lunchbreaks | rp with me!

[ Ethereal, yes, that's the word for him, looking not quite real as he sits silvery and luminous astride Crowley's hips with the night surrounding them. Crowley's certain he's never seen anything as lovely, but Aziraphale isn't just lovely, he's a sight to make Crowley ache in ways nearly unbearable, his entire body attuned to him, as though this form was made for his touch and embrace, made to worship him. He opens him carefully, trembling beneath him as his fingers work deeper, with Aziraphale so marvelously hot and tight that it makes his cock ache, and that moan so lurid Crowley can't speak, can't answer, can only watch him through hazy darkened eyes that communicate how close to coming undone he is. And he hasn't even gotten his cock inside him.

Aziraphale moves into the press of his fingers and Crowley mutters curses and pleas as he feels his hand circle around his cock--his hips jerk up helplessly, the rough strokes just perfect, exactly what he needs to sustain him, to make him breathless with need. ]

Aziraphale, yes, touch me, touch me--

[ He's insensible, barely knowing what words he seeks, but chasing more and more: another finger pushing into Aziraphale's arse, getting him good and open for him, his hips inscribing tight motions that push his cock into the strokes of Aziraphale's hand. He makes his fingers more slippery as an afterthought, pushing deep into the angel. ]

[ Aziraphale feels sweat drip down his brow and his back as he lifts and slowly lowers himself on Crowley's fingers, and he can both barely take another one while simultaneously craving it, craving more of him. His body shudders with the thought as his hands work on Crowley's cock, thick and long and waiting so very patiently for its turn. His hips have managed to take over for his brain, which is just as well since he can hardly string a single thought together at the moment besides how good it feels to have Crowley burying his fingers inside of him, to have his hips rocking against him as a wave to a canoe, the soft ache of every little movement feeling momentous and leaving his nerves frazzled and wanting. ]

I need you.

[ He can barely breathe out the words, biting back his groans as he seemingly sinks lower and lower on Crowley's fingers, and he is so ready for what comes next. He can't wait for it any longer, feeling like he might just die of desire in this moment. Can Crowley see as his heart beats rapidly against his chest like a bird trapped in a cage, his breath puffing out little "oh"s with each arc of his hips?

Aziraphale could survive in outer space and could easily and truthfully say that he needs this more than he needs to breathe, that his want, unchecked, will rapidly consume the both of them.

He waits for Crowley to withdraw his fingers and instinctively misses him so, feeling suddenly empty. But he shuffles himself backwards and lines their hips up, guides Crowley towards him and just lets gravity do all the work. His eyes widen at the sensation, feeling bigger and more solid inside of him than it had in his hands. Aziraphale braces himself on Crowley's chest once he's sunk all the way down, and finds that he has to catch his breath from having fiercely held it in. ]

[ The words are a jolt to Crowley's chest, a sensation that makes him breathless. All that he's longed for and wanted is here in his hands, and he's so desperately in love that he thinks he won't survive this, it'll be too much pleasure and fulfillment, more than one poor demon is meant to contain; but damned if he'll stop now, even if it should burn him all up. His fingers slide out of Aziraphale and he instinctively takes hold of his hips with both hands, helping to steady him as he moves over him--grasp tightening when Aziraphale guides his cock to him, eyes wide and fixed on the beautiful sight the angel makes above him. His whole body tenses as he feels Aziraphale sink down, gaze falling to helplessly watch his cock disappear into his arse, into tight slick heat that brings an almost unbearable pleasure. ]

Fuck...oh...oh fuck, angel--

[ He hardly knows what words he's speaking. Control wants to slip away from him like sand through his fingers and he clutches tightly, desperate to keep this from happening too fast, from hurting Aziraphale or losing himself and coming too quickly. It's an incredible feeling, to be inside Aziraphale, joined in this way, a blessing and a torment that has Crowley writhing beneath him, hips urging up in helpless little motions that he can't seem to stop, and he'd linger like this forever if he were capable. ]

[ Aziraphale doesn't want to, but pauses in this moment as his body adjusts, Crowley's hips raring at the bit make Aziraphale feel a great swell of affection for him letting him know that he is also not terribly in control of his own form. It makes him smile, look Crowley in the eye and cup his cheek and just take him in for a long moment, eyes wandering but finding home in a yellow that refuses to be dimmed even in the night and even under swathes of blue. Oh, if only it were so that he could capture this moment and keep it forever.

