[There's a flicker of concern on the angel's face when he spots that lingering melancholy, but it quickly melts away, replaced with soft wonder as Crowley confesses to the most domestic of fantasies. It's the kind of love that's forgotten among the confessions and grand gestures, and he finds that his heart aches over the want of it. Not only for himself, but for the chance to give it to Crowley in return.]

I can't think of anything I would like more. Every morning, if that suits you.

[He nuzzles Crowley's cheek, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. When he pulls back, there is an amused twinkle in his eyes.]

But I'd like to skip the pajamas, if that's all right. At least this first time around.