Crowley has no real reason to dance around it, now. He's told Aziraphale he loves him while they were making love---and dammit if that wasn't actually making love for all that the term makes Crowley cringe inside---and he certainly won't take it back now. No reason to.
He reaches up to touch Aziraphale's face. His soft cheeks, cherubic and angelic. None of the hard angles that Crowley has. No, Aziraphale is soft. Exactly the way that Crowley wants him.
"Oh, angel," he murmurs. "I love you, too."
What is he going to do if they decide to take him down to Hell? He certainly can't give up Aziraphale now, not that he was exactly willing before.
He reaches up to touch Aziraphale's face. His soft cheeks, cherubic and angelic. None of the hard angles that Crowley has. No, Aziraphale is soft. Exactly the way that Crowley wants him.
"Oh, angel," he murmurs. "I love you, too."
What is he going to do if they decide to take him down to Hell? He certainly can't give up Aziraphale now, not that he was exactly willing before.
[ He holds Aziraphale breathlessly close in his arms, unwilling to loosen his grasp or let go of the desperate need to have him there; he thinks please, please don’t leave, please don’t tell me to go, the fiercest and most earnest prayer he’s ever offered. To lose this would be beyond bearing. Aziraphale in his arms, his hand beginning to stroke over his back, gentling him, soothing his fears—the kindness and goodness of him, all the qualities that Crowley loves so fiercely about him and has done from the moment they met. Something in his chest eases just the littlest bit when Aziraphale breathes out that prayer for forgiveness. Trembling, Crowley holds onto him, swallowing when he speaks again. The rush of relief is dizzying. They may have some way to go to reach an understanding, but it isn’t a refusal.
It’s a moment or two before he trusts himself to speak. ]
That’s what the insurance is for.
[ The holy water—they’ll need it now more than ever. ]
I...I can possibly get something for your side as well.
[ Crowley’s reluctant to say it, but it’s only pragmatic. The more they’re together, the more likely it is that they’ll eventually be found out. ]
Maybe they won’t notice. And if they do we could—we could find someplace safe to go.
It’s a moment or two before he trusts himself to speak. ]
That’s what the insurance is for.
[ The holy water—they’ll need it now more than ever. ]
I...I can possibly get something for your side as well.
[ Crowley’s reluctant to say it, but it’s only pragmatic. The more they’re together, the more likely it is that they’ll eventually be found out. ]
Maybe they won’t notice. And if they do we could—we could find someplace safe to go.
You won’t have to.
[ An edge of anxiety in his voice, his hands tightening a little where he clutches Aziraphale, unwilling and afraid to let him go. Oh, please don’t let him say the wrong thing, please don’t turn Aziraphale from this now. ]
Look—I can take care of the details. Whatever happens. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I would never—
[ He won’t let harm befall Aziraphale either. Including that which he could do with his own hands; whatever happens, if harm becomes necessary, it would be better for Crowley to do it. All he has to lose is Aziraphale.
He feels the angel holding onto him just as tightly, as if to communicate that they are indeed in this together, and it eases him a little, or at least stops him from fearing that he’s stepped over a line. Crowley shifts around carefully, until he’s leaning back against a leg of the armchair and can guide Aziraphale into the curve of his arm, to rest against his shoulder if he wants. ]
I hear Alpha Centauri’s nice this time of year.
[ It’s a joke, but a weak one. Maybe not entirely a joke, either. He’d flee to the stars with Aziraphale, if they had to—he’d go anywhere Heaven or Hell wouldn’t find them, at least not for a while. Crowley sighs. ]
I...I haven’t figured it all out yet, angel. It might take me a little time, but I will.
[ An edge of anxiety in his voice, his hands tightening a little where he clutches Aziraphale, unwilling and afraid to let him go. Oh, please don’t let him say the wrong thing, please don’t turn Aziraphale from this now. ]
Look—I can take care of the details. Whatever happens. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I would never—
[ He won’t let harm befall Aziraphale either. Including that which he could do with his own hands; whatever happens, if harm becomes necessary, it would be better for Crowley to do it. All he has to lose is Aziraphale.
He feels the angel holding onto him just as tightly, as if to communicate that they are indeed in this together, and it eases him a little, or at least stops him from fearing that he’s stepped over a line. Crowley shifts around carefully, until he’s leaning back against a leg of the armchair and can guide Aziraphale into the curve of his arm, to rest against his shoulder if he wants. ]
I hear Alpha Centauri’s nice this time of year.
[ It’s a joke, but a weak one. Maybe not entirely a joke, either. He’d flee to the stars with Aziraphale, if they had to—he’d go anywhere Heaven or Hell wouldn’t find them, at least not for a while. Crowley sighs. ]
I...I haven’t figured it all out yet, angel. It might take me a little time, but I will.
