sauntered_downward | for salutosinedelectat

I love you, he thinks in response. It's always been you.

From the moment Aziraphale told him he'd given away his stupid sword, it's always been the angel. Crowley has never loved, Crowley has never desired and coveted and wanted and all of his other horrible sins like he has wanted to be with the angel. And now, in this exact moment, they are together.

The whole universe doesn't matter at all. They have each other.

He takes half a step towards the bedroom, gently pulling Aziraphale with him while they embrace. Let's rest, he thinks. You need to rest.

The angel moves along with the step, another quiet, muffled sound - but an interruption this time, soft and polite, as he pulls his arms back and his hands onto Crowley's shoulders, and pulls back away from the kiss. Absolutely in no rush, however.

He looks up at the demon, finding himself slightly short of breath, somehow, lingering in his gaze. Thoughtful, distracted, facing himself and these feelings between them more and more.

He brings a hand over his own mouth, not in regret but in some level of...coyness? Thought again. Idly brushing his fingers over his lips while his eyes lowered more toward Crowley's colar.

Ah, this is a lot. This is sudden-- although not really.

But, rest, yes. They should do that. I need to check what's wrong with his physical vessel. And they could use the quiet. For as much as their physical bodies don't really tire, their minds could use the breather.

Crowley considers Aziraphale, considers the coyness in his gesture, considers how connected they are in the moment. He considers all of this, and considers how once Aziraphale had told him he moved too fast. Aziraphale would tell him again if he did, he supposes, and he decides fuck it for the second time that evening.

He leans forward, and presses his lips carefully to Aziraphale's jawline, near his ear. Just once, just to see what the angel's reaction would be to the sudden, intimate gesture. He lingers, slowly pulling back to gauge his reaction.

It catches him by surprise, certaintly. The lean, the kiss. His hand goes back onto Crowley's shoulder, but he doesn't push him away, simply seems to stop breathing in those seconds.

He doesn't know what he wants, or what to expect. But he appreciates the fact that Crowley's plan to hide in here seems to have worked. He can't begin to imagine how terrible it would be if they were interrupted.

"Is this...?" His voice seems suddenly very loud in the room even at a whisper, especially considering they were only talking with their minds seconds earlier.

He leans back in and presses another kiss, this one a little lower, to Aziraphale's neck, above where the black tendrils come up above his collar. Rest, his mind reminds him. He's supposed to be insisting that Aziraphale rest, tuck him right into bed and watch over him through the night. That's exactly what he's supposed to be doing right now. Most definitely.

Or, then again, he could be tasting the skin of the angel's neck. Just the once, just to see, you know, what it tastes like. If Crowley is going to ride tonight on fantasies fulfilled including dancing with Aziraphale, kissing Aziraphale, and knowing in his heart that Aziraphale loves him, he's definitely going to push the barrier just a little bit further.

As sudden as Crowley's voice is in the factual silence that has been surrounding them for this while, Aziraphale welcomes it, a little bit grounding, enough to keep him there, to focus somewhat. Which is an entirely difficult maneuver.

"Yes..." a whisper, a mutter under his breath as Crowley leans again. The angel shudders faintly, closing his eyes again, gently gripping his shoulders just a little bit tighter.

Aziraphale moves too slow. The world goes by too fast. Which should be nothing to someone immortal. But it's not time, it's not the minutes ticking away, it's the connections one makes. One day you can find yourself still in place as someone else you love moves right on along and you can't keep up. Tonight is a good example of this; so much has happened. A blink of an eye and they're miles away from where they were. They've taken a leap, but together, this time, and he wants to see where they land.

A hand slides over to the back of Crowley's neck again, soft fingers caressing the skin. Resting is still in the plan, but he's fine exploring other suggestions at this moment.

He feels Aziraphale shudder against him and that bolsters his confidence that much more. He kisses again, this time letting his tongue trace just a little of the angel's skin beneath him as his hands stay wrapped around his waist. He should want this to be chaste, he thinks to himself. He should want this to be only about the love that he feels for Aziraphale, only about the connection he feels towards him, and just being with him.

But then again, he is a demon. Desire is not an insignificant part of what he does. Tempting Aziraphale into lunch or long nights with wine has always been his favorite thing. And now, holding him close and tasting his skin, he thinks about a whole other temptation all together, and he can't help but want to take that step forward.

