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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

This is where I want to be.

He moves his arms and helps ease the shirt and waistcoat off himself, stopping for a moment when he finds himself a bit-- exposed? Maybe? With everything slowed down for a moment, the stopping and going and speeding up and slowing down, he isn't even sure where they're at. But he isn't looking to worry too much about it.

A few more kisses on the demon's lips, and a hand gently tugging at his scarf necklace. Still very coy, very polite about his silent requests.

Crowley smiles against his lips, and raises a hand up to slip the scarf off of his neck. He glances at it briefly, then tosses it aside in the opposite direction of the jacket. He raises Aziraphale's hands up to his shirt, to the buttons there. Crowley could easily miracle off his own shirt, make it appear somewhere in a neat little pile somewhere, but there's something wonderfully seductive in the slow undressing, in carefully revealing each layer of skin.

He leans back from kissing Aziraphale to look at him, half-naked in front of him. There is the black mark across his chest, but he glances over that quickly. The rest of him is...it's beautiful. Always hidden under so many layers.

He leans down and presses a kiss to Aziraphale's collarbone. Careful and polite, just as Aziraphale's requests are.

Hands up to the collar of Crowley's shirt, he undoes the buttons there methodically, not that there's many to get to. There's something he likes about this, too, perhaps the gentleness of it, the patient moving along, the intimacy of it.

He's trying to keep other things off his mind - the mark, for one. He hasn't taken a good look at it yet, not seen how far it extends, and he will, at some point. But, right now, he wants it out of his mind, out of this moment. And he's soon pulled fully into the moment again when he feels Crowley's lips press against his collar, sighing quietly and closing his eyes again, for just a moment.

He moves his hands down the demon's sides carefully, until he reaches the hem of the shirt and tugs carefully.

Crowley moves back from his ministrations on Aziraphale's collar enough to let Aziraphale pull off his shirt. Where Aziraphale is soft curves, Crowley is harsh angles and sharp bones. He's not got an unattractive form, it's one of the reasons he selected it when he picked this body back when Earth was first created. Still, under Aziraphale's gaze, it's enough to make him feel a shot of nervousness down his spine.

He takes a hand and slides it down Aziraphale's torso, from his shoulder down to his hip, just looking at the skin as he touches it, head tilted somewhat as he does. Would there be many nights like this, he wonders? Would they come together like this, now that they knew they loved each other? Or was tonight different and unique? It was certainly special.

Aziraphale pulls his shirt off as careful as any of the steps he made so far, for a moment pausing, considering. He holds it in his hand still, as he glances at Crowley's torso and concludes that nothing would ever change the fact that Aziraphale thinks he's wonderful. Any shape, any form. That doesn't mean that seeing said shape partly bare like so means nothing.

He feel's Crowley's hand sliding down his side and he pulls in a soft breath. He doesn't wonder about other nights. About the future. About trying to figure things out. He unfortunately catches his mind too stuck in the past, but he's working on that too.

The angel brings his free hand to Crowley's back, soft and tenderly resting there, while the shirt still hangs from the other. He leans and pecks at his lips in request, closing his eyes again, which serves also as a way to subtly miracle Crowley's clothes - shirt, jacket, accessories - clean and tidy, folded right on the sofa. Tit for tat.

Crowley raises an eyebrow and glances over at the pile of clothes, then back at Aziraphale. He would've been content to just have his clothes in a pile and his hands on Aziraphale, but the gesture is so sweet, so very kind, just like the angel himself. He closes his eyes at the touch of Aziraphale's hand to his back.

He steps forward again and presses his mouth back to Aziraphale's, cupping his face with his free hand while his other hand stays at the angel's waist, pulling him close, pulling their hips together. He wants to ask Aziraphale what he wants from this, what exactly he wants to feel, what he wants Crowley to do---but he knows that this is a delicate moment, easily broken by being too forward, or asking too much of the angel.

Instead, he's going to gently press forward. One kiss at a time, one touch at a time.

He could ask. Crowley could ask, and the angel could tell him he doesn't have any specific expectations. All he wants, all he needs, is to share the time, the closeness, with him, and he'll be more than happy with that. The rest is secondary.

His other hand meet's Crowley's back as well, holding his slender figure as close as it gets, a gentle, quiet sigh through his nose as they continue sharing their kisses. Which, he's found, are quite good, and he might find himself wanting more of those the moment they stop.

Perhaps waiting for Crowley to take the steps is a bit selfish of him - he's selfish in many ways, has been, often sorry for it -, but it's that part that's metaphorically holding onto his arm and seeing where they end up.

Not that he doesn't have a fairly clear idea, at this point.

Aziraphale is selfish---and foolish, and gluttonous, and more than a bit holier-than-thou---and Crowley adores him for it. He could drop to his knees and worship at the temple of Aziraphale for all of his many, many little flaws, because they are all so very unique to him. Angels are supposed to be perfect, but it's Aziraphale's imperfections that make him worth knowing.

Crowley doubts anyone else would understand.

His hand slides from Aziraphale's hip to his front, where he deftly undoes the top button of his trousers. Removing the shirts, well, that was one thing. That was one step. The trousers is a whole different step, a whole different walk into a whole different place. He breaks from the kiss to look down between them where his hand is frozen over the second button. He looks back up at the angel, confirming permission.

Ah, yes, whole different area. Whole different, partly related topic. And back on track, back to the way to something greater and he feels the anticipation growing within him.

He glances up at the demon, seeking blue eyes just looking at him for a moment, before he leans up and pecks his lips as a yes. One of his hands slides up the demon's back as he does, feeling the skin under his fingers.

Aziraphale pecks Crowley's lips in affirmation, and Crowley leans back down to kiss him again. His fingers slowly undo the next button, then move down to lower his zipper. He moves them down over the angel's hips, letting out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding as he does.

Crowley doesn't need to have a heartbeat, but he can feel his heart absolutely thundering in his chest right now. Anticipation, desire, love, it all thunders inside of him. There are so many ways today could have gone, and so many things that could have happened from the moment that demon attacked the plane over Japan to now. But here is really the best they could have asked for.

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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