"It doesn't have to," Crowley says. There are lots of ways to keep this. They could flee----always an option. Flee together, stay in each others' arms in the stars, never look back. Crowley doesn't need anyone else, and he certainly doesn't need to put Aziraphale in danger. That thought of running away comes back, and it comes back fiercely.
But then there is what Aziraphale needs. He needs his hope. What is an angel who can't help people?
"Protectors of the word, remember?" he adds, giving the angel a smile. "We'll make it right. Besides, I'm fairly certain they can't smell which of us is which now."
But then there is what Aziraphale needs. He needs his hope. What is an angel who can't help people?
"Protectors of the word, remember?" he adds, giving the angel a smile. "We'll make it right. Besides, I'm fairly certain they can't smell which of us is which now."
[ Perhaps it's best, he thinks, that they don't go into what Crowley would do for Aziraphale, if he had to kill angels or demons, if he had to abandon this world or see the stars he hung in the sky burned to ash. He doesn't say any of it, only watches Aziraphale with a devotion that he's no longer capable of hiding, and when he comes near enough to kiss him Crowley thinks this might nearly shatter him with relief and wanting. There's a sweetness in it, reminiscent of the first night they came together, love confessed and returned--no more doubting, no more caution. He gives himself headlong to it, as he did that night.
And perhaps Aziraphale's imaginings cast a glow around them, for he feels--nothing so concrete as the hope of a future in which they spend their days wandering together and their nights in the lovely cottage in Aziraphale's mind's eye, but a sense of warmth and comfort and familiarity, a feeling of being at home and at peace. It's the exact opposite of what Crowley was contemplating a moment ago, but he lets it sink into him, embracing it wholeheartedly--so much better than envisioning the agents of Heaven and Hell against them, or desperate efforts for survival. He holds Aziraphale as desperately as he did all those years ago, eager to drink in and give as much love as he can, a being of raw longing and joy.
Crowley looks back at Aziraphale with his unguarded eyes, unable to speak for a moment, though he nods in answer. They have one another. The details can wait to be sorted out--surely they can wait one night, at least. Or maybe a week. ]
Aziraphale.
[ The angel's name comes out as a sigh. Crowley brings his hand to his mouth and kisses his palm devoutly. ]
I've missed you. I've missed--everything about you.
And perhaps Aziraphale's imaginings cast a glow around them, for he feels--nothing so concrete as the hope of a future in which they spend their days wandering together and their nights in the lovely cottage in Aziraphale's mind's eye, but a sense of warmth and comfort and familiarity, a feeling of being at home and at peace. It's the exact opposite of what Crowley was contemplating a moment ago, but he lets it sink into him, embracing it wholeheartedly--so much better than envisioning the agents of Heaven and Hell against them, or desperate efforts for survival. He holds Aziraphale as desperately as he did all those years ago, eager to drink in and give as much love as he can, a being of raw longing and joy.
Crowley looks back at Aziraphale with his unguarded eyes, unable to speak for a moment, though he nods in answer. They have one another. The details can wait to be sorted out--surely they can wait one night, at least. Or maybe a week. ]
Aziraphale.
[ The angel's name comes out as a sigh. Crowley brings his hand to his mouth and kisses his palm devoutly. ]
I've missed you. I've missed--everything about you.
"Do you think that would work?" Crowley asks, relaxing his head, resting it against the angel's shoulder. "Do you think She'd listen? We basically royally ruined Her Plan."
Crowley thinks of all the times he tried to talk to Her all alone. Speaking up to the Heavens on his own, asking for guidance or answers or even just some sort of forgiveness. Nothing. She never gave him the time of day. But then again, he's one of the Fallen-with-a-capital-F. Maybe Aziraphale will get better reception.
"Isn't there a lot of red tape to go through to get to God Herself?"
Crowley thinks of all the times he tried to talk to Her all alone. Speaking up to the Heavens on his own, asking for guidance or answers or even just some sort of forgiveness. Nothing. She never gave him the time of day. But then again, he's one of the Fallen-with-a-capital-F. Maybe Aziraphale will get better reception.
"Isn't there a lot of red tape to go through to get to God Herself?"
Crowley leans back a little, looking at Aziraphale. "You really believe that? That She'll be merciful of us? Of someone you, maybe. But me?" There's no judgement in Crowley's voice. He's more charmed by the fact that Aziraphale still believes this. Crowley has tried to talk to Her so long he can't possibly believe She cares about him at all. He thinks the only being in the whole universe who does is holding him right now, and that's enough for him.
But if Aziraphale thinks it's worth it...
