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[questionablewit]

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TFLN with undwarfy

[questionablewit]

[ooc: continued from here:]

What, you don't think I should go out and make a public spectacle of myself? Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you have no dignity and have just been humiliatingly rejected?

...your place. I don't really like being here today.

[undwarfy]

I’m sorry, you want me to sign off on punishing yourself for HIS mental illness?

[he literally can’t think of one non-insane reason why someone would dump Hawke. I mean damn.]

[questionablewit]

He can't help having amnesia, Varric.


[Yeah, unfortunately she missed his point.]

And it's not wanting to punish myself. Just to drink enough that I forget I care about this crap.

[undwarfy]

wasn’t talking about the amnesia, but sure. I’ll have a barrel brought to my rooms just for you. Get your ass down here.

[questionablewit]

What, then? And just my ass, or the rest of me too?

[undwarfy]

I'd settle for a cheek and a half and that weird human face of yours.

[And that's all she'll get out of him. If she wants an answer to that other question, she'll have to show in person.]

[questionablewit]

[Which she does, not much later, leaning on against his doorframe. She must have already been on her way. No real surprise there.]

Weird human face reporting for duty, as ordered.

[She makes a face to emphasize the point. It's a valiant effort but it's clear there's not much heart in it. Someone looks put through the wringer. Also, underslept.]

for nobroth

[questionablewit]

If you were serious about looking for some extra things to keep you busy, I could use a hand with something.

If you weren't serious, I could still use a hand.

[nobroth]

I'm not busy at all hours of the day, so I do have some time. What's on your mind?

[questionablewit]

Oh, just the usual: righting wrongs, finding lost trinkets, rescuing cats trapped up in trees!

And in this case hiking out to a mine outside of the city to check on why the workers haven't checked in lately.

[nobroth]

The last time I went somewhere rocky, there was a dragon.

...Fine.

Poor, poor Alistair. And poor, still naive Marian.

[questionablewit]

I should be so lucky. I've only seen one dragon, and I'm not sure she counted.

Anyway, I suspect all we'll get are rocks and a lot of justifiably disgruntled refugees who hate their boss. And more rocks.

At least it's a threat he knows. And has been chewed on by.

[nobroth]

I'll bring my good shield, anyway. Fereldans are good at throwing rocks. I should know.

for duckshaveears

[confoundthemighty]

[continued from here]

[Though Aziraphale lets go of the suitcase, its contents miraculously remain intact, if totally ignored for the moment. They're nowhere near as important as the immediate need to put his arms around Crowley, to lean in and kiss him back. His heart feels as bright as a star. The world is new, and this is his place in it: held fast in the arms of the person he loves most.

You with your chameleon's soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are.

He's a little breathless by the time he pulls back, his grin wide and foolish.]

Good morning. Again.

It's my favourite. Ben Kingsley is perfect.

[duckshaveears]

Good morning.

[It's a low purr of a greeting, one chased up immediately by another kiss, and by Crowley this time not hesitating at all to run nails along Aziraphale's back, over multiple layers. Again with the layers. Maybe he can strip them off with more finesse this time. Aziraphale is radiant, not quite literally, and Crowley can feel himself reflecting it back, almost glowing angelically by proxy. I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset, the light on your door to show that you're home.]

'm glad you're back. Was trying to figure out why I'd let you leave at all, even just for a few hours.

It's a longtime family favorite. :D Both my parents guffawed at the travel guide to Illyria.

[confoundthemighty]

[It takes Aziraphale a moment to realize there's something he can do now, an impulse he's been fighting for thousands of years. His hands frame Crowley's face, fingertips splaying tenderly against the serpent mark, and oh, it feels better than any of his shy imaginings.]

I was starting to wonder why I bothered to open the shop. Should have left the note and come straight back.

[Or gone straight back to bed after breakfast, maybe. Except then he couldn't have gotten poetry and wine. Either way, he's here now, and he's not leaving for a week.]

It's a delight. I maintain that "I was adored once too" is the most tragic line in all Shakespeare.

[duckshaveears]

[After a long night of bliss in various forms they'd gone to breakfast, then separated. Mostly out of habit, Aziraphale going to open the bookshop for a little while and do some cataloguing, Crowley to take a short nap. It'd taken Crowley all of two minutes to realize he didn't want to do anything except see more of Aziraphale. In any sense.]

When you texted I was thinking of coming over to lie on your couch and drive away all your customers. Not like you want to sell them any books anyhow.

[He actually nuzzles against those hands on his face, turning to kiss each palm in turn and not giving a blessing how ridiculously smitten it looks. He is ridiculously smitten, and besides, it's not as though anyone's watching.

No one's watching. For the first time ever, perhaps, he's claimed it for centuries but now it's definitely true. Crowley wonders how long it will take for that to stop being thrilling.

Meantime his hands slide from Aziraphale's hips around his waist, pulling him in closer.]

Since when do you even own a suitcase?

Difficult to dispute, and I say that as someone who sincerely likes Hamlet!

[confoundthemighty]

[It had just seemed like the thing to do, to head back to the bookshop--but possibly that was a remnant of the old world asserting itself, a world that's disappearing like mist under sunlight every time he remembers they're free. Free to love one another, to spend time together, to decide that they are in fact due a holiday to explore the language of touch they've been learning.

It's dizzying, and he feels new and invincible and fearless.]

