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From:

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.]

From:

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?

From:

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.]

From:

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.]

From:

confoundthemighty

[Every touch, every kiss, every little physical intimacy is marvelous. They're all evidence that the last few days haven't just been a terrifying and beautiful dream of some sort--that his love really is known and returned, and neither of them has anything left to hide. And oh, Crowley has the most gorgeous smile, a smile that seems to mirror and magnify his own joy tenfold.

As bright and as gay as a daisy in May, a cliche coming true. Aziraphale has to take a moment to muffle a laugh against Crowley's neck.]

Along with a few good bottles of wine and a record or two, yes. [He does not in fact own any pyjamas to bring--they're not exactly a high priority, since before now he's only slept once every century or so. But he thinks he might start to enjoy sleep more, now that he no longer has to spend his every waking moment fighting a millennia-old longing. Dreams are torture when you're hiding a secret like that.]

From:

duckshaveears

We may need to go shopping later.

[Tomorrow, maybe. The day after. Whenever they emerge from bed again. Crowley kisses along Aziraphale's jaw, up to his ear.]

Get you some proper lazing about the house clothes. 'Fraid my place has a strict undress policy now.

[The better for snuggling. Crowley's always liked sleep, but dozing while curled up against Aziraphale?That offers all new prospects for enjoyment. Whether Aziraphale chooses to doze with him or read a book, or some of each. Crowley nibbles his way along Aziraphale's ear delicately.]

S'nearly lunchtime now. You hungry?

Edited (Autocorrect is an idiot) Date: 2019-10-23 11:40 pm (UTC)

From:

confoundthemighty

[He tips his head to one side to give Crowley better access to his skin, eyes slipping shut with a contented sigh, fingers finding their way under the collar of his robe to slide over his bare shoulders.]

Absolutely starved, [he murmurs, making no move to pull away. Certainly he won't ever say no to a lunch date with Crowley, but he has a far more insistent appetite to satisfy first.] Though if I'm overdressed we probably ought to fix that as soon as possible...

[He's always rather liked the look of a good dressing gown. That seems like an amount of clothing he could probably bear, as opposed to his suit, which is starting to feel like a series of inconveniences.]

From:

duckshaveears

Yeah...yeah, we better...

[Crowley entirely agrees about the inconvenient state of Aziraphale's clothes, i.e. them still being on Aziraphale instead of anywhere else. S'fantastic that he's allowed to do something about that now. Starting with the bowtie, again. He's never not going to get an erotic thrill from undoing that bowtie.

There's a nice contrast to this, to undoing things a slow, deliberate step at a time. Last night had ended up a frantic tangle of divesting, and Crowley doesn't regret even a smidgen of it. But there's something to be said for anticipation now that they're both on the same page.

He nibbles his way to behind Aziraphale's earlobe, kisses the delicate skin there, moves his mouth down the angel's neck.]

Why did I let you leave? Could've been doing this all morning...

[They already had been doing this all night, but that doesn't seem an argument against the question, not to Crowley. Too much of a good thing is fantastic.]

From:

confoundthemighty

[Aziraphale wouldn’t change a thing about the previous night—as raw and desperate as it was, the total lack of elegance made it all the sweeter, both of them too overwhelmed to be anything but totally sincere. Now, though, they can both bear slow, and relish it.

He’s already positive that he’ll never be able to take off the bowtie again without a little frisson of arousal and love. And he’s becoming increasingly certain that his reaction to Crowley’s mouth dragging softly against his neck is only growing more powerful. His head tips back, a warm sigh stirring against Crowley’s cheek, his hands hooking into the fabric of the black robe to start tugging it off.]

We could’ve... but you said something about a nap, I think... hard to remember what the justification was at the time...

[Whatever it was, though, he’s not exactly sorry. There’s a distinct pleasure in playing hooky to be with someone who loves you, one Aziraphale hasn’t really allowed himself before and is now discovering he enjoys immensely. After all, staying home from work is one thing, but leaving in the middle of the morning to give in to temptation is arguably just as much fun.]

From:

duckshaveears

Well, I didn't get much sleep last night, for some reason...

[Another low purr of a sentence, his lips moving against Aziraphale's skin. He sucks on the angel's throat, just a little. Not too much. There's still bruises there from last night.

Crowley knows all about the pleasures of skiving off what you're supposed to do and instead doing something else, especially if it's something someone would disapprove of.]

So clearly I should be in bed. Don't you think?

From:

confoundthemighty

[Even if he's still a touch sore, he wears every bruise proudly, loves that the ache reminds him of the sweetest words in the world being pressed against his skin. A few of them might be visible just above his collar, and he doesn't give a damn who might see them--in wild moments he almost wants to show them off.