"Isn't the Metatron just another angel?" Crowley asks. "Speaking for God?"
But if Aziraphale thinks it's worth it...
"Isn't the Metatron just another angel?" Crowley asks. "Speaking for God?"
[ How can it be possible, he wonders, to have spent days and nights away from Aziraphale after Crowley had known the light of his love, the shivering joy of feeling all of that love centered on him? He, too, has wandered the world seeing Aziraphale everywhere he went, turning at an imagined rustle of feathers to look for him. Throwing himself into long sleeps and waking longing for the taste of his kisses, the sensation of his fine hands on his skin, that he felt in his dreams. It felt like a madness, an illness, or perhaps the best thing that ever happened to him, to have his soul so awakened, and even now, even sitting before Aziraphale on the floor of his bookshop, Crowley feels as though he misses him. Aches for him, every touch between them a balm for pain and an echo of his desire for more, more.
He presses his face down briefly to Aziraphale's hands. The sadness in his voice is something that he never wants to be the cause of. His kisses to the angel's fingers offer absolution, in whatever form a demon could possibly give; they offer his love, his devotion in its entirety. Looking up again, Crowley feels his breath halt, because Aziraphale is so lovely, so wanted. ]
Come here, angel?
[ Please come to him, please kiss him again, take him into his arms. He needs to feel Aziraphale over him, his bare skin, his beautiful wings, the intimacy he longs for and can't bear to be without since he first tasted it. ]
He presses his face down briefly to Aziraphale's hands. The sadness in his voice is something that he never wants to be the cause of. His kisses to the angel's fingers offer absolution, in whatever form a demon could possibly give; they offer his love, his devotion in its entirety. Looking up again, Crowley feels his breath halt, because Aziraphale is so lovely, so wanted. ]
Come here, angel?
[ Please come to him, please kiss him again, take him into his arms. He needs to feel Aziraphale over him, his bare skin, his beautiful wings, the intimacy he longs for and can't bear to be without since he first tasted it. ]
[ Even as Aziraphale comes close, dropping to his knees on the rugs with him, Crowley reaches out as if to a necessary, vital part of his being. With an urge to wrap himself fully around him he drags Aziraphale into his arms, fingers clutching tightly in his clothes when the angel presses up into him and kisses him again, every part of him reaching out for the love in Aziraphale's touch. ] Stop that. [ he mutters between kisses, meaning the apology, he doesn't need apologies, he just needs Aziraphale, the boundless warmth and acceptance in him. ] Just stay, angel, just...
[ He could drown like this; it would be lovely to, losing himself in the light in Aziraphale and the feeling within himself that when he is with him, he's worthy of it, somehow made more in his angel's eyes.
Crowley looks at him questioningly when he says he doesn't want him to change. ]
I can't. You know I can't.
[ There's no going back for a demon. And, he thinks, nothing forward either--Hell is no place for creatures to evolve, only to stay mired in their meanness or despair. But humans change all the time, they reshape themselves, their world, over and over again...if either of them has changed over the last six thousand years, Crowley or Aziraphale, it's because they've been here, on earth. And because they've been with one another. ]
I do feel different, with you. But--still me. Like you see me, only me. [ Crowley looks at him, trying to explain. ] That's--no one's ever done that, Aziraphale, except you.
[ He could drown like this; it would be lovely to, losing himself in the light in Aziraphale and the feeling within himself that when he is with him, he's worthy of it, somehow made more in his angel's eyes.
Crowley looks at him questioningly when he says he doesn't want him to change. ]
I can't. You know I can't.
[ There's no going back for a demon. And, he thinks, nothing forward either--Hell is no place for creatures to evolve, only to stay mired in their meanness or despair. But humans change all the time, they reshape themselves, their world, over and over again...if either of them has changed over the last six thousand years, Crowley or Aziraphale, it's because they've been here, on earth. And because they've been with one another. ]
I do feel different, with you. But--still me. Like you see me, only me. [ Crowley looks at him, trying to explain. ] That's--no one's ever done that, Aziraphale, except you.
[ The truth of it is, he's only ever wanted to be looked at that way in Aziraphale's eyes. It's one of those things about him that Crowley loves, along with all the other habits and quirks that make him so fond: the way Aziraphale looks at him as though he is so worthy of love, no matter that he's fallen, no matter what he's done. The changing facade he wears (including the latest one, with this very cool, not at all regretted hair style, thank you) doesn't matter when they're together: it's only ever been what's on the surface. Aziraphale knows him, sees through him. It's not always comfortable, but he couldn't really bear it any other way. ]
You're ridiculous, angel.
