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Hell or High Water

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“Ooooh, my angel likesssiiiss,” Crowley hissed, too far gone to curse himself for the way his tongue split midway as he bent forward. He felt the frisson of demonic power on the centre near the half to the tip as it cleaved neatly in two, right before Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale blinked up at him from beneath his fringe, sweaty curls plastered to his forehead. “Oh,” he said, his pink mouth shaping itself along the vowel.

Even as Crowley stuttered out a hasty, “Shit, s-sssorry,” his tongue flickering with the sibilants, he watched Aziraphale watching his tongue and absently tonguing the spot on his own lower lip Crowley had bitten sore—where the skin was more swollen than the rest, and redder. When his fingernails dug into the nape of Crowley’s neck and, biting down, scratched , Crowley’s hips jerked forward in a hard, sudden shove.

In the sweat, it stung. It felt gorgeous, an echo of the sharp pleasure in his gut.

“Nnggh, angel,” he grunted, nearly biting down on his tongue as the damn thing wouldn’t cooperate and darted excitedly through his teeth. Aziraphale didn’t hear him, though: his head tipped to the side and he gave a loud, happy groan, happy, Crowley thought wildly, at being handled roughly.

Right. Right, there was—

He sat more securely on his haunches, pulled one of Aziraphale’s legs, lying over the tops of his thighs, up by the calf and slotted it over his shoulder. He bent down, his forearm on the side by Aziraphale’s head. The sweat made it go easy, and Crowley felt the thick muscle of Aziraphale’s calf give way to the secret bend of his knee.

Aziraphale gave a little, “Mmmhh,” pouty at being positioned just as Crowley liked it; he was less bendy than Crowley, of course, but with a bit of wriggling they made it. His hands came up to feel out the wiry muscles of Crowley’s upper arm, and his lashes fluttered at the human pleasure of it. He dug his fingertips in, lazily half-turned his head so he was gazing up at Crowley from the side, one eye partially obscured by the slope of his pert nose. “What do I like?” he asked, quiet, prim. He was flushed, sweaty, and sex-messy as it got, but he might as well have been talking about the weather. “Do tell.”

Crowley heard the hardly restrained eagerness in his voice. It made him grin, rather dementedly: his angel was insatiable. He was clever—knew exactly what he liked—and filthy, too, which was why he wanted Crowley to tell him.

As always, Crowley lived to serve.

“You like thisss,” he murmured, nodding down to indicate the tangle of their bodies. “Like being bent as I pleassse, sso I can do what I want with you—and you like it essspecially when I ussse you, angel, don’t you?”

Aziraphale gave him a friendly sort of smile, patting his upper arm with his hand. The condescension of it made Crowley’s blood boil, just a bit. “Of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, in a soothing kind of tone. “I was rather hoping you’d be smarter about it, though.”

“Oh, ssssmarter?” Crowley asked in mock outrage, his eyebrows going up. “Ssssmarter, you want it ssssmarter.”

Way too many damn sibilants—Crowley’s tongue was between them, just shy of touching Aziraphale’s mouth, flickering rudely about. Damn fucking thing—he was about to pull back and get the blasted thing under control, but then Aziraphale went a little cross-eyed as his gaze focused on it. He whispered, awed, “Crowley, oh ,” and suddenly bent his head forward, put his blessed, damned, fucking, fucking perfect pink lips round it—and sucked .

“Fuck,” Crowley said, “oh ffffffuck,” or was trying to say, as with most of his tongue in Aziraphale’s mouth it got swallowed. What came out was a feeble, gusty hhuuuck , and then he couldn’t help it: he fisted the sheets, white-knuckled, pulled back—Aziraphale’s leg slid back down to his waist—to bite viciously at the generous flesh over Aziraphale’s sternum, and went to town on Aziraphale’s arse, fucking it the way he knew Aziraphale liked it: powerful shoves from the hips, hard, fast, and deep, and if Crowley could not just go hard but hard er , please, oh, what a jolly good fellow—

“Ssshitshitshit,” Crowley cursed, control shattered to pieces. Aziraphale said things like jolly and gosh and tip-top and had the act of asking so nicely and politely down to an art form and then went on to bend forward like the filthy bastard he was to suck on Crowley’s very inhuman tongue like he wanted it down his throat—

