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Summary
The breeze stops, windows closed once again. Crowley has the distinct feeling of being appraised. Studied and watched. He straightens his back, letting the ache sink into his spine, roll over his shoulders like a wave on the ocean. He lets out a hiss, feels his tongue go forked whether he wants it to or not.
With his tongue forked, Crowley can better smell the air. The sharp tang of book dust, the spice of vetiver from Aziraphale’s aftershave. He can smell the chemical of the leather polish on Aziraphale’s oxfords, can taste the tang that the iron of his shackles leaves in the air. His vision may be dark, but his remaining senses paint a vivid picture all the same.
Series
- Part 5 of 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020