for salutosinedelectat

[sauntered_downward]

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.

Comments

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[sauntered_downward]

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."

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[sauntered_downward]

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?"

[salutosinedelectat]

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."

[sauntered_downward]

"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."

[salutosinedelectat]

Despite his protests right now, he'd like that. He'd like it for the future to just be this, just them, just peace, just a continuation of all those times they could halfway forget they were on opposite sides. Except they aren't, anymore, which should make it so much better.

The angel purses his lips, taking a moment before he actually answers. Which, ironically, should be enough of an answer by itself.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley's eyebrows go up again.

"Oh, you have, then?" he says, leaning a bit towards the angel. "Tell me, angel. Anything of note in those ever-so-racy pages you read?"

This is when Aziraphale is at his best, he things. Just a bit prudish, ever-so-gentlemanly, and ethereally wonderful. Crowley wouldn't change him for the whole universe.

Heelies backwards into the pits of hell

[salutosinedelectat]

The angel rolls his eyes, although visibly getting flustered over the gentle digs at his honor. He's always been a creature of comfort and curiosity, so none of it should really be particularly surprising; but, even know, he can't help but to be defensive about such subjects.

" Really, my dear, I don't think any of this is quite-"

But he doesn't quite finish his thought. A sharp pain strikes somewhere within his chest, causing him stop and suck in an uncomfortable breath.

Right. That's right there. And it looks like it's going to be a bit hard to ignore.

oh no dawg what's wrong

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley sits up completely straight, all semblance of the slouched demon without a care in the universe completely gone.

"Angel?" he asks, reaching for his arm. "What is it?"

It's not as if he'd forgotten about the injury. Not as if he'd let himself become too comfortable---but he had, for just a second, thought that maybe they'd escaped it.

Just sprinkling a little more anxiety into their lives

[salutosinedelectat]

With his free hand to his chest, he could easily be mistaken by someone with a particularly nasty case of heartburn.

Except angels don't get heartburn, even if there was a physical heart in there in the first place, and the damage done is well beyond the physical.

He simply sits still for a few seconds, grimacing, not answering, before the pain subsides again and he can finally bring himself to exhale another breath he doesn't actually need.

"Aha, it-" It's got a Hell of a nasty sting to it, that's what it does, whatever it is. The angel sounds slightly out of breath. "It's alright, my dear."

it's okay they deserve it

[sauntered_downward]

It's not, though.

Whatever's happened to Aziraphale is more than just a burn. It's enough to continue to affect him, to continue to burn through him. How can he rest when he's in pain? How do they know that Aziraphale is safe from discorporation, or worse?

Crowley puts down the wine glass and moves across the couch, reaching out his hand to lay across Aziraphale's chest.

"I could try again?" he offers.

I lost this tag once bc smartphone tags suck

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale looks up at the demon, and he sees it again: he sees the genuine concern, the gentleness in his features, the softness in his voice. He sees the fear, the worry, the weariness on his face, and it serves as a reminder of their current situation. Not that they can afford to totally ignore it, for their own sake.

But it's all of Crowley's efforts. It's all of his patience, his care, all of the gentler sides of the demon that Aziraphale has the privilege to see. That's what he really notices.

So, he smiles. Rests his hand on top of Crowley's, a repeated gesture this evening, holding it there.

"I'll be fine, my dear." He thinks. He hopes. He has yet to properly examine the issue and the actual damage. "Just some good rest, and I'll be back in tip top shape in no time at all."

Pardon him his indiscretions with so much hand touching. It feels right, is all.

lazarus forever because i've had that happen to me too many times

[sauntered_downward]

"I'll do anything," Crowley says. "Just tell me what to do, angel."

He would rip out part of his soul to give to Aziraphale if it would fix what has happened. As a matter of fact, that almost seems like a good idea, if Crowley had any idea how to do that. If he wouldn't just be hurting Aziraphale by pasting part of a demon onto him.

