The door had barely closed behind Michael before he was being shoved backwards into it, victim to a full-force running hug from Gabriel. "I'm sorry!" the boy sobbed. "I'm not mad at you. I wasn't ever mad at you, I was just scared."

"Me too…" Michael agreed, picking Gabriel up and resting him against his hip. His younger brother wrapped his arms around his neck as he carried him to the living room, where Lucifer and Raphael were sitting.

Lucifer stood immediately, approaching Michael, who wrapped his free arm around his brother's shoulders. "Thank you," he whispered as Lucifer hugged him back.

Once Lucifer had stepped back and Gabriel had clambered down, Raphael approached, his usually calm demeanour replaced by an unreadable expression. He put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I was hurtful, and had no right to be. You were only trying to protect us."

Raphael was the least emotive member of the family, so a declaration such as this, along with physical contact, was momentous. "Thank you, Raphael," Michael said with affection, though he respected his brother's aversion to touching and did not hug him as he had the other two.

"Sit down," said Lucifer. "We have a lot to talk about."

In the end, Michael arranged to apply for a job when he went in with Lucifer on his next shift, which was in two days. If that prospect did not work out, Raphael had found an office that helped the unemployed get back on their feet. Gabriel offered to get Michael in on his business in the meantime. "You can wash their cars or mow their lawns or something while I walk the dogs!" he exclaimed, clearly excited.

Michael was extremely grateful to his brothers, and the four of them spent the afternoon cleaning up the house, which had been neglected during Chuck's brief stay. At around four o' clock, Michael got a text. He supposed he would have to change his number and take all his ads down, but that would come in time.

The message was simply an address and a time, and the number was one Michael had long since memorized. The address was unfamiliar, however, and he frowned at the phone. He was going to ignore it when a second message came through: 'Please? –C'

Michael sat down, sighing. He knew Crowley had gotten the text he had sent earlier, so why was he still being asked to work? He found it especially odd after all that had happened the previous night. Before he could reconsider, he typed out a confirmation, intending to meet up with the older man and politely tell him he was no longer in the business. It was more than he was planning on doing for any of his other clients, perhaps because of the kindness Crowley had shown him. Quitting his line of work had been the one thing his brothers had made him promise, and he had more than readily agreed.

It was only after his reply that Michael realized how early the requested time was—a mere two hours from that moment. He got changed, though only for appearances' sake; the clothes he was wearing, which still smelled like laundry detergent, were probably cleaner than anything in his dresser.

Even though he had just over an hour before he had to leave, Michael did not accomplish many more chores around the house. He was too confused. Why would Crowley still have contacted him for an appointment? He had seemed genuinely concerned about Michael's plight the night prior. Perhaps he figured Michael owed him for the kindness? But no, he had never seemed that insensitive.

Before Michael left, he told Lucifer exactly where he was going and what his intent was. Lucifer got defensive and asked to accompany him, but Michael assured him he was perfectly capable of handling the situation. Reluctantly, Lucifer relented, but only because Michael was "an adult. And you've learned your lesson."

When Michael reached the address, he had to check his phone again to make sure he had not misread. The building he stood outside was not a residence, but a brightly lit restaurant. It matched the address in his phone: he supposed Crowley had mistyped it. Not particularly relishing the meeting anyways, Michael decided not to inquire about it. He was turning to leave when a woman outside the door hailed him. She was wearing the uniform of a waitress of the establishment.

"Are you Michael?" she asked.

"Um…yes." Michael's danger sense had skyrocketed. Maybe there was a place of business upstairs? Or through the back?

"Come in," she said. "Mr. MacLeod told us to expect you."

"He did?" He imagined that could only be Crowley. What sort of place was this?

Michael must have looked dazed, because the waitress laughed. "His exact words were, 'A celestial dark-haired youth who will probably stand out here confused for a moment before trying to leave.'" She looked proud of herself for remembering all of that.

There were a million things Michael wanted to ask, but all that came out of his mouth was: "Celestial?"

She laughed again. "His words. Now come on, my break's ending." She turned to lead him inside and brought him to a booth in the back corner. Sure enough, Crowley was sitting on one side. He had been looking out the window, but turned to look at them as they approached.

"Thank you, dear," he said to the waitress, then grinned at Michael and added in a much warmer tone: "Have a seat, love."

The waitress smiled and bounced off to the kitchen as Michael slid in opposite Crowley. He looked around warily, as if something was going to spring out at him. He had no idea what the older man had planned, but he wanted to stop him before he got too far. "What is this?"

"Looks like a restaurant to me," Crowley remarked.

"Crowley."

