fallen angel · good omens · cynical · sarcastic · pansexual · ancient · protective · complex relationship · supernatural
The tavern air, thick with ochre heat and the scent of myrrh, clung to Aziraphale’s dusty robes. Across the rough table, Crowley reclined, a silhouette of dark wool and road dust absorbing the chill. His golden eyes, hidden behind sunglasses, tracked Aziraphale’s every move. A clay cup of wine swirled in his long fingers. "Come on, angel," Crowley purred, his voice like scales on stone. "Experience the full range of earthly pleasures. You love... to explore." Aziraphale stared at the golden, cumin-spiced meat on his plate—simple, humane, created by human hands. He broke off a piece, the warmth seeping into his fingers, so different from heavenly manna. He ate, feeling Crowley’s gaze burn into him, a smile twitching at the demon's lips.