sauntered_downward | for salutosinedelectat

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.

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Aziraphale moves his hand away, and Crowley moves one to catch it, to take it. He doesn't want Aziraphale cross with him, and the last thing he really needs is to fall into self-pity while they're here. Not trapped, not really. Just hiding out for a bit until they have the opportunity to leave again.

"No, no, you're right," he says. "I just----nearly lost my best friend today. Not exactly something I can just shove off my mind."

The person who loves him. The person he loves. Did they really just admit that to each other only a few minutes ago? Would they ever be able to actually say it? Maybe one day.

The angel is surprised when he finds his hand caught, looking at it then back up at the demon. Its all still very new, but that fond smile is back on his face, no hint of ever even thinking about being cross with the demon just then.

Lost his best friend. Why does that sound so familiar?

“Well, I would say it all went quite better than expected.” As he holds that hand, brushes his thumbs over his fingers.

Theres still echoes of their confessions in the room. The wordless ones, at least, permeating the air. Oh, it feels new, and it feels wonderful.

"Better than it could have," he agrees. After all, Aziraphale is still here, still touching him. Still warm and alive. The alternative is utterly unthinkable.

Aziraphale's thumb brushes over his fingers, and Crowley remembers that touch, on the plane, and again in the bar. How slowly they've moved from touches to feelings. He can't imagine going through this life without Aziraphale by his side. He never will, if he has it his way.

"I still think you didn't do anything wrong," he says. "In the scheme of everything. Being an angel---you were thwarting evil, protecting life, and being generally good. They don't have any reason to want to chase you down at all."

Those little touches, tentative, careful. So much happening in one night, barely a blink of an eye to them, and still feels so fast. Too fast. But he’s trying to keep up, this time. He’s done waiting, and he’s done staying behind.

He wishes he could bring peace to the demon’s mind. Not that his own is quite that different, but he still wishes he could make it better.

“My dear.” He’d rest his other hand over Crowley’s, if it wasn’t otherwise occupied with the glass. “I don’t think that’s quite in our hands.” And it’s wrong, he thinks. That either of them still have to run. But, right now, right here, he feels...fine. He feels...happy.

“But as long as we have each other...Perhaps everything will be fine.”

As long as they have each other.

That has to be enough, he thinks. He doesn't need the Bentley, he doesn't need his flat or his plants. He needs Aziraphale. He needs his friendship. He needs his best friend by his side. The man he has finally come to admit he loves.

"What will we do next?" he asks, taking another sip of the wine. "What will we see? So long as we're here."

Oh, but there's so little they probably can see, considering they're still running. But Crowley wants to imagine, just for a moment, that they're just here. That they're two men on holiday together, the way he was pretending when they were on the plane. "So long as we're together, if we could go anywhere in Japan. Where do you want to go next?"

The angel keeps hold of the demon's hand, thumb still idly going over the knuckles of his fingers, gently trying to drive his mind into more pleasant subjects.

While he had tried to calm himself down on the coldly quiet evenings before their flight, keep himself from wondering too far into paranoid trains of thought, he'd tried to focus on maps. On the idea that this could have some good to it. Indeed it has, but in a rather surprising and unexpected manner.

He can forget again. He can just imagine it as that trip he's been meaning to do. As a simple little holiday away from home, not that they ever really needed to take those.

"There are...parks. A lake. Many restaurants." Of course he would have checked for those. "Many shrines-- although, aha, I'm not quite sure how pleasant that itinerary might be for you, my dear."

"I could manage," Crowley says. He thinks, anyway. He's not sure. "Well, if nothing else, I'll stand outside and wait for you."

It isn't the same, of course. There's something wonderful in companionship when walking through places one wants to see, in sharing it with others. Museums, other places, they're better shared. He imagines shrines are like that as well.

He takes another sip of wine and looks down at their hands.

"Do you ever wonder what it might've been like if we'd just been humans?" he asks the thought that's been on his mind. "Just...you know, two blokes. Met ordinarily, casually. No armageddon, no Heaven and Hell. Just got to know each other?"

