𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖞 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sauntered_downward) wrote2019-07-20 05:17 pm
sauntered_downward) wrote2019-07-20 05:17 pm
for salutosinedelectat
Follows this.
They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.
Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.
The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.
"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."
The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.
They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.
Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.
The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.
"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."
The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.
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"Oh?" Said with a smile to it. "Well, I suppose we may never know."
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He waves a hand and his mobile phone appears in it, where he immediately punches a few buttons in and begins scrolling.
"Oh, no," he says, looking into it.
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"What are you up to?" He knows that tone. He knows that smile without even seeing it.
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He turns the mobile to show Aziraphale, where a small, bright red fox looks cutely up at the photographer.
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"Is that something you would like to do?"
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He scrolls a bit further down and turns the screen to the angel again.
"Open air hot spring," he offers. "Very relaxing, that."
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The hot spring idea seems to definitely catch his attention. “Oh, that sounds delightful.” And indeed relaxing, which they certainly could do with. It’s very difficult not to be concerned about stopping anywhere for too long, but hopefully this little escapade should be fine. “Perhaps we should give it a try.”
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"Hot spring it is, angel," he says. "I imagine it will be miraculously void of tourists when we come to visit." He'll wait to spring that miracle on the place until they get there. Something tiny, nothing he imagines their pursuers will even notice. He hopes.
"Preference for breakfast? You can look on my phone, see what's available?"
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Regardless, here’s Crowley, once again just trying to make the best of it for the both of them. Where they are, the situation they’re in, for all the things that happened in such a short amount of time, and even for how cynical he can be, he’s still trying.Â
The angel observes him and smiles, fondly, head still on Crowley’s shoulder, hand still on his chest, the demon’s arm comfortably around him, and the angel feels his chest swell with the unmistakable feeling of love.
“I’m sure we’ll find something.” He answers after a moment, thumb brushing over Crowley’s chest. “Wherever looks best.”
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"I'll let you pick," he says. "You know food better than I do."
And Aziraphale has always enjoyed showing off food to Crowley, which he's more than happy to oblige as well. He would do anything for Aziraphale, he knows this deep in the core of his being.
"I love you," he says again. He's said it, now. Now he feels like he could go on saying it forever.
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He leans up and presses his lips on Crowley's, as softly as that moment in the bar, as gentle as when they said it a second time. "I love you, too."Â
Crowley could say it forever, and the angel, finally, knows he will always say it back.Â
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He dreams of the stars. Of growing stars from his hands, of stretching them out, pulling them up from the ground and putting them into place. He dreams of building a universe. He dreams of creating stars in the shape of a very particular cherubic face, and blue stars the same shade as an angel's eyes. It's been a long time since he's dreamed of what his life as an angel was like----he can easily chalk that up to being close to Aziraphale, being in his arms.
He blinks his eyes open as sunlight streams into the bedroom.
"Angel?"
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When he wakes, in the demon’s arms, it all feels like a strange and complex dream, and he lingers there for a while. In the silence, in the dimness being slowly overtaken by the sunlight that’s gently pushing through the curtains and into the room. He listens to Crowley breathing, and he thinks.
Eventually, he can’t tell how long after, he gets up carefully and gingerly, taking a moment to look down at the demon and reaching over to gently brush his hair back. He climbs off the bed, finds some of his clothes, and starts getting dressed, calm and meticulous and nowhere in a rush. But he stops soon after he starts, looking at himself in the mirror and at that mark concentrated on the center of his chest.
That’s when he hears Crowley’s voice, softly breaking through his train of thought, and he turns to look over at him. “Oh, good morning.”
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Of course, the mark on his chest is a stark reminder that the lack of fear is only temporary. The moment they step out of this place, they could be a target again. This holiday is also an escape plan.
It won't be like this forever, he tells himself. They'll have days where he can watch Aziraphale dress and there won't be any fear. Not now, not ever. He'll figure out a way. That's what Crowley does, he solves problems. He can solve this one. He'll do it for Aziraphale, for them.
He stretches. "Sleep well?" he asks.
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For once, Aziraphale feels more than a mere observer of the Love he feels.
"Quite well." He adjusts the shirt he's wearing laying open, starting to button it up, and covering up marks he rather not think about for a while. "You?"Â
please forgive my long delay I love this PSL I have just had one heck of a month
"I suppose we'll need to find somewhere for breakfast then?" he says, not even attempting to move from his spot on the bed. "What are you thinking to start out with? I know they do a sort of weird, fluffy pancake that's all puffed up in Japan, I saw it on the internet once."
Back when Crowley invented those little time-lapse food videos for all the ad revenue they generated (and the low-level evil they generated when they were cut in half with an ad in the middle), he watched a lot of odd recipe videos.
lmfao the videos bit
"That would be lovely." He focuses back on the mirror, finishing buttoning up his shirt and fixing his sleeves. "We should definitely get at least a bit acquainted with what's in the area." For however long they get to stay, of course.
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He stretches and stands, then gives a wave, dressing himself instantly. He looks over at Aziraphale. He wants to pretend everything is normal, everything is all right, but once they step outside, they're in danger and they both know it.
"We'll need to work out a way to get back here quickly if we need to," he says.
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Some time to think, is all. Some time to explore it, to question and to find answers, together. But there’s always going to be something hanging over them, and they’re always going to be on their toes. He tries not to show it too much when he smiles far too faintly when he glances over at Crowley, picking up his waistcoat to put it on.
“What do you suggest?”
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He steps over to Aziraphale, lowering his hands to button up his waistcoat. They have all of the time in the world, as two immortal beings do. And no time at all, as two beings on the run do. How unfair life is to them both.
"We have the advantage that they can't see this place. We can."
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"We can only hope we're faster than them." A true comment, but his focus is still mostly on Crowley's hands.
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He can't give up what he's found with Aziraphale. This closeness. This love. And he loves Aziraphale with everything he is. He's not about to lose that.
"Besides," he adds. "No matter what cockups we can be, we're both smarter than our bosses ever were. And that's indisputable."
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"That is true." He admits, far more directly than he ever has, but the truth will always lie in what the two of them know that the rest of their kinds don't.
He brings his hands up to gently set on Crowley's as he finishes up with the last button. Just a soft, coy touch.
"...about last night." While his tone is quiet, it's not unpleasant; blue eyes stay on their hands as his gently envelop the demon's.
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But Aziraphale's hands are on his. He's not looking away from him, not pulling away. That means Aziraphale doesn't want to pretend, right? They're not pulling away from each other, right?
"I meant it," he says, pushing the words out in a rush. "Everything that I said, everything we felt. I meant it."
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But it throws him off for just a moment, like he's forgot whatever he was going to say - not that he had words planned in particular.
His look lingers and words falter. Instead, he finally opts for a more direct, wordless approach. He brings his hands up to Crowley's cheeks, leaning halfway, hesitating for just a moment, then all the way in for a gentle kiss.
That'll do it, right? He hopes. He doesn't really know how to do this.
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https://youtu.be/AGTUSYMTbIc
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