aj_crawley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aj_crawley) wrote2004-08-21 01:42 pm
aj_crawley) wrote2004-08-21 01:42 pm
(no subject)
*Crowley barely makes it to his bed.
He'd stared the Morningstar in the eye. It terrifies him, even now.
And his wing. Oh, his wing. What had faded, of late, into a dull, if painful ache, now peaked and flared in agony with the tiniest of movements.
And yet. Aziraphale's sword had served him well. And, injured, ravaged, flightless, he had held his own. Against an archangel. It is this that tides him into sleep, a smug expression on his face and the strangest, strangest gleam in his yellow eyes.
It could work*
He'd stared the Morningstar in the eye. It terrifies him, even now.
And his wing. Oh, his wing. What had faded, of late, into a dull, if painful ache, now peaked and flared in agony with the tiniest of movements.
And yet. Aziraphale's sword had served him well. And, injured, ravaged, flightless, he had held his own. Against an archangel. It is this that tides him into sleep, a smug expression on his face and the strangest, strangest gleam in his yellow eyes.
It could work*