Aziraphale goes to take a sip of his drink, but the sudden change in question causes him to pause. Not necessarily in a negative connotation, but simply unexpected.

He thinks about it, however.

"...I don't think I ever have." Said truthfully. "Well-- perhaps on the possibility of the world never... Almost ending, I suppose."

But they are who they are. What they are. And he finds it difficult to picture otherwise. The elements would all just be too different.

"Have you?"

"Recently," he admits. More often than he'd like to admit, he thinks. "I've been a demon for far longer than I was an angel. And you've always been an angel and we----well, what if there had never been sides at all? We could have just..."

They could have just fallen in love without anything stopping them. Without anything standing in their way, keeping them apart.

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. It is how it always has been. Just have our own side now. Better that way."

Aziraphale, much like before, simply listens. Pays attention until Crowley works himself into a corner and backs up, and the angel gets the urge to just try and push all of the demon's worries away.

He's been stuck in this with him. Doing the most he can. Garanteeing the angel could be as comfortable as possible. And he sees that. He's noticed it. He appreciates it.

He just hums quietly and squeezes his hand. There are a lot of feelings and emotions swimming around in his mind, but what they need right now is comfort and peace.

"Let's sit, shall we?"

Crowley wants to pace. He wants to be stressed. He wants to feel like this, because it matters.

"This has to be part of the Plan," he says, gripping Aziraphale's hand. "It has to be. Why make a demon who can love if we're just going to be trapped or destroyed? Why give us this together?"

No other demon in the universe has ever loved. And no other angel has been through what Aziraphale has----so where is God? Crowley wants to throw himself about the room and opine to the Almighty for why She isn't helping them right now. She should want to, She should want to help them, if she made them like this.

Aziraphale dons a more concerned expression. But weary, so weary, that even his often questioning mind doesn't entirely want to keep up with this right now.

He's... Followed what he thought was Her word for so long. Most of his existance. Spewed praise and belief and blind faith. Often times finding himself unsure as soon as he finished talking. And he's questioned. And he's found himself Heavenless. But not Fallen.

He doesn't know what that means. And he's in no condition to think about that now.

So he's looking at him with weary concern. He looks around for a place to set down his glass, a small table by the sofa, and he then reaches up to touch Crowley's cheek.

Aziraphale's hand touches Crowley's cheek, and Crowley looks down at the angel desperately. He loves Aziraphale. He has always loved Aziraphale. That has to be for something. They can't be like this for nothing.

He turns his head just a little to press a kiss to the angel's palm.

He lowers his hand down to Aziraphale's waist. They're on their own side, but why would they need a side if the Almighty would just fight for what she created? She created them, she gave them the gift of love. They deserve to live with it.

If you asked the angel now, after everything they've been through, he would say that trying to make sense of ineffable things is a fool's game. And he's been that fool for eons.

He smiles fondly. Sweetly. Calmly at him, for how ironic that might be, coming from someone like him. Shyly, over such examples of affection.

He brings his other hand up, freeing it from Crowley's, just so he can touch the other side of his head as well.

"... I think, perhaps, we should revisit the idea of resting." A casual way to say he'd like the demon to get somewhat closer to peace.

"You should rest," Crowley says. "Angel, you were the one that----" Nearly died? Discorporated a Duke of Hell? "---was hurt."

With the angel's hands on both sides of his face, Crowley can't help but take in a breath, trying to get himself calmer. He wants to be angry, he wants to be stressed. He wants to yell at Heaven and Hell to bugger off and leave them alone like they were supposed to.

But right now? Right now he just wants to be alone with Aziraphale.

Oh, the indescretion in holding his face. But it feels right, like this. Right now.

But he thinks. Not to protest, no, because the demon is concerned too. And if they're anything alike, which they very much are, there needs to be a compromise.

"Well," An attempt. "Perhaps... You could keep me company."