The other man's grin dropped and he looked almost grave. "It's just dinner, Michael."

Michael's confusion outweighed his relief. "Just dinner?" he had to ask.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Crowley did not seem to want to answer that, and was spared doing so by a waiter coming by to ask what they wanted to drink. "Sorry I was so cryptic about it," he said afterwards.

"Why did you think that was necessary?" Michael was not fully at ease yet, and he was determined to get some answers.

"You might not have come otherwise," Crowley said almost contritely, which was something Michael had never thought he would hear. "I know you don't like it when people give you things."

Michael wondered briefly when Crowley had started to know him well, but he had no words to express that. "I almost did not," he admitted.

"I know."

The silence stretched, Crowley looking down at his hands and Michael's gaze wandering to the window. A falling star streaked across the sky and he gasped like a child. "Did you see that?"

"What?"

Michael shook his head, feeling stupid. "Nothing. Just a meteor." The stars had always fascinated Michael, especially shooting stars. When they were younger, Lucifer used to call him a 'space freak.' Apparently the term made sense to his brother.

"No, I missed it," said Crowley, actually sounding apologetic. "Sorry."

"It was not important anyways," said Michael glumly.

"You seemed to think it was," Crowley retorted, but there was no vehemence in his voice.

Michael shrugged and a silence fell once more. After their drinks had been served and they had ordered, he spoke. "Perhaps it was. Perhaps I was hoping it was an unprecedented meteor shower. Perhaps I have always wanted to see one." Michael had never expressed that aloud to anyone, though Lucifer probably could have guessed.

Crowley smiled softly. "Oh, really?"

"Perhaps." Michael shrugged again. "As I said, unimportant."

"You're not."

Michael just looked out the window again. "So what do you do?" he changed the subject.

"For fun or for a living?" Crowley asked, and Michael was glad he had not pursued the conversation.

"Either."

"I'm a travel agent," Crowley informed him. "But I'm also collecting royalties from a botany business founded by my mother." He did not look pleased at the mention of her.

"I see." That explained the wealth. The food arrived after a few more minutes, and it was the best Michael had ever tasted; they even had dessert.

"Thank you," said Michael as they waited for the bill. He had this warm feeling inside him that he thought might have been happiness.

"Of course," said Crowley, but he seemed distracted. "Michael—" he began, then immediately looking like he wished he hadn't.

"Yes?"

"Will we…see each other again?" Crowley appeared nervous, fidgeting with the tablecloth, though he was trying to maintain eye contact. It was odd to see on someone usually so confident, and the bad feeling came back to Michael again.

He considered. "Yes, I believe so," he answered cautiously. "We are friends, after all." He was uncertain of this fact, but he would have had no idea how else to define their relationship. He glanced up at Crowley, who swiftly hid his disappointment. "Unless you have something else in mind?" he challenged sharply, automatically on the defensive.

"I was…hoping for something more personal." Crowley smiled at him sadly. "But we can be whatever you want."

Michael nodded, but a flash of anger burst inside him. "I am not going to be your personal whore," he spat impulsively.

Crowley winced. "I was thinking you might be my boyfriend, actually."

Michael deadpanned, his stomach hitching. "What."

Crowley shook his head and accepted the bill from the waiter. "Never mind." He stood after tucking some cash inside. "You want a ride home?"

"No, wait." Michael stood between Crowley and the way out, stopping the older man in his tracks. His head was spinning, but he knew he did not want the conversation to end. "What did you—? Do you…" He frowned, not even sure what he was trying to ask.

"I meant it," Crowley confirmed. "But I suppose I might be a little overambitious." His tone was one of defeated bitterness and he turned sideways to get past Michael, obviously trying to conceal the fact that he was hurt. Michael stared after him, mouth agape and heart racing. Only when the door shut behind him did Michael come back to himself with a start. He walked out to the parking lot, hoping he was not too late.

He spied Crowley by a black Lamborghini and called out his name, speeding up his pace. Crowley turned, a resigned look on his face.

"Why?" asked Michael as he approached. "Why would you want to date me?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Because I like you, idiot."

"You took me by surprise," Michael tried to explain. He sounded lame to his own ears, but it had not been an unpleasant surprise.

"Clearly."

Michael looked at his feet. He had probably missed his chance—the best chance he had ever had—and now felt both stupid and guilty.

"Do you want a ride home?" Crowley repeated his earlier question, this time in softer tones.

"Maybe…" said Michael, taking the tiniest step closer, "you could give me a ride to your house?"

Crowley regarded him dubiously, and Michael realized how he must have sounded.