Once his breathing has calmed and his body feels less tense, he starts to move. It's shallow at first, and slow as Aziraphale needs to work himself up to a faster pace and a deeper draw. But even as he makes the attempt to do so, a tongue draws across his teeth and he grunts with the effort of it, of trying to maintain any sort of rhythm or composure when he swears that his soul could flare out of his body at any given moment.

Instead, he unfurls great white wings from his back, feathers fine and downy, the freeing of which allow him to focus more on the task at hand. Aziraphale grinds his hips down and feels little light patterns start up across his vision. He moves in earnest and greedily tries to take all the pleasure that Crowley has to offer, each slide and push of his hips just urging him on and like a man chased he does so with fury and fervor. ]

[ Aziraphale's gaze sweeps over him, the blue eyes alight with what seems to Crowley like possessiveness and pleasure as one, as though Crowley is--Crowley is his very own, belonging only to him. Perhaps he is, now that they've chosen one another. He knows he would live only for his angel, forsaking all other allegiances, and his breath catches as their eyes meet and Aziraphale cups a hand to his cheek, looks at him with so much love that it could scorch him down to his soul. What more could he possibly want than this? Aziraphale's gaze on him as he begins, slowly and shallowly at first, to fuck himself on his cock, taking the helpless motions of Crowley's hips and letting them push him deeper--not too deep, at first, but more than enough to leave Crowley trembling with pleasure, impassioned, nearly delirious with how good it all is. He's never imagined--well, that's not true, he's imagined this or something like it many, many times, but even his clever mind could never conjure up such elation, such sensation as came anywhere close to the reality.

White wings erupt from Aziraphale's back, and for a moment Crowley sees glory in him, a vast kind of beauty. He is alight with pleasure and wanting and need, hands still gripping Aziraphale's hips tightly but not stopping the greedy motion of them as he sinks down on Crowley's cock, taking more and more of him, enveloping him. ]

Angel.

[ His head tips back, his eyes close briefly, then open again, looking at Aziraphale with a vast hunger, a desperation to take him in. Those wings, those soft white feathers, they are so beautiful--huge and protective, a shield against Heaven above, and with a shudder Crowley thrusts up his hips and begins to fuck into Aziraphale in earnest. There is no one watching, he's sure, no one who would care enough to turn their gaze and see how an angel is despoiled in the loveliest way. ]

[ Aziraphale is hungry for it like a man starved, his hips rolling against Crowley's and meeting them just so. And Crowley, who arcs his hips up to meet him, drives into Aziraphale so sharply he hisses into the night air. The only noise that rises above the ones he's making are the ones of skin against skin, lascivious and delightful. ]

Darling--

[ Comes his response, the syllables catching somewhere between his tongue and his teeth, as he takes a moment to shift his leg and to lean forward over Crowley, seeking just a little more balance. And oh, when he does that, the angle shifts and the feeling makes him breathless. He slides a hand into Crowley's for purchase, grips it so tightly as his hips shutter down like they were in a storm, crashing together and seeking that sensation again and again. Yes, he's had thoughts of this, both conscious and unconscious, none of them amounting to what he is currently experiencing. Any dream is a pale facsimile of the feeling of Crowley's cock filling him up and making his legs shake and thighs tremble.

He is not as strong as he once was, or as young, years of inactivity making him a bit of a pleasant thickness around the middle but also with the combined effort of a demon who is not but would most certainly pass for an Incubus, make him rather short of breath altogether too quickly. He ignores the limitations of his body with complete abandonment, welcoming any lasting physical pains, aches and sore feelings that might result from fulfilling this fantasy, from any others they might decide to allow once the outside world is all but cut off. ]

--Touch me.