Aziraphale turns his head a little, brushes his lips over the curve of Crowley's ear.]

That does seem like a wise decision. And I'd probably better come with you, just to be on the safe side. In case you're tempted to get up again.

From:

duckshaveears

I am easily tempted by things.

[He shivers at that touch on his ear, loving the sweetness of it, the promise inherent in breath and mouth. With only a little reluctance Crowley steps back, taking Aziraphale's hands and pulling him after, leading him into the bedroom. Between the half-open black robe and the bed-wild hair and the love marks on his skin, Crowley looks a very picture of debauchery. The smile gives him away, though. There's nothing of sin or temptation in that smile, nothing even remotely Hellish, not at the moment. Just pure, unalloyed happiness.]

From:

confoundthemighty

Very easily.

[Drawn by the light of that smile, by the gently insistent clasp of his hands, Aziraphale can't help but follow. And there's a possessive thrill in crossing the threshold into Crowley's bedroom--their bedroom, now, one of the first things to have an ours attached to it.

The bed is still something of a smoking wreck, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He'll probably be a touch sad when Crowley eventually picks up the trail of rumpled black garments that leads from the couch to the bedroom--he almost wishes he didn't have to pick up his own clothes, this morning.

(This time, though, he takes a moment to get rid of his shoes at the door. He's not sorry they did things a bit out of order the night before, but he's also glad of the chance to eliminate a possible future frustration.)

Again he's struck by just how happy Crowley looks--he's always been beautiful, always, but there's no hint of worry or preoccupation or melancholy about him. He looks as light and unburdened and joyful as Aziraphale feels, and somehow that seems like a miracle.]

I love you, [he says, quietly, leaning in again to find an unmarked spot high on Crowley's neck to adorn with a sucking kiss.]

From:

duckshaveears

[Crowley closes his eyes, swaying against Aziraphale, his hands coming up to rest on the angel's shoulders. He bows his head, so as to be more easily reached, or maybe in seeking benediction.

For all his undemonic goodness, there's always been a dark core at the heart of Crowley, one that's burned since long before they met. Anger and resentment, confusion and frustration, and more anger, hotter than any star he ever made when he was an angel. And that's still part of him. It can't not be. He's still a demon, and the reasons why he Fell are still there.

But they burn less hot just now, turned quiescent. Because right now, he wouldn't change a thing about the world he's in or any of the choices they or anyone else has made. Not one thing. Maybe there can't be forgiveness, but just maybe there can be peace, at least for a time. There can be love burning with a warmth all its own, unlike any he's known before.

Crowley turns his face and kisses Aziraphale's forehead, pulls him in and wraps arms around him, kisses him properly, a slow dance of breath and mouth.]

I love you.

[Strange, stark words, naked and vulnerable, and part of him finds them difficult to say like this. They're easier in the heat of the moment, during blood rush and hunger. Dropped into a quiet silence it's too easy to feel like they'll shatter on the floor in a thousand pieces to cut at them both.

But he trusts Aziraphale, absolutely, with everything he is and everything he has. Even those three words.]

From:

confoundthemighty

[There's something different about this moment--something frail and lovely, as new as any of the flowers now blossoming all over the flat. Aziraphale lets his awareness of it show as he looks up at Crowley, eyes soft and blue and full of unrestrained love. This is a moment neither of them could have imagined becoming reality, infused as it is with their freedom from any alliance except the one they've chosen to make: a moment they don't have to steal from anyone, a first paving-stone on a new path forward.

Only love proudly and gladly and well, though love be Heaven or love be Hell.

His smile is as warm as a sunrise at the end of a long winter.]

You know, if you ever get tired of Mayfair, there's plenty of room above the shop. Provided I don't end up simply spiriting all my things over here first.

[They'd pledged this to one another in far more general terms the night before, both of them vowing above all else to stay together, but even Aziraphale knows there's a difference between an impassioned forever and a solid next week, and the week after, and past the end of the month. He no longer fears saying yes or making promises--no opinion Above or Below matters as much to him as the complicated, beautiful soul holding him close right now. No one can interfere with this little Eden they've made for themselves.]

From:

duckshaveears

You're asking me to move in with you?

[Astonished, delighted words, because Aziraphale is right. Promises of always are charming but not at all the same as now, here, let's make a plan, let's work on it together. It's even more true when you're immortal and now just how vague always can get.

Similarly there's a difference between I love you and I love you enough that I want to put up with all your little quirks, even the ones that really piss me off, on a day to day and moment to moment basis. It used to be that he and Aziraphale would go centuries without seeing each other. It's a long time since that's been enough for Crowley, the amount of time he's willing to spend time apart from the angel has decreased exponentially over the past few years, week, day, but that doesn't make the idea any less of a surprise. Nor does the surprise make the idea any less welcome.

