diatu | say the word, your wish is my command

Who: Aziraphale and Crowley
What: After a tea-party serenade that gently played on angelic heart strings (and healed him from foolish drinking choices), Aziraphale offers to take Crowley back to his place, and of course that will be fine. (Come on and get it)
Where: en route to, and in, Aziraphale's room
When: Tuesday, Nov 19 after the tea party
Warnings: Honestly, I don't know.

Aziraphale is not entirely sure what just happened or why, as he's pretty sure he was too drunk to make sense of it until moments ago, but here's Crowley, defending his honor and sweeping him off his feet after a beautiful, undeniable love song. It is all very... ...Kind? Heroic? Romantic? Well, whatever he can call it will depend on what exactly Crowley's intentions are.

Hardly matters what Aziraphale hopes those intentions might be, really. Has hoped, for some time now.

They're well on their way to Aziraphale's room, far away from prying eyes, when Aziraphale lifts his head from Crowley's shoulder and looks up at him, giddy with adoration like the buzz of Champagne bubbles in his chest, and proudly content: proud to have Crowley openly beside him, holding him, playing Aziraphale's champion as he always has. He'd like to press his lips to the little snake scrawled there on Crowley's cheek, over a hot blush. Or on the warm shoulder where his head had just been laying. He'd like to be brave enough to take Crowley's hand tenderly and invite him to sleep the night on Aziraphale's own barely-used bed. He'd like a lot of things, but they haven't exactly discussed a single one of them--not while sober, really, and he could hardly hold Crowley to things said while drunk.

"I'd say that went ...rather well," he says, straightening Crowley's collar. "All things considered."

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"Why would I want to be anywhere but here?"

Crowley does mean to be very dashing and lean in first, really he does, but it's not his fault Aziraphale is so distracting. There's this body heat between them, the feeling of being so close - a different kind of closeness than inhabiting the angel's form, somehow just as intimate and yet even more. The soft hands exploring his chest, the blue eyes staring into his in wonder. It really does take Aziraphale leaning in before he remembers himself.

And he dips his head down for their lips to meet, a hand still cupping Aziraphale's waist as they get there, finally, finally. Aziraphale is so warm and soft, so wonderful to hold, a fixed point of light that's been Crowley's path home for thousands of years. He takes his time to savor this. It's not so late they're safe from hypothetical wolf-whistling students, but it doesn't matter. It'll never matter who's watching, ever again.

It's at least a few minutes of slow, ever-deepening kisses, keeping Aziraphale flush against him in an embrace, before Crowley even thinks of opening his eyes and coming up for air he doesn't need.

Time has no meaning to an immortal and they have centuries to make up for. The kisses are tender, sweet, needy and full of desire. They're as multifaceted and intense as the unspoken moments they've shared together, and for one of the few times in their shared existence, Aziraphale is not looking over his shoulder, worried about being seen.

Crowley's warm breath against his cheek as the kissing ends finally reminds Aziraphale that they do pretend to need to breathe. He should probably also pass a message to his unnecessary heart that it can resume normal functions again, though his corporation has decided quite frankly to have its own awkward ideas about how to react to being kissed so thoroughly. Cheeks pink with his embarrassed, pleased, well-snogged smile, it's difficult to play at being a suitably demure and prim little angel--not when he's licking his lips like the cat who got the cream.

"Well, now," he says softly and then clears his throat, tugging at his collar as if overly warm.

There's no more he has to say, or he loses the thought in Crowley's golden eyes. Instead he steals a smaller kiss and then another and another, like chasing the last few drops of good scotch and then, never one for moderation once he's set on something, he happily, shamelessly indulges again.

Crowley's own mind is foggy as he reluctantly pulls away, flushed and giddy with the feel of Aziraphale in his arms at last. But he laughs fondly at the sight of his angel looking so satisfied, trying his best to stay prim while sneaking one kiss after another until he dives straight in for more.

Crowley's touches are more daring, exploring, this territory so very new for him. He's tempted humans before, but he's never wanted to actually do more, not with anyone else. No one but Aziraphale, where he indulges now, one hand caressing his cheek as the other squeezes gently against his belly and waist.

"We ought to get to your room, I think. Or your appetite may get the better of you." He winks.

The wink gives him some terrible ideas.

"I can't help it. I'm positively famished." He gives a considering look down at Crowley's lips again before concluding that, no, absolutely Crowley is right. If he stays here, he'll get carried away and then where will they be? The poor students have seen enough suggestion of Mr. Fell's lax morals tonight as it is. It would be best to adjourn and move to a more fitting setting, one less likely to be walked in upon by children.

Despite the comfortable level of familiarity between them, This is new, and Aziraphale spends a moment of awkward indecision figuring out how best to separate and yet not to head up to his room. He slides to Crowley's side and lets the demon's arm stay at his waist. How very modern; his sensibilities argue that at best he should be holding Crowley's arm or his hand or perhaps even be a decent distance from him--but here they are tucked side-by-side like he's seen lovers strolling together in the quiet late night fog.

"But alright, you wicked old charmer, I suppose I'll let you have your way."

"Oh, I'm going to have several ways, I think." Or die trying to fumble his way through them. Crowley keeps his arm around his angel to walk in step, just as unwilling as Aziraphale is to give up that nearness, the warmth of his partner beside him.

"Mm, in fact. It's a school day tomorrow, isn't it. We'll just have to play hookey for all of it." He gives Aziraphale a flirty, sideways smirk. "You nearly took deathly ill, after all. Nothing for it but cozy venial sin."

The goal is to make Aziraphale blush, but he's doing quite a bit of that himself.

Edited 2020-01-15 05:44 (UTC)

Aziraphale's brows raise, suitably impressed and intrigued by the idea, and more than a bit eager to see just what several ways Crowley might be promising.

"A whole day of truancy? Oh no. I couldn't." Regardless of what his words say, his tone suggests he needs no coaxing to agree, only seems to be fishing, perhaps, for an excuse to claim later that he wasn't entirely to blame. He gives a sidelong look of his own, under the fan of his lashes, and Crowley gets his desired results--the angel's cheeks go a rosy blush pink. Venial sin. Cozy venial sin, no less, when here he is certain his own thoughts alone are enough to lock him up for mortal sin...if he had a soul to lose, that is. "Besides." He dusts off the front of his shirt and straightens it out. "All day together, just the two of us in my room, after everything that just happened? Imagine the rumors. We'd be courting scandal."

say the word, your wish is my command

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/gives up on trying to find an icon for this

all their pining and not a post-smooching expression to be found

sadly not

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