If Hell could see him now, tempting an angel, they'd probably think he was some sort of a hero. It doesn't feel in the slightest bit sinful, though----okay, okay, just a little bit sinful, he thinks, pressing yet another kiss, this one a little closer to Aziraphale's ear.

The angel strongly dislikes - maybe even hates - the fact that the nagging voice at the back of his head telling him what he should or shouldn't do is still there. It's not that he has to follow it every time - he's been quite good at ignoring it over the centuries, the millennia, on most smaller things. Less so on the bigger ones. And it would have been naive to think it would have gone away completely after that day, but part of him wanted to believe it would.

But he's almost angry at it, this time. At the nervousness he feels. A different kind of nervousness than the one he's felt most of the evening, showing up entirely too late and definitely uninvited. It's quiet and surreptitious, but even know it's telling him this might be too fast.

He's starting to hate that word, too. It's practically haunted his mind when he said it, back then.

His eyes are closed and he's still holding onto the demon's shoulders, somewhere between tense and letting that go. A pulled in breath over the feeling on his neck. Another kiss and he bites his lip when he can't be seen.

Crowley has always gone too fast. Wanted drinks with Aziraphale when they were still basically enemies, wanted to sort out an arrangement with Aziraphale when he thought they were doing the right things in their respective posts, considered him his best friend when Aziraphale still had the lines drawn firmly in the sand between them. And now? What about now?

Now, he can feel Aziraphale's hands on his shoulders, feel him take in a breath at the feeling of his tongue against his neck. Crowley presses another kiss to his jaw, and slides his hands up Aziraphale's back, under his jacket. The bed is one room away, the wall is right there, there's a couch and they could----they could----

He pulls back, enough to look down at the angel, to fully look at his face, to see what his reactions are. As if to say Is this what you want?

The angel looks up at him in almost a daze, somehow aware that Crowley isn't vocally asking, but getting the message all the same. And, for a moment, his reaction doesn't have much to it. Frozen in thought again, feeling too much again, and he doesn't know where to start.

But Crowleys arms are around him, and they're pressed together so close. They've been through so much, and their surprising freedom was taken away by forces outside of them again. It is unfair, and they deserve to be free.

He can't help but to glance at Crowleys lips for a moment, close as they are, and thinking about what they've already shared. About the closeness and intimacy. About all of this, how they got here.

So his answer comes after a moment of silence, until a snap decision, - impulses, his crowning achievements, or extremely the opposite - leads him into kissing the demon again, perhaps with a touch more fervor, gripping the fabric over his shoulders.

Forget that voice. Forget whatever is out there. Forget it all except this.

There is a brief second in the silence in which Crowley thinks he's misjudged. He's gone too fast, he's overstepped a barrier. And there's nothing that Crowley wouldn't do for Aziraphale, including wait, and wait forever if that's what the angel wants. But then, Aziraphale is kissing him again.

Crowley lets out a desperate noise at the feeling of Aziraphale's mouth against his, at the fervor behind his kiss. He thinks of all of the centuries of longing, of all of the words unsaid and how much he has wanted to kiss Aziraphale like this, to touch him like this and now he has permission and it's almost overwhelming.

He considers the bedroom----over in that direction---and the couch---over in that direction---and they all just seem too far away. All he wants is to be close to Aziraphale right now and with that thought in mind he moves carefully forward, maneuvering them until Aziraphale's back is against the nearby wall, and Crowley is pressed up against him.

Aziraphale feels his back press against the wall, Crowley press up against him, and finding himself delightfully trapped between both almost causes him to falter. He's threading that line of almost too much, taking blind steps into something he always thought was never there, and it's terrifying, it's exciting, it's *exhilarating*, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

But he knows well enough to slide his hands down to the lapels on Crowley's jacket and pull, then to slide a hand to Crowley's back, grip the back of his jacket, while the other finds itself at the back of his head again. Kiss never broken and unsteadiness slowly fading - the wall helps.

Aziraphale pulls him closer, and Crowley obliges, kissing him deeper, leaning a little more into the angel as he holds him up against the wall. Oh, there have been many things that Crowley has wanted, many things he has coveted and desired in his very long life, but he can put all of them at a distant second to the desire he feels for the angel right now.

I love you. It's always been you. I love you. His mind is a mantra, repeating how he feels for the angel in a desperate, quiet hum in the background as he kisses him.