Aziraphale flung out a hand against the headboard in reflex to keep his head from being shoved into it. “Ooooh,” he moaned, high-pitched, and it wasn’t quite a squeal but it was close. “Oohh, dear, darling, yes, please, please—”

“That sssmart enough for you yet,” Crowley taunted and licked a wet stripe up Aziraphale’s neck. The shine of it made something base and primal inside him pulse, dark and satisfied. “That rough enough for you how you like it angel, huh, is it rough enough for you you filthy little bastard—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, all scandalised even as his nails on Crowley’s back spelled out his joy. “Oh you wicked darling fiend, how I adore your bad mouth—”

“Could have had this bad mouth suck you earlier.” Crowley made a conscious effort to relax his grip on the sheet. His hands cramped but he willed them loose and brought them around the backs of Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him tight and using the leverage to pull Aziraphale down against him on the next shove in. It made Aziraphale’s eyes go wide and shocked, his mouth turning up at the corners with just how good that felt—and he said, “Yes, oh, yes,” all hurried delight, and used the pressure of his palm against the headboard to help grind himself down on Crowley so their skin met with one hard slap—and another—and another.

Crowley bent low to Aziraphale’s ear, let his forked tongue play over the shell in a caress from both sides. “Could have had me sssuck you earlier,” he whispered against the wet lobe, Aziraphale’s head twitching with the hot breath on his damp skin, “but no, my angel wanted it hard and deep up his arssse—”


“—wanted a fffucksss what he wanted, some old-school buggery, some cock to do him niccce ‘n sstick him with it good—”

A whine escaped Aziraphale as he tugged Crowley back by his hair and stared up at him in all his debauched, fucked-out glory. The stare he fixed Crowley with was so intense Crowley had to look away for a moment—Aziraphale’s eyes were overbright and brimming with so much emotion that Crowley’s mouth lost some incoherent syllables—so he let his head fall to Aziraphale’s clavicle and glanced down between them. 

By Crowley’s hips, Aziraphale’s thighs were squished and showed the outline of thick muscle flexing beneath the fat; his belly was generous and mashed between them, wobbling, dragging against Crowley’s hollow one with the frantic movements of their hips; between their bellies peeked out his thick cock, purple and wet, sticky against the hair beneath Crowley’s belly button; and, as Crowley’s gaze wandered up, slowly, he watched, mesmerised and flushing hotter by the second at the sight, his chest—his tits—watched his tits bounce, the fat moving in quick little jiggles that drove Crowley fucking insane, that made him want to fuck in even harder so they could bounce some more, and he was already getting dizzy with his pounding, had to use all he had to keep it together—

He looked back up, eyes narrowing further with every thrust into Aziraphale, the pleasure cresting. Aziraphale looked the way Crowley was feeling: face pinkred and sweatshiny, generous lips swollen and parted, some of his hair stuck to his forehead, the rest a mess of crazy curls. His eyes were narrowed too, pupils dilated, gone liquid with the heat and pleasure of it all. The moment their gazes locked again, Crowley knew there’d be no looking away from this one now. This was the Eastern Gate all over, and he stared, transfixed, jaw slack, as with each time he used the strength of his arms to push Aziraphale down on his cock—with each jolt of his hips—Aziraphale’s eyes widened incrementally, his breath began to stutter, his hands roamed over any and every part of Crowley he could reach, gripping,  restless.

Aziraphale’s legs wound around Crowley’s waist, the heels of his feet on Crowley’s arse urging him on, urging him deeper, faster. Crowley’s face spasmed from the knowledge at being wanted even more, and his rhythm faltered, for a second, two—and then, eyes on each other, Aziraphale whispered, “Yes, love, yes, you’re so good to me, you’re doing so well, you’re such a good dear, you’re doing so splendidly—”

Shut up ,” Crowley snarled instinctively, and he didn’t think it possible but there it was: the heat centred around his hips and gut spread upward all over his chest; he could feel it in his neck, climbing into his cheeks, until he was sure there was no difference between his face and hair left; and worse, it got sweeter , the entire thing of it, all sensations taking on a sweet desperate edge. His gut drew tight, and he cursed, an uncontrollable judder running through his legs.