[ He repeats it as if there was any possible way that Crowley would not have heard him, repeats it again as if his words might grow with power each time they are uttered. ]

[ Each urgent motion of his hips pushes his cock deeper, his entire body focused on the pleasure of it, the feeling of Aziraphale's hips between his hands and the heat of his arse around his cock, how he sinks down on him to take more and more and oh, he knew it would be wonderful to watch Aziraphale ride him but he couldn't possibly have known it would be this decadent. Aziraphale shifts above him, bracing himself forward against him and finding a new angle at which to fuck himself on his cock, and Crowley watches the shock of pleasure cross his face, watches how his thighs tremble and he seems barely able to breathe, his own captivated gaze taking in every part of him. Aziraphale is so lovely, such an obscene and beautiful sight, to watch an angel ride a demon, his white wings spread and shivering--Crowley groans, closing his eyes briefly as though to look at him is to be in pain, but opening them again almost at once to keep watching. He can't tear his gaze away, he can't miss a moment of this. He wants to sear it into his memory, to be revisited again and again.

His hand grips Aziraphale's tightly in return, and when that breathless order comes to touch him Crowley groans, letting go of his hip and bringing his hand to Aziraphale's cock, trusting his angel to be able to take it as he fucks up into him with abandon. Breath hisses and he arches up in sinuous motions, his palm curved over Aziraphale's cock and fingers generously tight around him, working up and down the shaft as he drinks in everything about Aziraphale greedily. His cock slides in deep with obscenely slick sounds, pumping into Aziraphale's tight arse, the pleasure of it wrenching through his body as he trembles and holds off his release, wanting to see Aziraphale reach his first--

He wants to worship him, use every part of himself to bring him pleasure, for hours if he can. ]

Come on me, angel.

[ Crowley tells him in a rough, breathless voice, yellow eyes fixed intently on him. ]

I want to see you.

[ As Crowley has him caught between slithering hips and a deft hand, he can do little but try to remain in this position, one hand now braced against Crowley's face and his entire body bowed over in his idolatry, mouth so close to Crowley's but so far, too gone to attempt at anything resembling a kiss. Sounds and shudders wrack through him vengefully, as close as he is to his release, each slick slide pushing into him a swell like a wave fighting against the inevitable. ]

Crowley, oh--

[ His little request seems to send firecrackers sparking through Aziraphale, and he comes without warning, for the first time in several hundred years shouting: ]

Fuck!

[ He gets he sensation of his whole body cresting and crashing, tension all leaving him at once through every spare inch of him as he orgasms. It feels like it lasts both too long and too short, all the love and light of him tinging just a little darker at the edges as ropes of seed streak across both their fronts and stain Crowley with his mark all the way up to his chin.

Though he feels run ragged, his senses return from where they've flared away from him, and he realizes quickly that he isn't done. His hips with renewed motivation crush wildly against Crowley's and he and bears down, constricts the muscles around him until it's almost too much for Aziraphale to handle in his marvelously addled state. ]

[ He thinks, this will ruin him, he won't be able to go without this for any length of time ever again, because he has never found anything he wants so much as Aziraphale shuddering and ecstatic above him, and so close, so beautifully close to his release--and at last Crowley watches him come, wrenched by it, everything about him so lovely and obscene, from the curse between his teeth to the way his cock spurts and stripes Crowley's stomach and chest and even his throat with seed. Oh--so hot, so beautiful, and Crowley longs to taste his seed, lick it from his fingers, but he's still driving his cock desperately into him, too close himself to stop now or ease off once Aziraphale's had his pleasure.

And his angel is with him, tightening marvelously around him and rocking hard against him, taking him deep--for an instant Crowley worries that he'll hurt himself, almost grasps his hips to slow him down, but all at once it becomes too much. Motion, the constriction around his cock, the unholy carnal delight of it all; Crowley shouts wordlessly, thrusting up, gasping for breath as his cock jerks and spills into Aziraphale. The intensity of his pleasures wrings through his body, wrenches him and leaves him spent, hips at last sinking back to the ground, his body nearly boneless against the floor. He caresses Aziraphale's thigh with weary tenderness. Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, he fights for breath, pleasure and love singing through him. ]

Angel. Aziraphale, oh...