He runs his thumb along the top of Aziraphale's fingers, a now-familiar gesture between them. He could try to heal him, he thinks. He's just not good at it. He remembers being good at healing. When he was an angel, so long ago. He was good at building things, at making things happen. But he's been a demon for far longer than he was ever an angel.

[salutosinedelectat]

He knows he will. The angel knows he’d do anything in his reach to help him. Whether it’d be over genuine care in itself, or through some sort of misplaced guilt. The angel knows, and the appreciates it a lot more than he could even begin to let on.

“ I’ll be alright, my dear.” Still keeping his hand over Crowley’s. Mutual comfort, with new gentle gestures and contact that they never had, or were allowed, before. He’s feeling the sharpness of the pain fade for something a lot more dull. Manageable.

It didn’t end him yet. And he thinks (hopes) that means it can’t. Whatever Hastur had been doing to the angel, it was interrupted just in time.

He can’t ask him not to worry. But he hopes his smile is clear enough, his appreciation. He could slip back into that place, before, not even an hour ago, when they kissed again.

“We will be fine.”

[sauntered_downward]

Will he? The worry bubbles up through Crowley's chest like acid. All this teasing, trying to pretend that things are normal, but Aziraphale is---was---who knows what's going on right now.

"I can't lose you, angel," he says. "You're all I've got."

He means it. He literally doesn't have anything else. But then again, he doesn't really want anything else.

[salutosinedelectat]

The honesty of the sentiment catches him unprepared. It shows, too, by the way he stops smiling and looks almost startled.

The words they didn't say before. Well-- some of them. The ones going through their heads - at least, certainly through Aziraphale's - when the unholy flames were starting to consume the bar.

They don't have anyone else. They've never had anyone else, not in the way they have each other. There could never be anyone else.


He reaches a hand up, touches Crowley's cheek as gently as before.

[sauntered_downward]

He turns his head to kiss the angel's hand. So much has changed between them, he thinks. After all, now he can do something like that, he can express his affection for Aziraphale with a kiss or a touch when he couldn't before. But in the same instance, nothing has changed. He still feels the same adoration for him as he did before even the world almost ended.

He puts a hand at Aziraphale's waist, just enough to keep him close. Angels don't dance, but Aziraphale danced with him. Demons don't love, but Crowley shares love with Aziraphale.

"I'll do anything," he says again. "Anything you want, angel."

[salutosinedelectat]

And in the quietness of that moment, true, actual quiet, as opposed to the noisy dark bar, there's no distractions. There's no airs to keep. No need to keep their heads on a swivel. No music. Just the two of them, just the concern, the fear, the love and the devotion. And, as always, the words unspoken.

"...I know." Said so quietly, earnestly - recognition, the acknowledgement of Crowley's attention, his affection. At least one time where the world isn't about to end around them, to show that he means it. That he knows.

And he learns forward, hesitating for just a moment before their lips touch. A look, his thumb stroking the demon's cheek.

May I, my dear? This is all still very new.

[sauntered_downward]

Aziraphale leans in, and Crowley's heart skips a few beats it doesn't really need to take. After all, he's usually the one to make the first move in these situations. To test the waters and see if it's what Aziraphale wants. To tempt him into admitting feeling or wants or desires. Aziraphale moving first means this is what he wants.

The angel hesitates, and a tiny noise comes involuntarily out of Crowley's throat. Because of course he wants to kiss Aziraphale, of course he wants this. Any moment, any time, for forever, and the angel must know that, right? But then again, this is so new to them, this showing of feeling. This intimacy. It was always beyond their reach before. He feels Aziraphale's thumb stroke his cheek so gently, so lovingly.

He leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between their mouths.

[salutosinedelectat]

And it's Aziraphale's heart's turn to skip, as he closes his eyes, as he forgets everything that's out there, bring existance down to this single room, this moment, the two of them.

It might not be the first kiss. It will certainly not be the last, if he has anything to say about it. But something about it feels truly special. Truly definitive. The words in it, them sitting down, the angel's metaphorical foot forward. The recognition and the promise with it.

