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 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.

So many things did happen, so fast, so much. Aziraphale isn't particularly good at keeping track of time, in the sense where hours and days and weeks can go by in the blink of an eye, for a creature far too old to pay attention to them. So, a single day, that started with flying across the world - on a plane! A real plane, a fantastic example of human endeavor -, had cruises through several life threatening instances, and landed them in confessions and honesty and a whole lot more... It's a lot. Perhaps more than he should be able to handle. But whatever stress he might carry with him might be dealt with accordingly.

It's his time to hold his breath, keep still, bite the inside of his lip, but then he puts his hands on Crowley's arms. It's a nervous but gentle gesture, a request, not a demand, for a momentary pause.

"Perhaps we should-" In a quiet voice, a sweet, if slightly anxious, smile up at the demon."-maybe move elsewhere?"

"Yes, we should----"

Crowley is struck by momentary nervousness. For a person who is always so cool, always full of such a sense of self-importance and a swagger he has worked so hard to cultivate over years of being a demon with a sense of demonic importance, it's odd to suddenly be nervous, to suddenly have something he desires, something so fragile and important to him as Aziraphale in his arms that he doesn't quite know how to handle himself, it's an odd sensation. All the same, he's not about to break it, not about to ruin this by being too fast, by being too flash. No, he can be slow, he can be tender. He knows how, and he's willing to be that way for the angel.

He reaches down and takes his hand, leading him towards the bedroom. Crowley has tempted humans before. Sex is a thing that happens with demons, it's something that corrupts the best and purest of hearts with the right words in the right places and the right hormones at the right moments. But this? This is something completely different. This is love, and it's almost frightening, to want it right now, to want to hold the angel and to want to love him. It's unlike anything Crowley has ever experienced in his extremely long life.

And one can't forget to consider that neither of them are humans. Temptations they might be for demons sometimes, but feelings and physicalities are a whole heck of a lot different between the two of them.

The angel follows him along, gently holding onto his hand. Also holding onto his own trousers, which is less than practical, and rather embarrassing, but he'll live. He's nervous, anxious about this, and he can feel that Crowley is too.

He squeezes his hand, fondly, encouraging.

The bedroom isn't terribly large. After all, this is a flat converted out of an old temple, so it's got some space to it, but it's definitely been set up for looks far more than practicality (which was part of the reason why Crowley picked it, it was very him in that respect.) There are black, gothic lanterns adorning ornate bookshelves scattered around the dark grey walls. There is also a reasonable sized bed in the middle of the decorative room, with a red satin coverlet and several nice accent pillows stuffed up against the black headboard.

All right, it may look exactly how Crowley would have decorated a room (less the accent pillows), and it's probably why he shouldn't be allowed to select their places to stay.

"Bit much?" he asks, looking over to Aziraphale. "I could always make it a bit less---" he gestures with his free hand.

The angel looks around when they enter the room, immediately taking in the... Grimness? No, that's not the word-- the style of the decor, very dark, very simple yet gently ornate in spots. It... Reminds him of Crowley's flat quite a lot, which makes him smile.

"Oh-" He stammers for a moment and shakes his head, still holding Crowley's hand. "No, no, that's quite alright."

He tries not to think too much about the bed. Or how he has to hold his clothes while they stand there. Well, he does want to think about the implications, he just doesn't want to loose his nerve for some silly reason.

Well, now they're here. Half-naked in a bedroom and no one in the universe to stop them. Crowley feels something shoot through him that he can only think must be like performance anxiety----after all, this is happening, and he's leading it, and he can't muck it up in any way, lest he totally disrupt what they've built so far, and....and...

Oh, what the hell is he being nervous for? This is Aziraphale, the person he's been beside for six thousand years. The person he, despite all hereditary and societal implications, loves completely. He can only utterly ruin the greatest relationship he's ever had in his whole life if he does something wrong, what is there to be nervous about?

He turns and leans in to kiss Aziraphale. Kissing is good. He can do the kissing, he's gotten less nervous with kissing Aziraphale.

If only Aziraphale could tell that's what he's worried about. He would be rushing to comfort him, soothe his mind, telling him there's really not much he can do wrong here, nothing that would scare him off now that he's here to stay.

But, alas, kisses call for his attention instead, and he's being positively spoiled with those tonight. So he closes his eyes, squeezes Crowley's hand again - held by their side -, other hand still holding onto his trousers and what's at risk of become a tripping hazard.

But if they were good at things and perfecr performers, they wouldn't be here to be having this experience together, now would they?

As if Crowley would ever admit to being nervous or unsure of himself. Especially with something he's supposed to be good at, as a demon.

He does relax the moment he feels Aziraphale's hand squeeze his, though. This is what he wants, he wants to be with Aziraphale, he wants to kiss him, to love him. Everything else, all of his nerves? They're really unimportant. They've got right now between them, and that's what matters.

He breaks the kiss, and moves his lips back to the angel's neck. What place on the neck? Right above the jugular? Right below the ear? Well, no real reason to not go for both, since he's here anyway. He takes half a step back, towards the bed.

Ah, yes, wonderful. He feels Crowley relax, or certainly gathers that by the kisses on the angel's neck, and he lets go of the demon's hand so he can bring it to the back of his head, gently brushing against the hair at the back of his neck.

He steps along, carefully, maybe a bit clumsily, with his eyes closed and his head tilted up a bit. Moving together blindly might not be the best idea they've had, but this whole situation might still be.

He's certainly not complaining.

Crowley lets out an appreciative hum at the feeling of Aziraphale's fingers on the back of his neck, at his touch. He presses another kiss to his neck, letting his tongue come out to trace the skin there again, to taste him again. He should probably take the time to move them where they need to go first, to get them situated where they should be, then focus on kissing the angel's neck, but, well, Crowley's always been a bit greedier than that. Another step backwards, and he's also going to kiss the column of his throat. He can certainly multitask in this situation.