[ Aziraphale, too, enjoys immensely watching Crowley find his release, riding him until he's all spent, until he's lying on the rug ripe and plucked. He disentangles his fingers to place a steady hand over Crowley's heartbeat, listening to it for a little bit, lips involuntarily curving seeing the look Crowley's giving him. ]

Crowley.

[ Very, very carefully, he lifts himself off of Crowley's cock, wincing a bit towards the end, but folding his wings back into nonexistence and lowering himself to the floor to drape himself over Crowley's side. He stays in this moment, quiet except for the sounds of their hearts and their breaths intermingling. His pulse is still so very loud in his ears, and so very close to the surface of his skin. And he still has the phantom feeling of being filled, a pleasant thrumming like a purr spreading from his nether regions to his extremities.

Placing an arm over Crowley's shoulders, he turns his head and kisses him there, an arm which is closest to his mouth. He looks quite smitten, almost in a juvenile way, because what is more dramatic and life-changing than young love? Despite being over six thousand years, the angel does feel a youthfulness to being like this, nestled in the arms of a lover he dreams of romantic notions like eternity with. And though he knows that they can't be seen together in public, the satisfaction in his muscles lead him to wonder if that should ever be such a bad thing. ]

That was incredible.

[ He says this freely, truthfully, but also in remembering how much Crowley relishes in his praise. He scoots up a bit, closer to Crowley's ear, voice low even though there's no one around to eavesdrop on their secret. ]

I can still feel you inside of me.

[ He nuzzles in, leaves a little kiss underneath Crowley's jaw. ]

I never want it to stop.

[ It all leaves him so overcome, so wracked with pleasure and the torment and beauty of Aziraphale above him, that he can do little more than hiss out a breath as the angel lifts himself carefully from his cock. His lids fall heavily over his yellow eyes, intent on Aziraphale's every motion, and in spite of the lassitude spreading through him Crowley reaches out to welcome his angel close, drawing him down into the crook of his arm with a hand resting possessively on his waist as Aziraphale stretches out against him. Pleasant, weary thoughts drift aimlessly through his mind; he caresses Aziraphale idly, and turns to him when he kisses him, drawing him up a little to kiss his mouth. Crowley couldn't imagine having more than this, needing any more contentment than that of Aziraphale in his arms after a good fuck, radiating love and joy at him.

Aziraphale's words stir in him, making him ache; just the praise is enough, but Crowley can't help the shudder that goes through him when the angel murmurs in his ear that he can still feel him inside him, in that soft beautiful voice. His throat works as Aziraphale nuzzles at him and kisses beneath his jaw. Who knew he could be so wicked? ]

The mouth on you, angel.

[ He breathes out the words, half teasing and half in awe. Aziraphale is--he's incredible, he's more than Crowley could ever deserve, but damned if he'll let him go. Crowley kisses him fervently, and then drawing back glances down at the pearly come striped across his chest; he trails a finger into it and brings it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a little groan of pleasure. ]

[ Generally a happy person and with having had many reasons in his life for joy, there are few instances as great and tangible as this, and any other memories that might contend happen to also involve Crowley. He melts into the kiss so deeply that he's still wondering what Crowley means to do with his finger when-- well, then he stares and blinks and feels a small coil of warmth unfurl in the pit of his stomach. He tempers it quickly but takes Crowley's hand when he's done, to kiss the back of it and then several of his knuckles.

He takes a moment to admire this hand, tracing fingers with the tips of his own, a light touch as he handles all precious and old things. How, he wonders, did they get to this point? And why had they not, sooner? Crowley's hands, the same ones that Aziraphale has known for thousands of years, were made to hold him. Knowing that now, he wonders how he could've thought to deny such a thing only an hour ago.