He doesn't count the time. He refuses to. He just wants to stay - in the right here, in the right now. In the making up for all that dreadful business. The last few hours. The last few months. The centuries of admiration. The not going fast enough.

He welcomes the demon back into the love in his heart, in his soul. It's there for him, if he wants it. Love, and gratitude, and admiration. Promises. It's all there.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley is a lot of things as a person. One of those things is definitely greedy. He took every second with Aziraphale he could during their time together before the Apocalypse. Long lunches, extended evenings in the bookshop. Every second he could, he stepped into it, filling up Aziraphale's free time. All because he couldn't just tell the angel he wanted to be with him. All because he didn't know how to say that he loved him.

Now, Aziraphale offers him back into the love in his heart and Crowley all but free dives back to him, wanting to swim around in the love he feels from the angel, wanting to give it back to him completely. Yeah, Crowley's a bit greedy, but he can't help it. Nature of the beast and all that. Aziraphale must have known that going in, loving a corrupt demon like him.

His hand around Aziraphale's waist pulls him just a little closer as he deepens the kiss.

[salutosinedelectat]

Well, nature of the beast indeed. A kind beast. A good one. The best of them all, and Aziraphale learned that a long time ago, against all odds. Against all warnings. And, for all his flaws and missteps, he's still so glad he at least saw that. He wouldn't have survived otherwise.

There's a quiet faint sound in the kiss, but not a protest. He doesn't object to being pulled in, it is just, as stated, new. A little bit overwhelming. He brings a hand up to Crowley's arm, then up to his shoulder, while the other stays on his cheek. Soft, gentle hands, polite, but not hesitant.

All of existance is so vast. A concept not meant to be grasped, but a concept he's familiar with all the same. But, right now, it seems laser focused on this moment, and he's never felt so safe.

[sauntered_downward]

Kind and good. Kind and good are four-letter words for a demon. Crowley would do better to snap at the angel, to tell him something like Oh, tell the whole world, why don't you? and brush them off. But he is better than he has been, and that's because of his friendship with Aziraphale. He's wanted to be good because of him. He's wanted to do the right thing to do it for the angel.

Loving anything is supposed to be out of his grasp. But he feels it so completely. He feels it even when Aziraphale isn't in his arms, even when he isn't kissing the angel with everything that he has in him. He feels it when he's just looking at him. He feels it when he's teasing him, or Aziraphale is blustering and acting self-righteous and a little bit holier-than-thou. Aziraphale is what he wants, and he gives that sensation, that desire to the angel.

He wants Aziraphale to be safe. He tries to think of the things that make him feel safe, the things that make him feel good. Aziraphale's bookshop makes him feel safe. Evenings with the angel make him feel secure. The angels' hands on his face, on his shoulder, they are like anchors, holding him in place. Chaos and trouble are the things that usually make Crowley feel like he's done the right thing----a good bit of mischief done right, watching people with their shoes untied trip or two people who absolutely shouldn't be together falling madly into each other's arms. Oh, that isn't safe at all, but it's enjoyable, and it's something he imagines the angel doesn't feel----so he shares that feeling of a job-well-done to him, gives him a little of the enjoyment of sin.

[salutosinedelectat]

It makes laugh. Not physically, mind you, but in some part of him. Maybe it's the moment, tainting all of his thoughts with comfort, with joy, with love and affection and all the feelings that make him feel energize, make him feel right. But it may also be the harmlessness in most of Crowley's sins. The lack of maliciousness. Oh, it makes the angel feel so silly for all the times he was ready to accuse Crowley of some or the biggest crimes by humanity, or even others. The angel is not a fan of discord, no, and he would very much rather everyone be happy, and comfortable, and safe, free from harm, but it's not their frustration or annoyance or embarrassment that bring him joy.

It's Crowley. It's who he is. For all his contradictions and for all his lack of malicious intent. For all his smartness and his cunning. For all his kindness and devotion. For his company. For all the lunches and all the late night drinking.

The angel leans forward slightly, reaches his arms up to wrap them around his neck and hold them there. An awkward angle, an indiscretion, but just this once, it should be fine.