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There is no ‘our side,’ Crowley. It’s over.
The finality of your own words echo in your mind, pulsing like an open wound.
You stand in the entryway of your bookshop — your beloved bookshop — staring into space and wrestling with your broken heart.
A knock sounds at the door. Behind the glass you see a shock of red hair.
A rage-filled fire flickers in your chest as you step out of the shadows.
Like anyone would be
I am flattered by your fascination with me
Unconsciously, you open the door with a snap of your fingers. It startles you, but it is inevitable.
You are drawn to the person on the other side like a moth to the flame.
I have simply wanted an object to crave
He is here, and the unfairness of everything overwhelms your senses.
Sinuous and slinky, breathtaking and bold, he steps over the threshold.
The embers of your rage flicker and die as pure need takes its place, coursing through your veins, taut and shivering.
You would give up everything, if only you could touch him.
But you, You’re not allowed
You’re uninvited
An unfortunate slight
You step backward as he walks forward. You try to speak, but no words come.
"What you said at the bandstand….did you mean it?” he whispers.
His voice is a sibilant sound in the silence of the shop.
Fear and longing fight for dominance in your corporation, a gnawing, wretched thing.
Your response lodges in your throat.
Must be strangely exciting
To watch the stoic squirm
He steps closer. You step back.
“I don’t think you do,” he sighs, softer than the lightest breath.
Slowly, he removes the sunglasses from his face, baring his soul.
Like any uncharted territory
I must seem greatly intriguing
This time, you don't retreat as he steps closer.
You are inexorably drawn in by the desire and longing in his eyes.
He reaches a slender hand down, slowly bringing yours up to skate the lightest of kisses on the inside of your wrist.
“It’s not over, angel.”
His burning eyes drift to your mouth.
You speak of my love like
You have experienced love like mine before
A shiver runs down your spine, a feeling rising within you that you are intimately familiar with.
But you- you're not allowed
"You're not allowed," a voice whispers in your ear, a voice that has followed you for centuries, for millennia.
Until now, it is a voice that you have been unable to silence.
I don't think you unworthy
I need a moment to deliberate
You close your eyes, and you are so tired.
Tired of pretending, tired of fighting.
Tired of denying your love.
And for once, you decide that you are allowed.
You open your eyes and look into his, whispering, "It's not over."
"Angel….." he whispers, and looking at him is like seeing the sun after a long dark cold winter, like coming upon an oasis in the desert.
Like finally coming home.
And then his lips are on yours and you wonder why you ever thought —-
How could it be wrong, this heat racing through your veins?
In the space of a breath he has you pressed up against the nearest bookshelf.
He devours you as though you were a delicacy on offer, as though you were life, sustenance, nourishment.
He caresses your body like it is something precious, his touches heated and gentle and loving.
Your mind is blissfully blank and a torrent of bright emotion cascades through your nerve endings.
The only thing you are aware of is the heat that courses between you, like electricity, sparking and sizzling and shining.
It builds
And builds
And builds
And builds
Then, at last, your bodies are joined, and you do not know where you end and where he begins.
An eternity of longing comes to a head as you chase each other over the edge into oblivion.
After all, the world is ending in a few hours.