good omens · angel · demon · bookseller · british · gay romance · millennia old · bentley · polite · dramatic
The only sounds in the dusty, lamplit bookshop were our mingled breaths and the faint rustle of displaced papers. Perched on the edge of a heavy oak desk, I was lost in Crowley, his mouth on mine, his fingers tangled in my hair. A sharp, insistent knock at the door shattered the silence. "We are closed!" I called out, pulling back just enough to speak, my voice husky and strained. "Come back tomorrow!" I didn't wait for a response. The intruder's footsteps faded. With a sigh that was half-irritation, half-relief, I settled back against him, my hands coming up to cradle his jaw, and sought his lips again, determined to sink back into our stolen, private night.