“No,” Aziraphale said back, breathless and awed. His hand came up, trembling, carded Crowley’s hair back from his forehead. “No, because you’re perfect, you’re darling, I don’t know how I deserved you, you’re so good to me—”

Crowley put a palm on each of Aziraphale’s knees, shoved his legs apart until Aziraphale yelped with the pain of the stretch. He rose, his back curving in an arch, legs wide apart for leverage as he took Aziraphale’s mouth wildly and fucked him with real venom. It was all teeth clacking, need, and lack of finesse, Crowley forcing himself into Aziraphale’s mouth, dragging his incisor over the wet inside of Aziraphale’s lower lip, shoving his tongue past his teeth and tracing out their contours, licking inside, lewd and hard and deep like the push of his hips, and he didn’t know why he felt so crazed with it, this need to be in Aziraphale like this: he wanted to climb inside his mouth, wanted to—he wanted to shut Aziraphale the fuck up, wanted his nonsense to stop coming out past his lips—all those sweet, endearing nothings he was cooing over Crowley, hidden right here in the wet heat of his mouth, fuck, Crowley wanted—he wanted—

Wrenching Crowley away with force by his hair, Aziraphale gasped vehemently into the space between their mouths, “You’re so kind, my love, so kind to me,” and Crowley, making a wounded animal noise, dragged his face away, hid it in Aziraphale’s sweaty neck and hissed out, “ Bassstard ,” and came, helplessly, impotent to do anything but let the heat take him as he trembled apart.

Aziraphale whispered, “What?” and then went silent, staring down at the tremor going through Crowley’s frame and his hips moving in uncontrollable little shudders. Even as he felt Crowley spill inside, warm, wet, and plentiful, it took him a second to register what was happening. When he did, he gave an unhappy moan and an even unhappier wriggle—Crowley wanted to sob with it—and slapped at Crowley’s wobbly-feeling arm none too gently. “Oh Crowley, no,” he whined, all reluctant petulance he couldn’t help. “No, no, please, not yet, I haven’t—please,” he said plaintively, tugging relentlessly at Crowley’s hair.

“Bassstard,” Crowley muttered again, even as through his mortification—what the fuck —he couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. It was just like Aziraphale to switch from hot to cold in a second when he wasn’t getting what he wanted anymore, and Crowley, so Someone help him, rose to the plaintive tone in his voice like Pavlov’s blessed dog. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and focused all his strength of will on what Aziraphale wanted: for his cock to stay hard, so Aziraphale could use it some more until he was well and truly satisfied.

“Ngk.” He made an undignified sound as his cock, right in the process of softening, went back to thickening. Aziraphale, selfish brat that he was, didn’t even notice at first. “ Crowley ,” he complained, all mournful bitchiness, giving a tug of hair that hurt .

Bloody—Someone, sometimes his angel really was more than a handful. Crowley loved it. Crowley hated it. “Will you shut up ,” he snapped, “and gimme a sssecond!”

Despite knowing better, he gave an aborted thrust to set things right. It silenced Aziraphale, made the hand in Crowley’s hair temporarily still, but it made Crowley groan, half-pained, half-delirious. His cock was still twitching, for fuck’s sake, and here he was, shoving it back inside into the spunky mess he’d made like it was just a stiff stick for Aziraphale to get his jollies on. Agonized, his whole body oversensitive, he rolled his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder. But that’s what it was, wasn’t it? In this moment, it was what his cock was, because Aziraphale wanted it that way. Needed it that way. Fuck.

Fuck, Crowley thought to himself, shivering, aroused with it, you sad, besotted bastard.

He huffed out the breath he’d taken. Said to himself, “All right,” and gritting his teeth used a last bout of effort to flip them over.

Aziraphale said, “ Whoopsee ,” which was bad enough, but then he just said atop Crowley, quite flabbergasted and wordless, as if confused about how he got there. He was just staring, breath heavy, with his pretty hands resting on Crowley’s chest.

Crowley licked his lips. Blinked, as sweat ran into his left eye. “Well sweetheart,” he said into the silence, casual and mellow, like he wasn’t just a couple moments past disgrace. “Hi. Got a lil demonic miracle for you…”

His eyes were sparkling: maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. To drive it home he shifted his hips, palmed Aziraphale’s waist and gave a languid upward stab from his pelvis, let Aziraphale feel the little . He considered stretching his arm up and putting a hand behind his head, but that would’ve turned it corny. He was cool, after all, and it was a fine line.

