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

[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.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley moans. It's definitely not dignified, but after something like six thousand years of loving and wanting the person who is now kissing your neck, now touching you, it's sort of impossible not to. Aziraphale may blame himself for waiting, for not wanting to move fast enough, but Crowley will always regret not speaking up. For offering things and trying to save him, rather than just saying the words, the words he can say now.

"I love you---" The words come out as a sharp gasp, and he moves his hips into the angel's touch. He slides one hand up into Aziraphale's hair, gently tangling in his soft curls.

It didn't have to take this, he thinks. It didn't have to take danger, take being on the run, for this to happen. They could have, and probably would have, met here at some point. Crowley would have waited forever. There has never been anyone he has loved, ever, save for Aziraphale. Never anyone who has ever come close.

[salutosinedelectat]

Maybe they would have. Could have. Maybe, had they had the time to grow more free Aziraphale would have begun to properly look inward, process some things, think some feelings over. But hypotheticals are pointless in situations like these. They have this, now. They have what they have, they have these moments, they have this bed, they have each other, and so much more.

The sound that comes from Crowley, his words, his shifting, a beautiful menagerie of details that make Aziraphale's heart race. To be touching him, to be kissing him, it's... Oh, it's so much more than he would have imagined a while back.

So he kisses up his throat, his chin, meets him with a new kiss on his lips. Crowley's hand in his hair, Aziraphale's hand at work, gently, confessions and kisses and stronger connections as he sentles ontop of the demon, is something he never would have expected of this night. Most of all, back on the airplane, when Crowley had said his name, and Aziraphale expected him to say more.

"I love you too." in a breath against his lips

[sauntered_downward]

They love each other. Could Crowley have imagined these words coming from their mouths only a few hours ago? Oh, maybe, in some wild fantasy imaginative thought that might've passed by while he was staring at Aziraphale. But nothing that could've happened in reality. And now, here they are.

He leans up, capturing the angel's lips with his again. His free hand he slides down his back, tracing it down his spine, to the curve above his buttocks. He wants to touch Aziraphale everywhere. He wants to be touched everywhere. The physical form has so many nerve endings, they all deserve to be delighted.

And then there is what can happen in the mind, against the souls. Crowley reaches in, sliding a sensation against Aziraphale, one of desire.

[salutosinedelectat]

He feels him reach, an instinctual part of him wanting to recoil to some sense of made up safety, but he ignores it, coyly reaching back, offering love, offering that adoration and appreciation, and welcoming him into his soul, into his aura. He's been here alone for so long, this is all so new and strange, and he's still a little nervous, but it's Crowley. That's all he needs.

More kisses, more touches of his hand over the fabric of his trousers, and some shifting along with the feeling of Crowley's hand on his skin. To touch and to be touch, even so gently, so sweetly, oh, it's almost overwhelming by itself.

He pulls his hand away, gently, blindly traces his fingers up to the zipper, to the button, carefully picking at them. Brushes a hand under the fabric when he can reach, to the side, simply feeling more of his skin, more of his warmth, taking his time. At his hip, he gently pushes the fabric down, another request, less coy as he goes.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley lifts his hips a little, making it easier to lower the trousers down. He would, given the chance, just miracle them off, banishing them to the far side of the planet for all he cared. But they're taking this at Aziraphale's pace, and there' a level of patience that must be had for this. And with Aziraphale's hand on his skin, touching him under the fabric of his trousers, he can certain take the anticipation.

Crowley has never considered himself a gentle person. A sweet person. Those are words that aren't associated with demons, or the sort of person that Crowley has always affected himself to be. But he would be that sort of person for Aziraphale. He would touch him as sweetly or as gently as the angel would want. He lets his hand run gently down the angel's back, between his shoulderblades where his wings would be.

He kisses Aziraphale again, and this time gently nibbles against the angel's lower lip. A gentle bite, a soft bite. Something to offer a little teasing.

[salutosinedelectat]

Crowley might not consider himself those things, but Aziraphale has known the sweetness there is to him for a very long time. The kindness and the gentleness that he, by what is said, should not have. Perhaps by virtue of how long they've known each other. Perhaps thanks to all those late night drinks in the bookshop, all those lunches, all those meetings in the park. Perhaps it was all the things they could never say, that bubbled right under the surface. Regardless, he's known it to be true.

The angel arches his back slightly, once again along with Crowley's hand, reacting, feeling the temptation to expose his wings, a true part of his essence, but...no. Not yet, anyway. He does consider it, but he waits. He asks him to wait.

A soft breath against Crowley's lips when he feels the teasing bite. Still so gentle, he thinks, fondly so. And he takes the moment to push down his trousers, which takes a bit more effort by just how closely they're hugging against his skin. A couple more sweet, small kisses are given, before he has to pull away to actually get rid of the last barrier between them.

[sauntered_downward]

Normally, Crowley loves his tight trousers. They're fashionable, they're always in style, and they make temptations an absolute breeze. In this exact moment, he could curse them, because they mean he has to properly wriggle his way out of his trousers in a fairly undignified fashion in order to lie on the bed fully naked with Aziraphale.

Well, what's a moment's undignified wriggling to a lifetime of fashion?

He sits up once the trousers are gone and leans in for another kiss. He slides his hand down Aziraphale's torso this time, past the black mark on his chest to his ribcage, which he carefully traces his fingers along before making it to his hip. Now that there are no clothes between them, he has so many options where to touch, places he could caress or tease to give the angel different sensations. He starts with the hip, with a careful, feather-light brush against the bone there, and follows it up by tracing his fingernails lightly against the thigh.

[salutosinedelectat]

And here they are, the closest they could be to their natural states - others, hidden, much too intense, much too harmful, and he's grown so used to this shape, their forms -, together in more ways than one, and he can barely believe it's happening. It's so much.

The feeling of Crowley's hand gently brushing, touching, his gentleness, it makes his heart flutter, even against the dull ache, the actual physical presence. But, in all things physical, the angel's attention is clearly being pulled towards much more enjoyable matters.

It makes him want more, which is...a rather new, and rather exhilarating feeling. That he may or may not coyly share with Crowley, uncertainty included.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley feels that wanting, the desire for more. He also feels the uncertainty, which brings on it a layer of nervousness on Crowley's part. He can't just seduce Aziraphale and move directly into touching him or making love to him, that might do more to scare him away than anything else. And----careful moment of pause for the fact that Crowley just thought of the whole business as "making love", which should have made him cringe to even think of a term like that, much less as something he'd want to do.

But more. Crowley can do more.

He moves to push the angel back onto the bed and lean over him. He looks down at the angel in this position, then leans down to press his lips to his throat.