He doesn't give it back, instead interlocking his fingers. ]

We didn't even make it to the bed.

[ He laughs, amused at their combined singularity in thought. He has never felt so understood in the way that he does with Crowley, that any thoughts he might be having are passing through to him as well.

Well, maybe not all of them. ]

Would you like to relocate? I think you might be needing it.

[ He doesn't think it would be wise for him to miracle them clean, but he would, for once, not mind terribly much if Crowley didn't get around to it before falling asleep. ]

[ His head falls back when Aziraphale takes his hand and kisses the knuckles, Crowley watching him through intent eyes. A warmth steals into him as the angel compares their hands, toys with his fingers by drawing the tips of his along them, the kind of gentle, teasing little games that lovers play. It's charming, stirring, and it brings an unexpected sense of security, as though here while they are tangled so intimately together, there's nothing to fear and no provisions to make. They can just be with one another, as they've been perhaps been meant to be since the beginning of the world, and are only now just catching up to.

His fingers return Aziraphale's grasp. Crowley looks at him with devotion, with a wanting that will never fade; he's unaware that Aziraphale is thinking similar thoughts, but if he were he could assure him that he'll never let them be apart again if he can help it. ]

Didn't need a bed to do this.

[ He stretches out, languid, taking up a great deal of space across Aziraphale's already-cluttered floor. Perhaps there will always be a place for him now. A bed does sound nice, though--Crowley hates going to sleep anywhere less comfortable, and right now he feels as though he could sleep contentedly for a month. If Aziraphale were near him. ]

Yeah. Suppose we must do. [ With a groan he stretches expressively, working kinks out of his spine, and then gingerly sits up. ]

[ Aziraphale smiles as he watches Crowley stretch, all long lines and lean angles, elegant like written word. He traces a finger up his spine, lazily lifting his head to kiss his hip, curving around him to kiss his stomach and up his chest, and finally sits up and kisses him on the mouth, soft and sated and loving.

He does get up then, reaching out for Crowley to help him stand so they can go upstairs and get into bed. He might attempt a sleep as well, maybe not for a month, but just long enough that he can wake up next to Crowley. He'd never found the appeal in sleeping before that night that he'd fallen asleep in Aziraphale's arms, something about his dozing off had just been so soothing. But that night had passed so quickly, and this one was due to as well.

He's determined, this time, not to mess it up. He couldn't do it a second time and he doubts Crowley would allow a third - he would, Lord knows he would come crawling right back to Aziraphale, but his heart would always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that moment when the angel would decide it's too much and it's time to let go.

No, he can't do that to Crowley again. He won't. ]

What would you like to do tomorrow?

[ He asks, before he can stop himself. Now he can't take it back. ]

[ Taking the angel's hand, Crowley lets himself be hauled to his feet, wincing at the creaky little aches and pains in his long unfolding body which comes of being a millennias-old demon. A pity, not to be as young as he was in the Garden; if they had come together there, they might not have left for a thousand years. He smiles languidly at Aziraphale, looking him over with sleep-heavy eyes, finding him so appealing in all his warmth and softness. Falling asleep besides him sounds just as lovely, in truth. And he has that prospect here in front of him, after so long waiting. His fingers tangle with Aziraphale's as the angel leads him upstairs to his bed. ]

Mmmm.

[ Crowley pretends to think about the answer to his question, though really it's perfectly obvious. ]

More of this.

[ He indicates them, and ducks his head to capture Aziraphale's mouth in a long soft kiss, filled with wanting. It solidifies his happiness, that question--the implication that they will be spending tomorrow together as well as tonight, that Aziraphale won't change his mind in the morning. They'll be all right, Crowley thinks, willing it, like a prayer. No one will come looking for them, not for a good long while. When they do, they'll be ready.

Breaking away, he sinks onto the bed, looking up at the angel with a little bit of wistfulness, as much as a demon can feel, at least. ]

Will you hold me?

