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

Oh crowley honey it's okay

[salutosinedelectat]

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?

bb gonna explode from anticipation and nerves

[sauntered_downward]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[sauntered_downward]

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.

Anime moment

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

strong work boys

[sauntered_downward]

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."

10/10 on that landing and for Aziraphale

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[sauntered_downward]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[sauntered_downward]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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

[sauntered_downward]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[sauntered_downward]

"Too fast?" Crowley murmurs, stopping his hands' movements immediately. He isn't the sort to pray, but he would, in this moment, that Aziraphale's answer is no.

After all, they aren't even entirely undressed yet. Crowley doesn't even know if Aziraphale has any genitals on----he might not, for all the demon knows right now---and there's so much he'd like to do over the course of the evening and morning and whatever other time they have together.

[salutosinedelectat]

Well, he would hope there was no praying involved. That just sounds like an unpleasant time for all involved, most of which the angel himself.

Another clear of his throat and an attempt at relaxing again, and while the smile at the demon is awkward and embarrassing its real enough. He notices how careful and considerate Crowley is. It warms his heart, reminds him of all the good things he knew about the demon already, and reminds him he may now have the opportunity to see more of it.

"--no, it's-" He settles again, on him, pecks his lips again. "it's fine."

[sauntered_downward]

"I'm aiming for a little more than fine," Crowley says, leaning back up to kiss the angel more fully.

It's a bit embarrassing, thinking about it. He's Crowley, the Serpent of Eden. One of the best known demons in the whole universe. And yet, he would do anything, literally anything (or nothing) for Aziraphale. If Aziraphale wanted this in any way and asked for it, or Crowley even remotely suspected that was how he wanted it, it would be happening that way. If Aziraphale called a halt to it forever, Crowley would sit next to him and never let himself want it again. That's the sort of power Aziraphale has over him. Embarrassing, and a bit frightening, really. But Crowley never suspects Aziraphale would ever use this against him.

Aziraphale loves him. He knows that down to his absolute core.

He slides the angel's underpants down further, down his legs, still kissing him. One of them, at least, was undressed.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale knows that the demon, when faced by most requests from the angel himself, will most definitely see them through. He's known this for a while, one way or another, and may have, on occasion, taken advantage of that. Not with anything serious, mind you, but little favors, little gestures, things of little consequence, but that Aziraphale appreciates all the same.

But not the big things, no. Or, Well- perspective it might be; imposed boundaries, moments when honesty pushed itself out to the real world because there was no other alternative. Walking away, coming back, finding the demon waiting there for him. But even the angel himself can't tell if that was a conscious choice, or if he simply carried with him the knowledge that Crowley would do most things for him, would be there, would stay. A safety net, as the demon's always been. Made himself be.

He appreciates it. Owes him for it loves him for it, but also for so much more.

That's the feeling he needs to steady himself on.

He shifts his legs, trying to help along without breaking too much contact. An effort, sure, it's time for an effort, which comes surprisingly easy now, with him, here. He gives himself something to work with, goes with conventionally male attributes - the first thing that comes to mind, really, as he rarely bothers -, but seems rather more focused with kissing Crowley, loving him, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone, feeling their bodies pressed together.

Priorities may change over the course of the evening, of course, as they are bound to do very shortly, but he pulls his mind into the loving place it was before. The more personal place, that he now shares, for the first time, on a level he never did before.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley could really care less what attributes Aziraphale gives himself----either, both, neither, as long as they're connected, he's comfortable with it. So long as Aziraphale is attached to whatever is or isn't there, Crowley is on board. Having something to work with makes it a bit easier, of course, and Crowley immediately shifts his body to move his hardness against Aziraphale's newly created maleness.

He wants to share with Aziraphale, more than just the sexuality behind their touches and movements, but more of himself, in the way that humans can't. After all, they can connect, they can touch, they can feel each other. Why not share both? And he has so much he wants to feel from Aziraphale, so much he wants to know about him. Again, he's a bit greedy.

He cups Aziraphale's face as they kiss, and shares his desires. Physical, touch, and to know him, to share with him.

[salutosinedelectat]

Another muffled sound, right into their kiss, soft, yearning, feeling Crowley press himself up against him, feeling his request for that connection, for that sharing, and it's almost scary, almost overwhelming, without quite breaching that threshold, at least not yet.

He hears him, he hears him, and he shows him so, thinking about, showing him how much he loves him, how much he appreciates him, how much he appreciates all his presence, his protectiveness, all of his efforts in keeping the angel as well as he could. He shares, now, he shares all of the things he couldn't share, all of the things he couldn't even admit to himself.

And a touch, to his side, down to his waist, gently tracing his fingers along the belt until they brush on the skin bellow Crowley's belly. He doesn't mind being more forward now, that he's only leveling the field, as it were. A silent request of his own.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley lets out a gasp at the sudden wave of Aziraphale coming over him. The feeling of love and appreciation, all of the things Aziraphale is giving to him. He takes it in greedily, pulling it in and begging for more. At the same time, he gives his adoration for Aziraphale, 6000 years of longing and love, the sensation of watching him and desiring affection. Being at arm's length has not always been easy---sometimes Crowley felt like he'd rather be a million miles away than be so close to Aziraphale and never be able to touch him, never be able to ask him if he loved him in return.

