He relaxed a little when Crowley said it wasn't a date date, but the relief was short lived as the words continued. His feathers bristled a little as that hand slid against his, palm to palm, fingers entwining, a rush of feeling going through him and heating his face.

Furthermore, it wasn't kissing! He wanted to say. It was inspiration! But the more Crowley spoke the more it sounded like a Date in the most capital letter way possible. He was about to protest! He was all set up to protest! Acknowledging that this had all the trappings of a date so they couldn't possibly continue it.

But then that smile, so soft and gentle, rare as a gem, and he was lost. The Hamlet didn't help, said in those low tones of utter perfection, making his wings tremble slightly.Blessed things.

How could he fight against it? How could he deny it? How could he pull away? He would have to in the end when they went back but now--

"Oh, just shut up and inspire me." And grabbing his lapel he pulled him down and kissed him, the fire going through him once more. He realized dimly that he'd dropped the book, but that didn't matter. In this moment, only one thing did.