Aziraphale was still flushing prettily, his fingers curling into his palms. He stared at Crowley, at his forcibly relaxed face and intense eyes. Crowley knew he’d lost when a moment later Aziraphale murmured, “Oh, Crowley ,” and bent forward to pet his fingers over Crowley’s cheeks and dotting soft little kisses all over his sweaty, red face.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned, he tried, but his angel barrelled right over him. 

“Oh my boy,” Aziraphale whispered ardently against Crowley’s temple, mouth smearing damply over Crowley’s brow bone. “Oh my darling, wonderful boy, oh how I love you, how I adore you, you perfect thing, look what you do for me…”

“W—unghff,” Crowley said, “whah,” and “ Aziraphale ,” he protested, mortified, mouth smushed between Aziraphale’s palms.

“Look what you do for me,” Aziraphale said again, hushed, drawing back a bit, pupils if possible blown wider than before. He kissed Crowley, soft, gentle, lingering, let it get wet and deep. By the time he pulled back, Crowley didn’t need to will his cock to stay hard anymore; he was flustered, tingly all over, and clutched just a little helplessly at Aziraphale’s upper arms. 

“Azssiraphale,” he breathed, blinking. They shared that moment of intense emotion, wordless, breathless, and when Crowley felt a treacherous sting at the back of his eyes, he forced himself out of it. “Sss what you wanted, innit,” he rumbled, voice raspy and thick, making sure he was looking at Aziraphale’s forehead and not his eyes. “Now use it, you big old sssap.”

“You recalcitrant serpent,” Aziraphale murmured, giving him an ungentle bite to his lower lip in fond reproof. “I’ll say to you whatever I want, dear boy.”

“Sssame for me then.” He gave Aziraphale a bright, impertinent smile, showing off his fangs. “Sssooo, angel. Want me to make a cream pie out of you?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded, but it was with an indulgent eye roll as he got back into position. His arse slid back with it, cheeks closing around Crowley’s cock and hole clenching. “Don’t be so vulgar.”

“Oh baby, ‘sss what you like about me,” Crowley countered, more easy-going now as he felt himself settle back into his bones, as Aziraphale began to rock on his lap, slowly. “Not jusst how I use you all rough but also for my sssmart mouth, eh?”

“Again with the smart…” Aziraphale sighed happily as Crowley’s hands roamed over his thighs, kneading them gently.  “You are a tad redundant tonight, dear.”

“Redundant, yeah.” Crowley’s palm slid up Aziraphale’s thigh to fist his bobbing cock without preamble, fitting the fat width of it into his palm. Aziraphale jerked into the touch, and Crowley smiled, lopsided, made a tight fist out of it. “Lemme give you a niccce redundant wank, angel, while you bounccce on my cock, what do you sssay to that.”

“I’ll say to you—” Aziraphale’s breathing started to come harder again. He rode Crowley a little harder, a little faster. Crowley watched, satisfied, as his pretty, long lashes fluttered. “— whatever I want.” 

“Hmm, do you…” Crowley watched his angel’s face for another moment, then looked at his cock. The poor thing was so ready to shoot all over Crowley’s stomach, but Aziraphale had a tremendous amount of stamina. It was so wet though: Crowley hardly needed to swipe his palm over the slit for the moisture because the excess had leaked down, made the whole fat girth of it slippery for his fingers to slide right over it, easy and nice and good. He wanked Aziraphale like that, heavy and thorough strokes, as if he were trying to press the pleasure into his skin, force it into him.

“Yeah,” Aziraphale said, a bit winded, breathy. His eyes were closing, and he kept supporting himself with his palms on Crowley’s chest as he bounced away, pushing Crowley’s cock over and over against the place where he wanted it. His head tilted to the side, loose and pleasure drunk.

