The angel strongly dislikes - maybe even hates - the fact that the nagging voice at the back of his head telling him what he should or shouldn't do is still there. It's not that he has to follow it every time - he's been quite good at ignoring it over the centuries, the millennia, on most smaller things. Less so on the bigger ones. And it would have been naive to think it would have gone away completely after that day, but part of him wanted to believe it would.

But he's almost angry at it, this time. At the nervousness he feels. A different kind of nervousness than the one he's felt most of the evening, showing up entirely too late and definitely uninvited. It's quiet and surreptitious, but even know it's telling him this might be too fast.

He's starting to hate that word, too. It's practically haunted his mind when he said it, back then.

His eyes are closed and he's still holding onto the demon's shoulders, somewhere between tense and letting that go. A pulled in breath over the feeling on his neck. Another kiss and he bites his lip when he can't be seen.