"What?" he mutters, halfway lost into the sensation of Crowley being inside of him, eyes glazed over in lust and moans tumbling out of his mouth like snowfall.

But he gathers up what he has in his shaking hands, cups Crowley's face, and shares with him a little angelic warmth, like being wrapped up in a blanket on a cold day, holding a mug of coffee in your hands on a brisk morning, coming home from a long journey to your own bed.

He illuminates just this part of the bed, giving them a glimmer of daylight in an otherwise dark room, to better look at him.