He moves his hands from Aziraphale's back to his front, to the lapels of his jacket, to move the jacket over his shoulders, try to slide it down. A bit of a fumble, as Aziraphale's hands are on his neck, at his back, everywhere but just easily accessible to move the jacket downwards. And that feels perfect, because if this was just simple, it wouldn't be them at all, would it?

What a mess, what a mess. But they know messes, they know scrambling to make sense of something, but at least this time the motivators are quite positive and pleasant.

He huffs and tries not to break their kisses as he pulls his hands back tries to squirm out of his coat, causing it to fall at their feet. But in proper Aziraphale fashion, his wonderful, old, well beloved coat falling to the floor, discarded haphazardly causes him to stop and glance down at it, with the urge to pick it up, dust it off, and properly put it away. But he looks up at Crowley again and, oh, he can't just stop this.

~~Be a dear and fix that for him, won't you?~~

Crowley immediately imagines the coat picked up and folded, put away on the couch, and it is, safe and sound. Dangerous to use a miracle, even a little one, but Crowley doesn't care, can't possibly care right now. His own jacket he slips out of and tosses aside, letting it fall away from them and in a heap on the floor. He can sort out his own clothes later.

He leans back down and kisses Aziraphale like it's breathing. He unbuttons his waistcoat, long fingers slowly undoing each button, slipping them carefully through each eye, smoothing them down as he does. Aziraphale cares about little things, like his clothes and keeping them, and Crowley wouldn't have the angel any other way. No matter his desire to just pull the clothes off of the angel, he wouldn't dare. No, he'll move slowly, carefully, respectfully. Such a bad demon, really.

Such a bad demon, but so, so good to him.

He does definitely care about the little things. His clothes and maintaining them, of course, but also Crowley's indulgences of the angel's quirks. The way he notices, knows, care about what the angel cares about and acts accordingly. Not a moment to spare for any kind of judgment, at best some light teasing (with the exception being Aziraphale's honestly terrible magic tricks), but never mocking the angel for his habits and likes.

So, Aziraphale notices. He notices and it causes his heart to only grow. He remembers all the talks, all the lunches, hell, he remembers that time in the church with the books. That moment when he finally realized that the demon wasn't just hanging around because he had to. That the demon actually listened, and cared to listen, and cared to know what the angel cared about.

I love you. I love you. I'm sorry. But I do love you. And you're wonderful. Echoes back at the demon from the core of his soul, hands coming back up to rest on his cheeks.

Aziraphale tells Crowley he is wonderful. Crowley has an ego---most demons do---but he's never considered himself the sort that an angel would consider wonderful. What has he done? Sulked about, caused a bit of trouble, and pined after an angel for six thousand years? Hardly anything deserving of the title "wonderful". But Aziraphale has always seen more in Crowley. Has always wanted him to do more, has always believed in him.

The Almighty has never believed in Crowley the way that Aziraphale does.

Crowley wants to tell Aziraphale he doesn't need to apologize. He doesn't need to be sorry, because the time apart doesn't matter. They have now, where they are sharing their love, sharing their time, and together, and Crowley wouldn't give that time up for the whole universe. He would wait for it forever if he had to, again and again and again.

He feels the angel's hands on his cheeks, holding him in place as they kiss, and he doesn't dare break that touch, even as he finishes unbuttoning the angel's waistcoat. He moves to unbuttoning his shirt, one thing at a time.

Crowley's always been wonderful. Always been good, and kind, and nice, and, honestly, Aziraphale still feels quite silly for the times he accused the demon of the awful things that happened around him. But where the demon shined the brightest - perhaps due to Aziraphale's own biases - was in how kind he's always been to him. How understanding. Freeing, in ways Aziraphale didn't always quite see.

His hands slide back to Crowley's shoulders, and the kisses, the wonderful kisses, they distract him from registing what exactly lies under his shirt at this moment, not that Crowley's looking. When he does remember, he impulsively pulls Crowley closer again, hands at his back now, a pang of anxiety, hoping he doesn't notice.

Crowley unbuttons a few more buttons, revealing the black mark on Aziraphale's chest. The thing Crowley couldn't heal, the mark Hastur placed on the angel's vessel. Crowley can't see it, his eyes are shut as Aziraphale pulls him closer, but he knows it's there. He knows it's there, on Aziraphale's skin---the mark of him almost dying forever. A mark of how Crowley couldn't protect him.

