#foreverlasted

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋'𝐒 𝐆𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘 was indeed a sight to behold : pink lips parted in ecstasy of the tastebuds, an occasional flash of teeth or tongue around each morsel. such raw, open display of pleasure from one with unyielding posture and table manners ... this particular temptation had been crowley's doing alone, and no greater pride would he feel to witness the fruits of ancient labour.

" enjoying yourself, angel? " their tone is fond, but an undeniable smugness clings to its periphery. dark lenses obscure the drop of his gaze to that peek of tongue swept across PLUSH LIPS. " what's for dessert, hm? 'm in no rush ... " all that sat adjacent to crowley's propped elbow was a generous cabernet glass of bordeaux.

@foreverlasted sent: Klaus is going to wake to a nice little pile of gifts on his birthday this year, from books to a jar of the home-made cocoa that Aziraphale gives him every time they meet. There's another gift, though, and that's a little note. This note grants Klaus Hargreeves one ( 1 ) miracle. Choose wisely, dear boy.

Klaus blinks once, twice, three times at the little pile of gifts sitting neatly atop his otherwise cluttered desk. Nope, definitely not a hallucination. Not a souvenir from his last bender, either— too pristine for that. And everything has a fuzzy sort of energy around it; nothing bad, not like with Ben, but sort of warm and tingly, like how he feels when he goes into—

"Oh," he says out loud as the realization clicks. Aziraphale.

He pops the lid of the jar, dips his finger into the powder and holds it to his nostril for a sniff, and— yeah, no, that's definitely hot chocolate. He knew that, of course.

The note is a surprise, however, and a damn big one at that. He's seen some pretty weird shit around his friend the angel, but even then, the notion of miracles still seems laughable to him. Good things don't just HAPPEN to people! And who gets to decide who is and isn't worthy of a miracle in the first place, hmm?

"Hey, angel!" He shouts at the completely empty room— he's still not sure how the whole summoning thing works. Does he actually have to get on his knees and pray, or can he just...think really hard about it? He opts for the latter. Kneeling isn't really his thing anymore, at the ripe old age of 34.

𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇 as they reclined their full height back into the sofa. crimson head came to rest atop the angel's lap, long legs draped over an arm and left hanging ; socked feet swung an idle rhythm. ' i know, i know, ' a low rumble ( soft and sweet, for the chiding had come earlier ). the corner of a still kiss swollen mouth curled up. ' are you quite finished chastising yourself? i gave that up hours ago, darling ... round about the time you kissed me like a drowning man in the desert. ' if there was an ounce of smug to his tone, they reckoned it was rather merited. the fresh pet name too came easy, AS SWIFT AND SURE AS HIS FORGIVENESS.

the silence was punctuated by their contented hum, lashes fluttering shut on the world. his senses narrowed to the lens of this sofa, the plush thighs beneath him, the steady RISE AND FALL of their breath in tandem ... ' you're my person too. you always have been, you fool. '