𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖞

Would have they have been lovers? Would they have been friends? Would they have been close, or would they have never even met? Billions and billions of angels, it would be naive to believe they all knew each other, specially those lower in the castes. But to question what never was and can never come to be is as foolish as asking questions of silent mouths, though natural as it might be. Even for two creatures who've wrapped themselves in them, one that has lived with them for almost as long as they have existed, and another one that always tried their hardest to ignore their blatant presence.

He feels the honest truth in Crowley's words, pure devotion made simple, more of what the angel had always pretended wasn't there, but now free, and it breathes life into him in a way he didn't know was possible.

Another movement of Crowley's hips and he arches under him, shuddering and gripping the demon's hands tightly, pulling in a gasp, hearing the music swell in his mind. Can Crowley hear it? It's not a song, but he shares it all the same.