"Mmm-hmm," came the drowsy response. John was extremely comfortable and sorely tempted to let himself doze off as well, but he'd managed to keep his eyes open--well, halfway, anyway--and was actually a bit relieved to see that Crowley had dropped the disturbingly "normal" gray facade. Apart from the predictable strangeness of seeing the wrong eyes in a familiar face, they made the demon seem so thoroughly, unremarkably human that John knew he could very quickly lose what little awareness he still had of Crowley's alien nature. (Besides which, he remembered from the big Halloween party that having one's eyes fucked with that way (http://community.livejournal.com/madprophets/47153.html) got uncomfortable after a while.)

"Ask me again inna minute, when I stop carefully not realizing what we just didn't do," he whispered back. Like telling Kit exactly who they'd just taken to bed. That was going to come back and bite him in the arse, no question about it. It didn't make a lick of difference to him anymore, but he feared she was liable to see things very differently. Part of him had recognized that right along and chosen to ignore it. He decided that he wouldn't have acted differently even if he'd had more time to think it through--some experiences and outcomes were worth taking serious risks--but there was no sense trying to gloss over the fact that this whole encounter was going to complicate things immensely. "I ever mention I've got a real knack for painting myself into corners?"