"I like you too," he said softly, stepping forward the extra few inches to wrap his arms around Crowley's neck and kiss him softly. The other man seemed stunned at first, but before long his arms settled around Michael's waist, his lips yielding to the pressure of the kiss.

"Michael," Crowley said quietly, pulling away. The word was inflected with deep meaning, and Crowley looked at Michael as if he was afraid of breaking him.

Michael rested a finger lightly against Crowley's lips so he could speak. "It's different because I like you."

"It's no different unless it means something to you," Crowley argued quietly.

"It does," Michael assured him. He kissed him again, but did not linger this time. He slid out of Crowley's arms and walked around to sit in the passenger seat, nodding when the other got in beside him. He told him his address, and then added: "It's up to you where you take me."

"Michael—" Crowley tried to begin again.

"We can just talk," Michael interrupted, "if you want." He was determined not to lose the other man after the way he had reacted.

Crowley, apparently given up on trying to speak, started the car and pulled onto the road. He was silent until they reached his house, where he turned off the car but remained inside, trying to fathom what to say.

Michael took the initiative, getting out and walking to the house. He knew Crowley would follow him, and he turned to look at him once they were inside.

"You shouldn't feel like you have to—"

"This is no obligation on either of us—"

They spoke at the same time, and they stopped speaking at the same time. Michael took Crowley by the hand and led him down the hall, closing the bedroom door softly behind them. He led him over to the bed and sat down, drawing the other down with him and then leaning over to kiss him once more.

"So much for just talking," Crowley murmured against Michael's lips.

The younger man pulled away. "We can if you want," he said, "but I like kissing you." He paused, noting that Crowley seemed less apprehensive. "I like feeling your arms around me. I like lying beside you, and I like feeling you inside me. And…" He trailed off, suddenly nervous, before whispering: "And I've never made love."

Crowley smiled softly, his hand coming up to rest against Michael's cheek before drawing him over to kiss. This time, their lips fit together perfectly, and Michael's eyes fluttered closed dreamily. Crowley's other hand came down to rest on Michael's hip, and it was the kind of touch that prompted both warmth and shivers. His lips were softer than Michael remembered, yet there was an energy coming off of him that had not been present before—a warm, steadily growing buzz. Michael's palms rested lightly against his chest, and he could feel Crowley's heart racing.

The kiss deepened a little as Crowley drew Michael closer; the younger man tilted his head more and felt the gentle brush of eyelashes along the top of his cheekbone. He did not resist as Crowley laid him down, leaning on one elbow to hover over him gently. Their lips parted mere millimetres, and Michael's eyes fluttered open with a silent gasp to see the other looking down at him tenderly. He gave a slight smile, distracted by the way the dim light accented the gold in Crowley's green eyes. "You are beautiful," he murmured, only now realizing it himself.

Three things passed through Crowley's eyes at once—shock, joy, and affection—before he was kissing Michael again, his fingertips running lazily up and down the other's sides. His every touch tingled just long enough to be on the brink of fading before his fingertips renewed it. Michael's air left him with the tension that seeped out of his body and he reached up to pass his hands along Crowley's shoulders, under the suit jacket.

A single, low humming note left the back of Crowley's throat as he sat up to shrug the jacket odd, tossing it to the ground with his socks. Michael gently caught hold of his tie and pulled him back down, the other hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. He felt Crowley's hand run down the centre of his chest before it slipped up under the hem of his shirt. He raised his arms and smiled shyly when the kiss was broken to remove the garment. As the other's hands ran back down his torso, they passed over every hard-lined muscle: Michael got the impression that Crowley was not just touching him, but feeling him, learning the shape of his body.

Michael locked eyes with Crowley, undoing his tie. As he slipped it off over the back of his neck, Crowley dipped his head to plant a feather-light kiss at the corner of his mouth. The gesture brought another smile to Michael's lips, his hands continuing to move steadily to undo the other's shirt. Warmly cupping his sides of Crowley's neck, Michael brought him down bare-chested to press against him. He continued the same motion fluidly to kiss the other man again, nipping at his bottom lip.

Crowley's mouth opened under Michael's gentle urging, and when their tongues collided Michael was once again reminded of the heady sweetness that was so unique to Crowley. He became so lost in the kiss that he was forced to pull away breathlessly, panting lightly near the hollow of the other's shoulder. He turned to kiss sweetly just beneath Crowley's jaw and down, leaving a train in barely perceptible intervals.

He felt Crowley sag against him. "Michael…" he exhaled shakily, and the addressed nearly fell apart. Never before had Michael heard his name spoken like that, so raw and vulnerable. He pulled away from his activities to look up at the other man once more.

