs and swirling around it. Once Crowley moaned weakly, having to brace herself on the headrest of the couch, Azirafell moved lower, running her lips through Crowley’s folds, lapping up the taste of her eagerly. She moved her head up and down, almost like she was nodding. The action only made her tongue rasp across Crowley’s clit, and she squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering.

For a second, she glanced down and was almost undone right there, seeing Azirafell’s mouth on her, doing wonderful, terrible things to her body. She thought she saw a glint of amusement in her eyes, at what she had reduced Crowley to.

“You taste so good. I’ve waited so long for this,” whispered Azirafell, and Crowley could feel herself short-circuit. 

There wasn't much use in trying to keep her composure when Azirafell’s tongue was there, sliding through the hot slickness, lips brushing her folds, nose nuzzling higher at her clit. It was almost too much. The warm, wet pressure of Azirafell’s unfairly skilled mouth sought out where Crowley was most sensitive and made her dissolve into a moaning mess with every lick. 

Nothing Crowley ever could’ve done alone in her bedroom compared to this.

And then, as if everything else wasn’t too much already, Azirafell simply plastered her lips around Crowley’s clit and sucked. 

Crowley’s spine arched and she threw her head back, an uncontrollable sound leaving her. It vibrated through the air, accompanied with heated breaths and thighs that shook so much they were ready to give out at any moment. The only thing that kept Crowley steady was her white-knuckled grip on the headrest. Although she couldn't see the smirk on Azirafell’s face, she was sure it was there. 

God…oh fuck,” Crowley choked out, all words suddenly leaving her. “ Azirafell...”

When the dam of heat coiling up inside of her broke, her mouth fell open in a silent cry as her pleasure overtook her. She doubled over, gasping Azirafell’s name like the holiest of prayers. It took a little bit for the last echoes of her climax to fade, but when they did, she crawled down to slot their bodies together.

They lay like that for a while, limbs tangled together in a half-dressed sweaty heap. Neither of them could quite catch their breaths. For a while, Crowley thought she could deny what she was feeling, simply play it off as angelic compassion. But after...whatever the Hell that was, there was no way to misinterpret the ever-quickening beating of her heart when she looked at Azirafell.

She was, in every sense of the word, fucked.

“That was…not bad,” said Crowley, probably because she didn’t have the words for it. 

“Not bad ?”

“Very good, if you must.” Crowley grinned. “Something I’d like to do again.”

Azirafell ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, fluffing it up. “See? Eros isn’t only for demons. Although, I must say, you were spectacularly naughty —”

“Oh so we’ve gone from innocent virgin to...I don’t know, sexpert in the span of thirty minutes?” Crowley scoffed, even as Azirafell swung a leg around her waist to keep them together. 

Azirafell licked her lips slowly, enticingly. “You still have a few things to learn.” She pressed a quick kiss to Crowley’s lips, one that ended up lingering a bit longer than it was meant to. “And you’re still a good girl. Although in a different regard.” Her teeth shone when she smirked.

Crowley could feel her cheeks flush. “Don’t you start.” They lapsed into a not-quite silence, but a peace. 

“Would you like some tea?” Azirafell murmured, lips finding Crowley’s lazily. The couch was a bit too small to comfortably hold both of them, but they clung onto each other nonetheless. 

“Only if the kettle comes to us.”

Azirafell laughed—a rich, clear sound. Emboldened, Crowley spoke. This wouldn’t be the first crazy thing she’d done tonight. “Hey…”

Azirafell tilted her head to look at Crowley “Yeah?”

I love you, I love you, I love you—