His kiss changes instinctively. A little slower, a little more protective. He pours his love into the kiss, his need for the angel's presence, his need for him to always be there, to be part of him. He slides a hand in between the fabric, touching Aziraphale's chest, sliding his fingers across his skin. Above his heart.

They have been through so much together. So many years, so many small adventures throughout the ages on Earth. Almost the end of Earth itself. And now this, this escape from Heaven and Hell themselves. He could always protect Aziraphale before, but now all he can do is give Aziraphale all he has, to try to keep him close and safe.

All Aziraphale wants is his company. And the chance to keep him safe too, in any way he can. Safe, cared for, loved. For all the times he failed to be there. For all the feelings he's finally shared.

He feels the kiss turn softer, sweeter. Feels Crowley's hand on his chest and the mood seems to change slightly. But not by much.

He lets his shoulders drop. Lets his body relax just a little. And cups Crowley's cheek again, pulling away from the kiss but keeping their faces close, touching.

A small pause in the middle of the... Excitement.

Crowley's nose brushes against Aziraphale's. This is all he's wanted, he thinks. He's wanted to keep him safe, wanted him close. Wanted to love him, and to be loved by him. He's wanted to share this with him. There have always been rules, always been lines, but those are gone now. It's just them and their emotions.

He swallows, and carefully slides his hand down Aziraphale's chest, memorizing the feel of his skin under his fingertips. Tracing his hand down his ribcage.

"Aziraphale," he murmurs. "I-I..."

He wants to say it. The words burn in his mouth, but he doesn't stop.

"I love you."

And there it is.

The hand on his chest, the soft touch is distracting enough, but nothing would be more important than hearing those words spoken aloud. Even if they shared the most intimate feelings in their soul, allowed each other to look, there's a different weight to hearing it hanging in the air, finally.

He opens his eyes then. Pulls back, just barely, just enough to see his eyes, and he knows- he knows, for a fact, that it's true. He's shown him so. The angel's felt it.

So those blue eyes stare into the yellow ones. Soft, and gentle. And with the same level of honesty and fondness, in the silence, in the new free feeling between the two of them:

"I love you too."

He does. He loves Aziraphale more than anything in the whole universe. And Aziraphale loves him back. This feels like an impossible universe, somewhere completely unlike the world they live in, where they have to hide. No, here they can kiss and touch and tell each other that they love each other.

Even saying the words hurt, demons aren't meant to speak about love, but Crowley feels instantly lighter, admitting something he's longed to say aloud for so long. He would say them again and again, though. Now, they can.

Aziraphale is so perfectly angelic. His blue eyes, his hair as white as a cloud. So different than Crowley's sharp, dark features. Crowley wouldn't have him any other way.

He leans down, kissing the angel again. He passes his love to Aziraphale again as they kiss, pouring it into him as he pulls him close.

The words, finally said. Finally there, finally-- well, not finally real, because the feelings were always there, right under the surface, barely hidden. And then they weren't. And then, despite the whispering, they were loud.

And it does feel impossible. It feels like a dream, completely different worlds, and barely registering a step somewhere else, but he's...happy. He's happy it happened. He's nervous, he's afraid, he's excited, but he's happy.

And, for what it matters, he likes Crowley's sharp features. He doesn't associate them with evil. Or conventionally demonic. He finds them interesting. He finds them good. They're part of what makes Crowley, and that's all they need to be, as far as he's concerned.

Another kiss. Eyes closed again. Pressed close again. The contact feels right, the closeness feels perfect, and this is where he wants to be, right now. His hands, still at Crowley's back, pull him close as well, gently, but there, firm enough.

I'm here. I'm staying here.

Crowley can't think of a moment he's been happier. Not when he was an angel, not any time after. He's happy, he's in the arms of the man he loves, and he's loved. Aziraphale loves him. They're safe, here. Or, at least, he can only hope against all hopes they're safe because he doesn't want anything to destroy the perfection of this moment.

I don't want you anywhere else, angel. Just with me.

He slides his hands back up to Aziraphale's shoulders to slip the shirt and waistcoat off of his shoulders. They should, he thinks, probably move this to the bedroom at some point. But right now he just wants to be as close to the angel as possible, and he doesn't want to stop being close to him any time soon.

Eventually. They do have forever, after all.

for salutosinedelectat

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Ziras gonna zira

Oh we wouldn't have him any other way

Re: Oh we wouldn't have him any other way

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