[ It had been three days since Crowley was struck with his sudden "illness", and within those three days he realized how his life had flipped an entire one-eighty.
Sleeping was no longer a requirement, he could hear things he shouldn't behind closed doors, and anything that touched his tongue was quickly rejected. Whenever he had tried to eat or drink a voice would echo in the back of his head, telling him that it wasn't right, and after three days he'd grown sluggish.
Honestly this was probably a hint that he would die soon. He finds it awfully ironic that a monk was the reason behind his life took such a drastic change; Crowley can remember vividly the usual practice of a blood blessing, of how natural it felt, before the coppery taste dripped on his tongue and trickled down his throat.
Now that he thinks about it, perhaps he died then. His heart hasn't been beating since.
His family, confused on what to do, had left Crowley bedridden until they could come up with a solution. Contact with others was cut off but he's never been a man to follow rules to the 't', so he manages to convince a giggly servant to aid him into helping his good ol' buddy Rhys into his room. Honestly it's only because of his family being allies with the Kendry; he views their "friendship" as him being relatively content with the other man around and nothing more, but in this situation he believes that he may be useful. For once.
So when the servant escorts Rhys inside--and Gods does she smell good--Crowley's room he greets the other with his usual, pleasant grin... in bed. ]
Finally~ I thought you died trying to get here for how long you took.
the sexbites these two never talk about
Sleeping was no longer a requirement, he could hear things he shouldn't behind closed doors, and anything that touched his tongue was quickly rejected. Whenever he had tried to eat or drink a voice would echo in the back of his head, telling him that it wasn't right, and after three days he'd grown sluggish.
Honestly this was probably a hint that he would die soon. He finds it awfully ironic that a monk was the reason behind his life took such a drastic change; Crowley can remember vividly the usual practice of a blood blessing, of how natural it felt, before the coppery taste dripped on his tongue and trickled down his throat.
Now that he thinks about it, perhaps he died then. His heart hasn't been beating since.
His family, confused on what to do, had left Crowley bedridden until they could come up with a solution. Contact with others was cut off but he's never been a man to follow rules to the 't', so he manages to convince a giggly servant to aid him into helping his good ol' buddy Rhys into his room. Honestly it's only because of his family being allies with the Kendry; he views their "friendship" as him being relatively content with the other man around and nothing more, but in this situation he believes that he may be useful. For once.
So when the servant escorts Rhys inside--and Gods does she smell good--Crowley's room he greets the other with his usual, pleasant grin... in bed. ]
Finally~ I thought you died trying to get here for how long you took.