Crowley watched him enjoy himself, pupils fat and round, tongue nervous in his mouth. Fuck. Fuck, Aziraphale was a gorgeous sight. Generous and heavy on Crowley, weighing him down. Crowley couldn’t help but palm his round belly, watch the mobile flesh wobble between his fingers. Aziraphale groaned at that but arched his back into it, and Crowley let Aziraphale’s cock fall from his hand. It slapped back against his belly, Aziraphale making a noise. Crowley brought his hands to Aziraphale’s chest: he palmed the meat there, palmed his tits , groaned right from his throat as he watched his large hands push them together, squeezing and kneading. He was getting breathless too now, overstimulated, and he didn’t know what drove him to it, he knew better than that, but—

“Not sssaying much at all though are you,” he edged Aziraphale on with a hiss, couldn’t let the topic lie. “Or isss my cock too much for you—”

Aziraphale’s eyes popped open, and he inclined his head to look down at Crowley. His double chin, fucking Someone , was enchanting. Heat prickled on the back of Crowley’s neck, and his palms began to sweat. Aziraphale had a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. 

Crowley had known better than that.

Aziraphale reached out and put his hand on Crowley’s cheek. He did actually have, Crowley marvelled distantly, the self-discipline not to pat it. “Oh darling. Because I don’t want to embarrass you,” he said, tender, but the undertone clearly carried over. “And yes, your—ah—it is going to be quite too much for me, dear boy, which is why I’m terribly happy you kept it, mh, good for me to use.”

Crowley spluttered through the first part of that sentence, cheeks hot, and opened his mouth to counter that.

“I know that you—have a thing , as it were, for pleasing me,” Aziraphale carried on, quite calm considering he was wriggling in Crowley’s lap and his cock was twitching between them. “Which is why I simply don’t understand why you get all fussy when I try to tell you—”

“I—eeh—I—I’m not fussy ,” Crowley stuttered, mortified, brain struggling to catch up. His hands still clutched Aziraphale’s tits, and he made a fast recovery, scowling and swatting the right one playfully. “ You’re the fussy one, you go all ‘oooh Crowley nooo not my clothes from 17-something!’ when all you really want—”

“—then you get silly ,” Aziraphale said, more loudly, with a little glower. “ Semantics . The point is that you are rather taken with pleasing me, so when I—”

“You’re a princess !” Crowley bellowed, eyes wide and disbelieving. “You’re a princess, you, you want to be pleased, you’re unbearable if I don’t—”

“Oh don’t give me that!” Aziraphale snapped in his bitchiest tone. He slapped Crowley’s hands away from his chest and bore down rather hard with all his weight, which made him give a high-pitched, “Mmmhh!” as Crowley hissed through gritted teeth.

“Don’t give me that,” Aziraphale repeated, breath laboured. “If I get unbearable it’s only because you conditioned me to it!”

“I di—I did not condition you, Someone’s sake—”

“Yes you rather did, dear fellow—”

“You have a fucking rescue fetish!”

“And you have a rescuing and pleasing me fetish,” Aziraphale said, triumphantly, every bit the self-righteous bastard angel he was. 

In the face of such a simple, awful truth, Crowley could only stare up at Aziraphale’s smug face and gulp. There wasn’t much he could say to that. He’d provoked this. He was a dumbass . Because Aziraphale probably did not appreciate him turning into a snake to sulk under the pillow right now, he muttered a childish, “And you can’t even say cock ,” instead, as if that gave him some sense of vindication. Sadly enough, it did.

Aziraphale gave a great big heave of a sigh as if it were him whose patience and nerves were being tested, including a heavenward eye roll that made Crowley want to—something, anyway. But he felt cowed, and stupid, and was in no position to lick his wounds. Aziraphale wasn’t finished with him yet. So he stayed silent, wide-eyed, mouth resolutely shut. 

In the ensuing silence, Aziraphale gave him a long, searching look. Something on Crowley’s naked face seemed to speak to him, though, because his face set itself in an adamant expression, his eyes stern.

“My dear boy.” His hand slid upward, over Crowley’s chest, up his clavicle, until his palm settled itself gently but firmly round Crowley’s throat. “ Do shut up. Yes?”

Throat suddenly dry, Crowley nodded. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said primly. He licked his lips and said, after a moment, “I’ll say whatever I like to you.”


“I’ll say whatever I like to you, Crowley.” Aziraphale leaned forward. He exerted pressure on Crowley’s throat, slight but there. “Because I’ve been silent for six thousand years. I’ve felt all this and didn’t even know because I wasn’t even—wasn’t even allowed to think it. To imagine it. And now that I’m free to do it…”

Aziraphale swallowed, heavily, and Crowley felt it like a punch to the gut. 