[ The bed seems so much more inviting with Crowley in it, now that he suddenly feels sleepy and Crowley keeps trying to make him weak in the knees, and Aziraphale finds himself tumbling in beside him. Oh, yes, it's like lying sandwiched in between cloud cover.

He reaches for Crowley underneath the blankets, stretches out to him and crawls closer when Crowley asks to be held. ]

Of course.

[ There is so much love and goodness coming out in his voice, coming out in his aura and overflowing at the edges. His arms now around Crowley, Aziraphale closes his eyes and as tired limbs often are, has never felt as strongly that this is exactly how his arms and legs were meant to fit. More of this, he murmurs as he starts to drift.

The dream starts pleasantly enough, though Aziraphale wakes up to an empty bed in it. He follows his nose to the unused kitchen where he finds Crowley, wearing one of his dressing gowns, fixing up American pancakes and charring one side completely. Aziraphale laughs and makes them both coffee to drink with them. Later, after they've decided not to continue politely eating, Crowley confesses they were supposed to be crepes, and Aziraphale can't stop laughing for ten whole minutes.

It goes like that, an entire timeline of happy moments where they're inseparable. But they grow bolder still, holding hands in public, coming together maybe a little too much. Crowley drops by with a bouquet and Aziraphale pulls him in quickly. Aziraphale drags Crowley to the opera, and he finds he quite likes it now that time has passed since he last saw one. He grows comfortable and Heaven finds them out, even having obtained a picture where he couldn't resist kissing Crowley out in the open air on what had been a lovely day. Without so much as a blink, he weaves up a story about how he thwarted Crowley's attempts to seduce the Prime Minister, and though it was at a personal sacrifice, entire countries were safe so long as Crowley was sufficiently distracted. They laugh about it later in bed and to their surprise, nothing happens.

Only in Aziraphale's imagined future, centuries later when Crowley has stopped wearing his glasses and has grown out his hair, does one day happen that demons come through the floorboards and haul Crowley out of bed. He struggles and screams at Aziraphale to run, but he stands his ground. They gain the upper hand until heaven descends upon them, and the voice of God angrily dissipates the remaining demons only to lift Aziraphale by his neck, high in the air, and he knows it's over.

He snaps awake in the dim twilight, and finds that he's back in 1967. Crowley has not gotten up to make pancakes. He breathes a sigh of relief but he's shaken, and he clings tightly to Crowley's sleeping form next to him. ]

[ Crowley wants very much to hold onto Aziraphale and be held, to fall asleep and have a good chance of waking still in one another's arms, the entire beautiful night still a reality in the morning, still solid in his memory and in the evidence of Aziraphale lying beside him. When the angel stretches out close to him and puts his arms around him, Crowley winds his own long limbs around him in turn, letting out a satisfied sigh once he's clinging to him possessively, miracling away the mess between them as an afterthought. There. Let anyone try to take his angel away from him.

His own sleep is heavy and blank and dreamless; he falls into it at once, with a mind all but stunned into exhaustion by everything that passed between them. He could probably stay asleep for some time, if not for an awareness that comes to him of Aziraphale stirring in his arms, shifting closer and clinging tighter to him. It brings him out of his own soundless sleep, slowly and by stages, Crowley's eyes at last opening to see the world faded by dusk, and hear Aziraphale breathing unsteadily beside him. Crowley nuzzles at his hair, shifting one hand up slowly to rub at the nape of his neck in rough, mindless comfort. ]

Angel?

[ His voice is thick with sleep, but he doesn't mind waking up for Aziraphale. ]

What's wrong, hmm? Can't sleep?

[ Aziraphale shakes his head no into Crowley's chest in answer to his question. No, sleep was too easy for Aziraphale, it was the problem. All of this was so easy now. He feels himself shaking, and very quietly he confesses: ]

I had a nightmare, that's all.

