Jensen is a warrior, Jared a wish-granter. Those are their posts and they're well suited to them, Jensen's focus and Jared's goodwill their respective traits, two opposite poles of angelic intent. They shouldn't even spend time together, much less enjoy that time. It's antithetical to heavenly order.

But Jared has learned a bit of mischief, from a wayward archangel or a sympathetic devil, and he's taught Jensen to appreciate those moments when the mighty fall, when the disciplined slip into sin. Appreciate and embrace, as they do on a grassy hillside somewhere on the fringes of the fields where seraphim train their arms to throw spears of fire and their wings to beat back demonic invasions. There, a scant few yards from war, Jensen and Jared indulge in that most and least angelic of all emotions, love.

Jensen's armor is stripped away, his chest bare, and Jared kisses down it, enthusiastic, smiling to feel a groan rumble forth from Jensen's lungs into the air above him. His thumbs linger on Jensen's hipbones, drawing circles into them, and the tips of his wings fold upward to slide along Jensen's thighs.

Jared slides up, catches Jensen's mouth with his, and they both smile into the kiss. Jensen curls his wings forward to hold Jared in their soft cocoon. Soft wings, soft lips, soft green grass - even with war and a potential apocalypse on the horizon, they have heaven contained right here.