[ He tries to scoff, but it comes out like Crowley absolutely adores him. There's no hiding it anymore, especially not with Aziraphale gazing at him like that, with so much pride and affection that it brings a twist of pleasure into his stomach, and Aziraphale's eyes on his mouth are making him ache to be kissed again, making him ache other places, too--
Crowley kisses him back hungrily, drags at Aziraphale when he clambers determinedly into his lap, and lets himself be toppled backwards, sinking all the way to the floor and pulling the angel over him. It makes his breath catch, his hips arch up instinctively. ]
What about you--
[ He seeks Aziraphale's mouth again, in between the words. ]
--I see how the humans look at you. Like you're delicious.
You're ridiculous, angel.
[ He tries to scoff, but it comes out like Crowley absolutely adores him. There's no hiding it anymore, especially not with Aziraphale gazing at him like that, with so much pride and affection that it brings a twist of pleasure into his stomach, and Aziraphale's eyes on his mouth are making him ache to be kissed again, making him ache other places, too--
Crowley kisses him back hungrily, drags at Aziraphale when he clambers determinedly into his lap, and lets himself be toppled backwards, sinking all the way to the floor and pulling the angel over him. It makes his breath catch, his hips arch up instinctively. ]
What about you--
[ He seeks Aziraphale's mouth again, in between the words. ]
--I see how the humans look at you. Like you're delicious.
"What to do if God's response is less than kind?" Crowley muses. Aziraphale is right, of course. There's no point in not trying. In making the appeal to the judge, in trying for some sort of forgiveness, or asking for some part of Her plan.
Aziraphale's touch is comforting. If judgement does come to them, then at least they have each other. At least they've had this, this night together. At least they saved the world. Or, at least, the humans saved the world, with them helping. Crowley's imagination and Aziraphale's leadership. Who knew they could do it?
Aziraphale's touch is comforting. If judgement does come to them, then at least they have each other. At least they've had this, this night together. At least they saved the world. Or, at least, the humans saved the world, with them helping. Crowley's imagination and Aziraphale's leadership. Who knew they could do it?
Crowley doesn't want to imagine a God who isn't more forgiving. It's why he's asked for all sorts of guidance, even 6000 years after falling. Even after all of the silence. Even after turning his back on Heaven. He doesn't think She's like that, not really. And, most importantly, Aziraphale doesn't think she's like that.
And the angel needs his faith.
"We've still got the chance that she's better than, well, I think," he says. "More like how you think."
And the angel needs his faith.
"We've still got the chance that she's better than, well, I think," he says. "More like how you think."
[ Crowley's head arches back as Aziraphale's mouth comes to his jaw, his throat. He's in agreement--they're both wearing far too many clothes, and his trousers especially are beginning to feel rather too tight, but rather than do something about it his hands come up to Aziraphale--one caressing with rough affection along his collar, his throat for a moment--and tug that tartan necktie undone, letting it slip away as he undoes his waistcoat and begins on the buttons of his shirt. It would be easier, certainly, to miracle the whole lot away, but there's something about taking the time to undress Aziraphale that Crowley finds charming. All those buttons. ]
I mean I've taken notice, that's all. Seen them look at you--
[ Perhaps there's some bias, perhaps Crowley sees so much to adore in Aziraphale that he can't imagine anyone else wouldn't, certainly not hapless humans, anyway, but there's been at least interest if not untoward lust. Not that Crowley is jealous. Not enough to make a fuss about it. It's--well, Aziraphale can do what he likes, and it's not as if Crowley hasn't had his dalliances over the years either. It doesn't really surprise him to hear that Aziraphale had some that he loved, either. Aziraphale is...he is made to love.
Crowley looks at him, surprised by the reassurance, his fingers lingering to stroke Aziraphale's hip for a moment. ]
I know that.
[ Spoken softly, it's a reassurance of his own: not since they confessed to one another years ago has Crowley doubted how much Aziraphale loves him, how there is no one else he has ever loved as much as him. ]
I mean I've taken notice, that's all. Seen them look at you--
[ Perhaps there's some bias, perhaps Crowley sees so much to adore in Aziraphale that he can't imagine anyone else wouldn't, certainly not hapless humans, anyway, but there's been at least interest if not untoward lust. Not that Crowley is jealous. Not enough to make a fuss about it. It's--well, Aziraphale can do what he likes, and it's not as if Crowley hasn't had his dalliances over the years either. It doesn't really surprise him to hear that Aziraphale had some that he loved, either. Aziraphale is...he is made to love.
Crowley looks at him, surprised by the reassurance, his fingers lingering to stroke Aziraphale's hip for a moment. ]
I know that.
[ Spoken softly, it's a reassurance of his own: not since they confessed to one another years ago has Crowley doubted how much Aziraphale loves him, how there is no one else he has ever loved as much as him. ]
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