[ Nothing to worry about, just a fussy angel with an overactive imagination and too much worry in his heart. But Crowley is here, whole and intact and perfect, by his side with no intentions of going elsewhere. But that's how he had been in the dream, too. By Aziraphale's side until he was wrenched away from it, having spent his last efforts trying to warn Aziraphale away. And wasn't that just it, that it hurt so much because it felt like the truth? That Crowley would risk so much for him, even at the expense of his own life? ]

Promise nothing will happen to us.

[ It's one that Aziraphale knows he can't possibly make, because he can't predict the future. He has no power over it, and if he did, they wouldn't have waited so long to be like this; no, Aziraphale just wants to hear a lie. He wants to take comfort in it and stop this anxious feeling that has its icy vice grip around his heart and his lungs. ]

[ It’s easy enough to guess the kind of nightmare Aziraphale might have had, even before he asks for assurance. Crowley can envision it—something along the lines of the two of them being forced apart, their respective sides coming between them, perhaps after many long and happy years together, because that would be just like Aziraphale, to fear that the more time they spend together the worse it would be to be torn apart. Feeling him shiver, Crowley’s limbs tighten possessively around him—he all but wraps himself around him as he would in snake form, as close as he can manage while still staying man-shaped, and nuzzles at his hair. ]

Of course it won’t. We’ll be fine, angel.

[ He speaks as though it’s a given instead of a wish, as though by speaking the wish aloud he miracles it into being. What can Crowley do but believe it? Who other than God could know their future? She certainly won’t share it with them. So who’s to say that any grief will come to them? Perhaps they’ve earned a respite.

It’s what he tells himself, and caressing Aziraphale’s cheek, he tips his chin up so Crowley can kiss his mouth. ]

[ They haven't earned much of anything, Aziraphale thinks. Cast down to Earth, he'd been a cherub once, sitting at God's feet and devoutly offering all that he was to her aid. He'd led well in the celestial war, laureled by Her and She'd entrusted him with the guarding of Eden, Her great project, and it was an open secret that his remaining time on Earth had been meant as punishment, as demotion. So he doesn't believe that this is an olive branch from God, that Her meaning of this is to say that she accepts and gives them her blessing.

No, but he kisses Crowley back anyway, lips soft and supple and desiring so badly to just get lost in this, to indulge in this forever. He draws his arms around Crowley's neck and kisses him as if doing so he might taste some of the belief on Crowley's tongue, might swallow some of it and let it fill him with its innate happiness. ]

I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you.

[ He says into Crowley's mouth, sounding as if he might just fall apart at any second. But if not for how tightly Crowley coils around him, he might have done so already. He dives in again for another kiss, desperate as if it might be their last; he needs something to hold onto and anchor him back into reality. ]

[ He gathers Aziraphale closer, sensing the distress in him and willing to do anything to ease it. The angel's lips are soft beneath his and whatever his fears are, at least he's not pushing Crowley away--rather, it seems, desperate to remain here in Crowley's arms, his voice heartbreakingly close to devastation. ]

You should know by now I'm not going anywhere, angel.

[ He's not just speaking of now, of the agreement they reached together, but rather their whole history, their many years of encountering one another during the ages, spreading temptations or blessings, helping one another with more of the same, spending time together as old friends do. Surely Aziraphale doesn't think it was chance that brought them together, over and over again? Many of those times Crowley had sought him out--perhaps there were times that Aziraphale sought him out, too, even if he didn't know that's what he was doing.

By now they would simply be denying what is right, what is inevitable between them, by turning away. Crowley gives Aziraphale every kiss he seeks, a hand rubbing over his back in rough comfort. ]

[ Aziraphale kisses Crowley until he is breathless, and then when he is, calms down by resting his head in the crook of his neck. And feeling Crowley so solid in his arms, so tangled up in him, he tries so hard to remember that that is what's important. In this moment, he loves Crowley so much that he doesn't know how to handle himself, this demon who loves despite his own nature, who so deeply wishes for Aziraphale's happiness and safety. He really is a terrible demon, which is part of the appeal, really. He doesn't want to say so aloud, but he wouldn't be anywhere without his soft snake slithering in dramatically from wherever, just to put a smile on his face.