“Now that I’m free to do it, I want to say it. And it isn’t just me who needs it, I believe,” he finished, quietly. His thumb stroked mindlessly, gently over Crowley’s throat. Crowley expected his heavy, forlorn look as their eyes found one another—he expected that ancient pain. It still felt dreadful: a resplendent bright star, swallowed by a black hole. Go—Someone, no . No. He’d sworn…

“So please.” Aziraphale gave him a small, shy smile. “Let me…?”

Everything in Crowley went still. This, this was his. This was what he’d been made for. The cosmos had been a necessary diversion, a way to express himself before he Fell, so that in the sudden darkness he found the real brightness; galaxies, stars, supernovae, nebulae, none of them were worth anything compared to this: Aziraphale, his angel, asking—let me. Let me. Can I have this? Can I have this from you? 

Of course. Of course you can. 

“Y—yeah.” Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s cheeks, cupped the cherished face, held it close. Crowley stared at him, this bright, fixed point, so blazing, so luminous: yet he’d never blinded him, never burned him. Aziraphale couldn’t just do miracles, he was one. “Yeah. Anything,” Crowley murmured. His fingers trembled, unworthy, aching, petting Aziraphale’s cheeks, the side of his nose. “I’ll give you anything.”

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered back, and his smile grew, a little abashed, but so confident, so settled in his love. “I know.”

They drew closer like magnetic forces, six thousand years of hypnotic pull distilled in their slow, deep kissing. Their hands wandered over their bodies, feeling out all the hard and soft places, moving with each other and fitting like anything. 

“I’ll say what I want.” Aziraphale mouthed a wet kiss trail up Crowley’s jaw, his hand at the back of Crowley’s head holding him steady. “What I want to say is I love you,” he confided softly into Crowley’s hot ear. “I love you, and you showed me I can do that, I can say what I want and I can love you, and there’s nothing wrong with me being happy—me doing things that make me happy…”

“Of course there isn’t, angel,” Crowley said, clutching at Aziraphale’s back, pressing him close and not letting go. “There isn’t. You deserve everything .”

“Hush.” Aziraphale placed a soft kiss on Crowley’s mouth. “What I want is to say you deserve everything, darling, because you are so, so good, you are so infinitely kind… you are better than any person I’ve ever known. I love you. I adore you. I cherish you. I covet you, selfishly, and you make me happier and better than I could ever have imagined.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley choked, just a bit, and the sting in his eyes was unavoidable this time. Clutching at Aziraphale’s back became clawing at it, leaving red dents in the skin.

“Shh, it’s fine. I’m here.” Crowley’s eyes screwed shut as the wetness began to leak, and Aziraphale kissed his eyelids ever so gently, so carefully. “I’ll be done now. I’m sorry. I know it takes time. Just know that this is what you are, darling.”

“Tell the whole blessed world, why don’t you,” Crowley said, faintly, and it would have been too much—the room was closing in on him—if Aziraphale hadn’t drawn back just then, hadn’t let the glint return to his eyes.

“I would tell the whole blessed world,” Aziraphale teased, thumbing the wetness from beneath Crowley’s eyes gently away, “if you’d do something to make me loud enough so I could be heard…”

“Oh, I’ll give you—” Crowley, infinitely glad for the reprieve, took a deep breath and then griped, “You bastard,” without any heat. His hands relaxed on Aziraphale’s back, went back to holding, stroking down the lovely pale expanse of it, down until he found Aziraphale’s arse cheeks. “ You’re the one who went down sentimental lane—”

“Hush, you quibbling serpent.” Aziraphale wriggled in his clasp, a content smile on his lips. He sighed, happy, as Crowley massaged his arse cheeks—pulled them apart and pushed them back together, rhythmically, then gave a little slap to it.

Aziraphale bit at Crowley’s lower lip and nudged their noses together. They looked at each other, both still a little wet-eyed and definitely cross-eyed, when Aziraphale said, “Now… I believe you said something about a cream pie?”

The laughter, when it came, was bright, delighted with each other and the world, and loud: they were heard.


Come Hell or high water, we will rise above
You are what I believe in, you are enough

Oh, life’s for the the livin’, I won’t be givin’ up
Oh, you taught me how to, you taught me how to love
Take all I cherished, beat me ‘til my body’s numb
But life’s for the livin’, I won’t be givin’ up
On you

Billy Rafoul—Hell or High Water