Crowley's skin was flushed, the lamplight making him glow with a golden sheen. He leaned down to run a line of kisses down Michael's neck, from just under the ear to the smooth curve of his shoulder. Michael's fingertips skipped down Crowley's back and came around his hips, resting on the cool metal of his belt buckle. The leather slithered through his fingers as he undid it and he started to work his own as Crowley gripped the sides of his ribs warmly. His hands glided down Michael's body, pausing only momentarily to undo his jeans before sliding them down. His nails sent tingles up Michael's inner thighs as his fingers alighted on his waist once more; the younger man kicked his socks and jeans off the rest of the way.

The electrifying pressure of skin on skin was relieved for a moment as Crowley sat up to get his trousers off. When he settled back down, his legs were between Michael's.

With Crowley's weight nestled comfortably on top of him, Michael revived the kiss once more. He could clearly feel the hard warmth of the other's groin against his own, the two layers of cotton a meagre barrier. The sensation opened up a bubble of warmth within Michael's chest, swelling with joy and gentleness and tender affection until it seemed likely to burst from him and engulf them both.

"Crowley~" Michael sighed, his hands dancing restless from the other's back to his shoulders to his arms. They eventually came to rest on his hips, inching the waistband of his pants down. Crowley did the deed for him, baring himself as his lips sought out Michael's again. He slipped Michael's briefs down slowly, gracing the muscles of his legs with the same attention he had given his torso.

Despite his nudity, Michael was warm all over. His tongue glided over Crowley's lower lip as he brought his legs up to wrap around the other's waist.

One of Crowley's hands was tracing flowing patterns on the back of Michael's thigh; he brought it around to hover around Michael's entrance, but the younger man shook his head.

"Just…love me…" His words barely stirred the air. The hand was removed, coming to rest on the centre of his chest, just over his heart. Crowley entered him slowly, giving him time to adjust. Michael's legs tightened around his waist as a shuddering moan left him.

"I've got you, love," Crowley murmured, pressing a comforting kiss to the side of Michael's neck. His left hand gripped Michael's hip only a little harder, to keep him in place as he started to thrust. The friction was at first unpleasant, but Crowley's gentle touches and steady pace eased Michael into the feeling. He reached up to wrap his arms around the other, holding him so close he could have drawn them into one person.

Crowley's hand left Michael's chest to cup the back of his head, tenderly supporting him. Michael buried his face in Crowley's shoulder, the spice of cologne barely present beneath the man's personal scent clouding his senses. He grabbed the back of Crowley's neck with one hand the fingers of the other splayed wise across his back.

Michael was breathing heavily, letting the ends of his exhales break off as his every nerve came alive. Crowley's lips brushed his shoulder, and his left hand trailed over to take Michael in hand, pacing his strokes to his thrusts. Michael turned his head to try to kiss him again, but they were both too breathless to stay liplocked long.

"Michael…" Crowley hummed, causing the younger man to clench momentarily as the intimate tone washed over him. He embraced Crowley tighter and angled his hips up, allowing the other to change his angle. There was a warmth spreading through Michael's core, and he knew he was close. Crowley's breath was hot against his neck: he sounded just as undone as Michael did.

Michael inhaled sharply, a hitching sound escaping his throat before turning to a moan of his lover's name. Crowley's own groan of pleasure eclipsed the last half of Michael's as the two finished together. In the waning of their climaxes, Crowley leaned up to look Michael in the eye, and Michael could see his own face reflected back at him in the man's dilated pupils. He kissed him gently as he lowered his legs back to the bed, feeling Crowley ease out of him. The older man let his head hang, his forehead resting against Michael's collarbone as he caught his breath. Unconsciously, Michael began running his fingers through Crowley's hair, his other am still draped loosely over his back.

Crowley lifted his head, rolling tiredly off of Michael. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths, and the hand that had been under Michael's head moved to wrap around his shoulders.

After a moment, Michael rolled over as well. One of his legs rested between Crowley's, and his head was pillowed in the soft hollow beneath a collarbone. His fingers ghosted idly over Crowley's other shoulder as his eyes drifted shut and opened again sluggishly.

"Crowley," he mumbled, his voice thicker than he had anticipated. He had forgotten what he wanted to say.

Crowley's only response was to gently kiss his temple. "Go to sleep," he said softly, mumbling something that sounded like, 'my angel' afterwards.

Michael yawned and nestled more comfortably into Crowley. He peered blearily at the lamp and watched as its light—tinged red though the lids of his half-closed eyes—winked out, letting him fall into a slumber that was the safest he had felt in a very long time.

End.