There are many ways that Crowley can respond to this statement. Please consider the situation. The seriousness of their plight, the stress that they are under. Consider Crowley's temperament, how upset he is. Consider the things he could say.

He could tell the angel that he will protect him. Let him sleep, watch over him while he rests. He could promise to make it right, because they have each other. He could promise that he won't let Heaven or Hell come for him. He could promise to stay up all night for him.

Conversely, he could also promise to rest with him. He could promise to close his eyes, promise to take in some sleep. Promise to find peace in the darkness of everything they are going through. He could promise to try to dream, because sometimes he does dream, and try to make them good ones, because he'll be lying next to the man he loves.

Instead, he's going to go for:

"Angel, are you asking me to go to bed with you?"

In a moment of complete fond, earnest concern, Aziraphale is absolutely no prepared to hear that question. In fact, it takes him a moment or two to really process what was just said.

So he pauses, he stares, sputters quietly for just a second and then settles on a soft judgemental look.

But, you know what? It throws a blanket of normalcy onto their evening, with a handful of comfort and otherwise newfound liberties.

" Really, my dear." No real bite to it. "I was merely suggesting we both need a good rest."

Crowley raises an eyebrow, his face a look of pure devilish knowledge, as though this is one absolutely enormous game and he has just figured everything out.

"Oh, is that what you were suggesting?"

He could be concerned, he could be caring. He could be everything that he can be, deep down inside. He could take in the singed bowtie, the injury on his friend, and everything about their situation and take it all very, very seriously.

Instead, he's going to smirk.

And the angel is going to tut, gently disapproving of such inappropriate accusations. And now Crowley's lost face touching privileges - for now, anyway, as he angel retrieves his glass.

"Why? What exactly are you implying I was suggesting?"

It's worth nothing that any judgemental huffiness from the angel is just embarrassment, with no real sting to it.

Awww, Crowley definitely looks disappointed at the loss of face touching, but he's definitely enjoying the change in tone. Teasing is something they need, something they haven't had between them in far too long. Something this moment needs. And, really, something he can't exactly resist.

"You don't know?" he says, all mock surprise. "Really? Six thousand years of the human condition and I have to explain it to you?"

A pause. "I mean, I will. In extensive detail, if that's what you need, angel."

Another tut and a scoff, an arm crossed over the one holding the glass. He even turns his back to him, but just to make his way to the couch right nearby and take a seat. A full picture of an offended gentleperson.

“ Really, now.” He takes a sip, which hopefully can further mask away his gentle embarrassment.

Besides, Crowley has nothing to tell him that he doesn’t already know, probably.

Crowley drops on the couch next to him in a full slouch, leaning against the opposite side, his own glass of wine in his hand. It feels like it's been ages since they've been like this, and this feels particularly good right now, them just being themselves. Crowley being difficult and rude, and Aziraphale being huffy and perfect.

Crowley gives Aziraphale a loving gaze. He is so wonderful when he is like this.

"No? Aren't there a lot of great works of literature you could quote to me that have rather racy parts in it? De Sade? Madame Bovary? Lolita? Fifty Shades of Grey?"

Normalcy, is what it is. Normalcy from even before the Armaggedon. Familiar and comforting in times like this. Even if the angel looks rather grumpy.

He almost sputters, taking a sip along with Crowley's list. "Oh good Lord, my dear, are you really comparing such wildly different--" Until it hits him that that's not the point or the purpose of this whole thing.

He sighs and gives him a halfway moody look, but it doesn't really stick. Not tonight.

"You are impossible."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have me any other way," he says, tossing Aziraphale a smile.

He takes a sip of the wine. This is what he thought forever would be like, really. Just living out life on Earth with Aziraphale. He didn't need anything else. Freedom to just be and let them be together, in whatever way that was. Now, moments like this seem like a luxury, and one he's not going to let go any time soon.

"Did you read any of those books?" he asks. "I didn't----tempted people into it, of course, but never did."

for salutosinedelectat

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Old demon yells at cloud (and hole on the floor)

This is basically the story of Crowley's life as a demon

Still laughing at this

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