He wears one now, into Crowley's neck, knowing that he's the only one who could have such an affect on him. ]

Crowley.

[ It'd be a lie to say that he didn't seek Crowley out over the years, and definitely a lie to say that he never put himself in a dangerous or unsavory situation just so Crowley would show up and give him a helping hand only for Aziraphale to turn around and offer to buy him a spot of lunch. How else was he supposed to invited him out socially? Surely he couldn't do so directly, that would have been ludicrous. But he laughs a little thinking about it now. ]

Do you remember the time I went to Paris for some crepes in the Reign of Terror?

[ Only Aziraphale could get away with thinking of him as soft. Crowley might hiss at him for it if he knew, but then again it might not bother him all that much, truly. He’s been accused of worse things, and with Aziraphale it’s always hard to draw the line of how far he’ll allow any allegations of niceness--it gets confused somehow with the shivery feeling he gets when Aziraphale praises him.

He feels Aziraphale smiling against his neck, and this is much better than feeling him shivering in distress, pressing hard into Crowley as though he can't get close enough. They're so tangled together now as to be practically knotted, anyway, and no one is going to take his angel from him; that's the thought that contented Crowley as he drifted to sleep, and it stays with him now. ]

'Course I remember.

[ He speaks fondly, thinking of Aziraphale in that ridiculous getup, all the buttons and frills and stockings (rather becoming it had been too, not that Crowley will admit it, not that he still remembers it fondly as well), sitting there chained up and waiting to be rescued. Good thing he'd shown up in time, too, though Crowley used to wonder if Aziraphale hadn't engineered it so. ]

[ Aziraphale might have a streak for danger; after all, he'd been a warrior once upon a time and things were awfully boring now. He'd chosen a life of peace and he doesn't regret it. These days the only danger he might seek would be, well after things settle from the near-Apocalypse in a few decades' time, call Crowley nice and see if he might wind up with his back against the wall again, though perhaps with ample time and opportunity to confess he rather likes being pinned under Crowley.

He has a different confession to make, about a slightly more dangerous time. ]

Well.

I had happened to overhear a rumor you might be in the area. I really hadn't meant for it to get so out of hand, mind you.

[ He really hadn't meant to end up in a dungeon with his head about to be cut off, that much was real distress. He thought that maybe he'd just end up in a jail cell, get a bit rough around the edges and ask for Crowley to help him clean up a little, which was why he was actually upset at having thought that perhaps things were escalating too far. But he had been, well, dressing up so-to-speak. His dainty white shoes, the fancy little coat. It had all been brand new, custom-made as all of Aziraphale's things are, but highly fashionable at the time which was rare for him, and he had hoped that Crowley would notice the effort as he was wont to do.

Of course, Crowley, having shown up dressed like a peasant, who came to save his life instead of rescue him from a spot of dirt, sort of nixed the whole fantasy. ]

But I really was hoping you would come by and help me out with a little inconvenience just so I could thank you with lunch.

[ It sounds so silly, now that he says it out loud. ]

Did you, now?

[ Crowley sees where this is going, and he's torn between amusement and outrage, leaning back from Aziraphale and propping himself up on an elbow so that he can study him with an arched brow. So he had engineered it, at least to some extent. And to think, while Crowley was worrying about him getting his head cut off, he'd deliberately gotten himself all dolled up like that and strolled into a revolution as though it was nothing, just an excuse to get an old friend's attention. Crowley narrows his eyes at him when he calls it a little inconvenience. ]

Tell me, angel, what would you have done if I hadn't shown up in time, hm? Or what if I'd been reprimanded for one too many frivolous miracles, helping an angel of all beings out of tight spots when I was meant to be helping him into them?

[ His voice is dangerously pleasant, and he trails a finger softly across Aziraphale's cheek, bringing it to his mouth and teasing over his lower lip. ]

And after all that, my thanks was lunch. [ Ah, there's the real rub. ] Don't you think you ought to thank me with a little more than that?

what are miracles for?

definitely getting rid of your husband's pants

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