With his newly freed hand, he moves it over to where Aziraphale is holding onto his trousers. He takes that hand, and carefully moves to loosen his fingers.

Aziraphale pulls in a breath, tilting his chin up, biting his lower lip lightly, much too distracted by the work the demon is putting into kissing his neck, the delightful ticklish feel, to focus on how they're moving.

He feels his hand, too, reaching for his own and he follows along, letting go of the fabric gradually, redirecting that hand to Crowley's side, brushing up from his hip to his ribs.

Well, perhaps he should have been paying more attention. As his trousers slide down and with how entangled they're becoming, his legs or feet, unclear which, get caught and he loses balance, falling onto Crowley with a startled sound.

Good thing they were near the bed already.

At first, he's kissing Aziraphale's neck, and he feels the ticklish touch of Aziraphale's hand up his side, moving up to his ribs. There's so much intimacy in the touch, so much warmth and care there, that Crowley feels himself----

Suddenly, Crowley's back is against the bed, and Aziraphale is on top of him. Crowley lands with an undignified Ooof, and looks up at Aziraphale with a lopsided smile. Well, of all of the places to topple onto, at least they toppled here, and he could certainly have ended up in a far worse situation.

"This was where we were going," he says. "In the end, anyway."

Too bad that Aziraphale isn't very knowledgeable in the more modern literally/theatrical clichés, or he certainly would be finding a lot more humor in this situation right away.

As it stands - like they sure don't - he lands less than gracefully on Crowley and finds himself staring down at the demon. With a lot more direct contact going on. And his pants around his knees - his boxers do nothing to help this situation.

So he goes very red, staring down at that crooked, wicked (not really) smile, and the dhort laugh that comes out of him sounds perhaps a little too high pitched. He quickly clears his throat.

" Hum, yes, quite." Oh God.

Crowley tilts his head a little to the side, then to the other side, trying to see Aziraphale from all angles. Blushing like this is so very hot, now that he's right up next to it, actually, and he's not about to waste a single second of Aziraphale's adorableness not watching him.

Their bodies are pressed quite closely now, and Crowley's been going ahead and giving himself male genitals for the last few decades, with the exception of his time as Warlock's nanny and a really really fun night in 1996. It works with the general aesthetic of his look, and as of late the men of the human species are the only ones who get to have pockets. And his male parts are reacting to the situation.

He slides a hand down Aziraphale's back, touching the soft, warm skin where his wings are hidden, and down to the small of his back, just above his underpants.

Once again, the angel finds himself without time to delve too deep into his own anxiety or embarrassment, as things keep moving right along and requesting his utmost attention. Such as the feeling of Crowley's hand going down his back, which makes him shudder pleasantly.

While the situation has been demanding thought about certain parts of their physical bodies since it first began, he really hasn't put in the effort yet to prepare himself, as it were, for the actual act. Perhaps he's a bit rusty, maybe he's just not thinking, it's hard to tell that from anything else right now.

Still a bit red, he looks down at Crowley for a couple of considering moments, and leans down to kiss him. Steadying himself, you see. Straying far from angelic, but feeling quite divine.

Crowley looks up at Aziraphale as he looks down at him. Neither of them have picked the most stunning forms, he thinks. Men, average men, in their late forties, with physical flaws and interesting characteristics that neither have felt the need to get rid of. Oh, Crowley has played a bit with his gender and his hair here and there, but they've stayed the same more or less for the last six thousand years. And over this time, Crowley can't help but have decided that Aziraphale is totally and completely stunning. The hair, the eyes, his skin. He's what Crowley thinks about when he thinks of the word angelic.

He kisses Aziraphale back slowly, deeply. To him, there's no rush. He just wants to touch Aziraphale everywhere, which he's going to do first by slowly memorizing the skin of his bare back, then sliding it down to touch the clothed skin of his backside. That, he'll admit, is also partially to see what Aziraphale will do once his hand is there.

What the angel does is shift slightly, a muffled quiet sound into the kiss, that isn't exactly a protest, just a reaction. He clearly isn't too bothered, because he's far from breaking the kiss despite it.

Carefully, he let's himself fully rest down on Crowley, bringing a hand to the demon's cheek, focusing himself on the matter at hand. But not too focused, no, that would be a waste, wouldn't it? All the sensations, all the emotions, the exciment, the thrill, the passion. Oh, there's so much of it.

He still can't believe they're there, at this point

Only a few hours ago, he was thrilling at a gentle touch of their fingers on a plane. Only a few hours ago, he had thought about leaning in and brushing his lips against Aziraphale's. Now, he has his body pressed against the angel's, and is listening to him make small sounds against his mouth as they kiss.

My, but how things do change quickly. Crowley is here for it.

He slides a finger under the waistband of Aziraphale's underpants and slides them down, carefully, over his hips. As he does so, he exposes new skin, which his other hand greedily touches, tracing little circles as its exposed.

Aziraphale's never been one about moving too fast. Crowley would know, of course, but many things about the angel show how easily he gets lost in time, lost in thought, lost in feeling, and keeps his pace slow. But it looks like that's all out the window tonight.

He shifts slightly, pulling back just enough for a little "oh-" to escape, though he feels immediately embarassed by it.

Perhaps a bit too tense, still, prone to overreacting. Seems silly, really, in the midst of this.

for salutosinedelectat

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Oh crowley honey it's okay

bb gonna explode from anticipation and nerves

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Anime moment

strong work boys

10/10 on that landing and for Aziraphale

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