Now they have this.

He lifts his hips in response to Aziraphale's hand on his belly. Crowley is a lot of things, and responsive is one of them.

[salutosinedelectat]

There's some guilt that comes along with facing how long Crowley had desired something more out of their friendship. Aziraphale had dared to acknowledge it back in the late 60s, with much struggle and much pain, much fear and worry, and it had all been an entirely unpleasant experience. For both, he realizes know, quite obviously, but there was nothing he could have done then. He thinks. He thought.

But if he could go back - if he could go back to so many different times, he would have done things differently. He would have been kinder. He would have been braver. But, perhaps, different paths would not have brought them here.

He wishes, he hopes, this was worth it in the end.

But he doesn't share that in detail - the guilt is there whether he wants it to be or not, and Crowley deserves that acknowledgement too, in the very least. After everything.

But the affection he craves, the love Aziraphale's been keeping deep down, it's there, and it's all over him.

A couple more kisses and he blindly tries to work his belt open. It's not exactly a common shape, snake head and all, so he has to fuss with it for a moment, but when he does get it open, he can't resist brushing his hand up towards Crowley's stomach again, feeling the skin, feeling how he responds.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley can feel the guilt and it doesn't make sense----why guilt? Really, it's Crowley who should feel guilty. After all, Aziraphale was offering him something beautiful and wonderful, their friendship. Was it really Aziraphale's fault that Crowley felt so much more for so long? He remembers the night in the car in the 1960's, when Aziraphale had told him he moved too fast, and that was the first time, the very first time, that Crowley had ever felt like it wasn't fair. How had he moved too fast, after 6000 years? How could he move any slower? And then, followed it up with another emotion---no, really, how could he move slower, because he would, for Aziraphale.

He feels the angel fumble a bit with his belt, and then move his hand back up to his stomach. He wants to just take his hand and move it back where he wants it, but that's not how this works. Crowley has become very good at waiting as long as it takes.

And it's not always painful, waiting. He shares with Aziraphale some of the delights he felt in longing. In wanting. In watching Aziraphale secretly while he was drinking or looking out a window, in delighting in his presence in secret. While never as fulfilling as being in his arms, there's something decidedly romantic in it, and Crowley reveled in it.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale didn't so much offer him friendship as Crowley reached out for it. It had been a mindless offer in the beginning, a delight in the middle, a necessity by the end. A kind of relationship they both necessitated, someone to relate to, someone to understand, even if they were different people, they at least had that.

More of Crowley's revelations, and it's hard not to feel a little exposed, a little embarrassed, but not unpleasant. To know that he had been wanted in such a way, the romance of it all, it's somewhat...flattering. Once again, it's hard to tell where the limits of Aziraphale's observations lied, where the denial and distraction began. But the parts of it that are not regrettable, they feel like poetry. They feel like a song.

And Crowley doesn't need to wait for too long on the physical melody that accompanies this, as Aziraphale's hand moves back down and he has to pull away from the kiss for a moment, finishing up with the belt and moving along to his trousers. He's red, fumbling and embarrassed, but keeping quiet for now- A hand moves along the top of Crowley's thigh, over the fabric, and he looks at the demon for direction.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley doesn't let Aziraphale fumble long. While seeing the angel flushed and red is nothing short of completely adorable, it's never Crowley's intention to truly embarrass him. He won't leave him floundering. He slides his hand down to take Aziraphale's, to direct his touch up, still above the fabric, to where his hardness is pressed. He should really have the angel remove his especially tight trousers (not quite as tight as the ones he wore in the early 1990's that required him to ensure he never had any genitals on, because the pressure made them far too uncomfortable), but he doesn't want to move too fast. One step at a time. A touch, and he moves his hand to stroke through the fabric.

Crowley could've easily written poetry about Aziraphale. He liked poetry well enough, found some joy in it, but never got past his own ego to put pen to paper. But it had always been there, the desire to write a little about how he was feeling, about the things he wanted. He lived through all of human history, all of the different eras of human poets. He could've written anything. Would that have wooed the angel sooner?

They would never know. But they have this.

[salutosinedelectat]

Well, isn't it good that they find themselves with so much time? Not that time had actually been much of an issue before, thousands of years as they lived on Earth, but poetry doesn't have a time limit. Maybe one day, who knows. In whatever form it takes.

The look on the angel's face is soft and curious, nervous but not entirely hesitant. There are far too many implications within them being together in the manner, romantically, physically, emotionally, after so long, after what they've been through. A culmination yet only a new chapter, he would hope, should nothing succeed to end them too soon.

He feels and observes his indications, feels Crowley through the fabric of his trousers, strokes him through the fabric with a gently firm press of his palm, taking the opportunity to lean down and press some kisses over his collar and up towards his throat.

He can give him this. He can give him love. He can give him safety, finally, return it as Crowley's given him. They have time, and he has a lot of catching up to do.