Since 1917, [he replies, swaying easily against Crowley, hands drifting down to play with the collar of his open robe. Warmth spreads from his palms down to his wrists from those light kisses; he's almost shining with happiness.] And before you ask, yes, it was full of books when I bought it.

[Look, sometimes you just get lucky at the flea market and find a ton of cool books inside a pretty nice suitcase and the vendor offers you a great deal to take the whole thing off their hands.]

I adore Hamlet. That, Much Ado, and Henry V are my trifeca of Shakespeare delight. ;)

[duckshaveears]

[Crowley chuckles warmly, tilting his head so it's easy for Aziraphale to slide hands down to his collar. He might have been wearing a shirt before Aziraphale decided to come back. He might've decided it wasn't going to be needed for very long.]

That explains your motivation in getting it. I should have guessed.

[The same teasing and camaraderie they've already had, but with such a delicious new physical element added to it, and with all the various things they pushed out of sight (of each other, of themselves) not hidden. Crowley is never going to get tired of that easy, open warmth in Aziraphale's face, the complete lack of fretting or second guessing. He's never going to get tired of being able to just bend down and steal a kiss on a whim, for no reason except that Aziraphale's mouth is right there and he can.

This one is a little more thorough, their tongue exploring, lips tugging at lips, tasting. One night wasn't nearly enough to start getting used to it.]

And there's books in it now as well, I take it?

[He's met Aziraphale, and the chances of the angel packing a toothbrush and pyjamas to come for a week's stay are low, to say the least. Though they should get him some pyjamas. Does he have any pyjamas? Maybe Aziraphale could borrow Crowley's unused shirt, and there's an image to send a shiver down his spine. His hands trail along Aziraphale's spine in long, slow strokes. Mine, mine mine.]

[confoundthemighty]

(continued from here)

[Aziraphale is still catching his breath; his spine seems to have gone utterly liquid. What he feels is something vastly, ecstatically beyond debauched--well and truly fucked is probably the closest he could get. Love rings dizzily through every cell in his body.

He doesn't so much curl closer as flow in towards him, a lazy shift to his side.]

And where will you put it? [His voice is playful, if a touch hoarse from pleading--faster, faster, faster.] Over the bed? On your desk? Don't tell me you'll have it mounted on the ceiling.

[duckshaveears]

Nah, I think we've had enough mounting for one day already.

[Innuendo? Crowley doesn't mind if he does. He also doesn't mine pulling Aziraphale in close, as long as the angel is shifting in. They were both overheated after that last round but he cools down quickly. Besides, any opportunity to embrace Aziraphale should be taken. It's a philosophy he'll stand by to the end. Or lie next to.]

In the bedroom, I think. Right there.

[He points at a blank space of wall next to the door.]

So I can read it whenever I'm lying in bed next to you and remember what a wonderfully filthy mind you've got lurking under that angelic exterior.

[confoundthemighty]

[He giggles at the dirty joke—and, he immediately decides, he rather likes “filthy” as a compliment. It’s been delightful thus far, realizing that even without any actual experience he can tease and pleasure and satisfy the one person he’s wanted for most of his very long existence. “Filthy” registers on the same level as “just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing”: it’s proof that he is at least a little bit cool.]

Mm. We’ll have to find a good gilt frame of some sort, once I’ve made the text itself suitably fancy.

[Though he hasn’t done any actual calligraphy in at least two centuries, Aziraphale’s spent enough time working with illuminated manuscripts that he’s not entrusting the tarting-up of his dirty limerick to another artist, no matter how talented. He’s certainly done a few gratuitous snakes for S’s, in his time, especially during very long and boring afternoons of copying.

He rests his head on Crowley’s shoulder, relishing the easy press of skin against skin.]

Might do it in gold ink. Or at least give it some highlights. Probably in the gratuitous snakes.

[duckshaveears]

[Of course Aziraphale will do the actual calligraphy, Crowley hadn't reached that point of thought yet but he would have. They've met before in olden days in scriptoriums, long before they were what they are to each other now; Crowley too admired the beauty of the illustrated parchment, the artistry of ink on page. He'd have no one else render this bit of poetry to paper.]

Gold and ink, definitely.

[His arm tightens around Aziraphale, and he kisses the angel's hair.]

Black snakes, green vines, red and blue flowers since you seem to make those happen everywhere anyway--

[A chuckle for that inside joke. Crowley will never let Aziraphale live down all those flowers, not ever.]

Silver feathers and bronze books. Get both of us in there, not just me. And I'll get the most gaudy frame in all of London for it.

[confoundthemighty]

[The flowers, incidentally, are a regular occurrence now. Aziraphale sometimes wonders what would happen if they were to go to a botanical garden and Crowley happened to murmur something unexpectedly sweet to him there. He can't help it; he's too happy, and anyway he doesn't know how to turn off whatever part of his nature that causes it.

Breath leaves him as a happy sigh, fills him again with lazy delight.]

You might have to have one commissioned, if you can't dredge up something suitably dreadful secondhand. Little naked cherubs holding peaches on it. Or a snake with suspiciously shaped scales.

[duckshaveears]

[Flowers have never been Crowley's preference. He likes sleek, tall green plants, not fussy messy blossoming things. But it's hard to begrudge them knowing the source. He kisses Aziraphale's forehead.]

Not cherubs. Never cherubs, there are limits even to bad taste. Scales, maybe. Tentacle suction things.

[It's a completely bizarre mental image, which is why he chuckles before kissing Aziraphale again.]

This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Love you.