Crowley laughs and reaches for Aziraphale's shirt buttons.]

Angel, you are wearing far too many clothes for such a serious discussion. You're in flagrant breach of the rules of my flat and I really must insist.

From:

confoundthemighty

[The sheer delight on Crowley's face and in his voice sets Aziraphale's heart thrumming like the inside of a musical instrument. There's an undeniably human pleasure in knowing he can return even a little of the happiness he's been given--and after far, far too long adhering to the rules of the celestial, it's bliss to let his heart be human. It's too big to put into words, too, at least right now: I want your company, I want to know that you'll be there when my day is over, I want the quiet moments we could never have stolen while Above and Below still claimed us. I want to learn what it is to love sleep, lying next to you. I want to know if you snore. I want to live where you live. I want my life to become ours.

A quick snap of his fingers--the only miracle he's got the presence of mind for at the moment--and his coat vanishes from his shoulders; it hangs itself up politely by the front door, with great dignity. The rest of his clothes and Crowley's stay as they are--after all, the journey is every bit as enjoyable as the destination.

Aziraphale sways into his hands, brushing smiling kisses along the by-now reddened and faintly bruised skin of Crowley's neck.]

Come live with me and be my love, [he quotes, both playful and reverent, his palms sliding under Crowley's robe to splay against his bare back. God, but he's warm.] And we will all the pleasures prove that valleys, groves, hills, and fields, woods, or steepy mountain yields...

From:

duckshaveears

[That minor miracle makes Crowley laugh again, though he's glad it's just the coat that's gone. They should probably figure out what to do about miracles, but...later. Later. Everything's a lesser priority just now, with Aziraphale in front of him bestowing kisses like blessings while Crowley unbuttons his waistcoat.]

Good old Kit.

[It's a murmur of memory, one they both share. It'd been a good decade for theatre and poetry. Will's work had been the more polished but Kit's the more visionary, as Crowley remembers. He shivers as Aziraphale's hands caress his back, and tilts his head to kiss the angel's cheek, his words a low caress in their own right.]

But could youth last, and love still breed...[A kiss on the ear, and another.] Had joys no date, nor age no need... [Behind the ear, and further down on the neck, and he finishes with the waistcoat buttons and leaves it on and undone, instead moving to the shirt buttons underneath.] Then these delights my mind might move, to live with thee, and be thy love.

From:

confoundthemighty

[Miracles will definitely have to be a later conversation, considering the far more enjoyable one they're currently having. Though Aziraphale is relieved he hasn't lost the ability to do them (and hasn't yet caught on that he does them by accident), he's also privately decided it's probably a good idea to stick to relatively small ones for the time being. Just so he doesn't draw the attention of any former coworkers.

But he doesn't give a damn about any of them, right now. There are more important things to think of. Poetry, for example, and shared memory, and nimble hands uncovering his skin.

His breath hisses in quietly as Crowley kisses his neck--for all his reading, no one ever could have warned him that the tickle of breath and the press of lips against his throat would set him ablaze in the space of a heartbeat--and shivers out as a breathless laugh.] And I hadn't even got to the bed of roses yet. Which, I might point out, I did provide. [His hands stroke up and up, along the ridges of his shoulderblades, before he turns them slightly and catches at the fabric of the robe; he pulls it gently down.]

From:

duckshaveears

[Poetry isn't Crowley's strongest point, certainly not on the level of Aziraphale. Music and films and plays are more his style. But you can't hang around for six thousand years without picking a few things up. And just at the moment, taking up more poetry is sounding pretty appealing. Anything that'll help him get Aziraphale into bed as often as possible is sounding pretty appealing.]

Did you really think I'd say 'no'?

[It's his turn to hiss in a breath as Aziraphale slides his robe off, an action that feels sinfully delicious. Delicately he bites at Aziraphale's neck, once and then again, nibbling his way carefully downwards towards the angel's collar as he finishes with the shirt buttons. At that point he stands up again to look at the results: Aziraphale, standing breathless and anticipating in front of him, with his shirt and waistcoat all undone to reveal the smooth skin underneath. Crowley's throat goes dry for a second, and he runs a finger along Aziraphale's neck, along his collar, and down that revealed line of skin.]

Bed of roses, bed of thistles, bed of nails...I'll lie next to you in any bed, anywhere.

[Not I would but I will.]

From:

confoundthemighty

[One of the wonderful things about love, Aziraphale has gathered from humans, is how two souls can make a bridge of themselves to one another. Even if a pair of hearts will always remain separate entities, they create a happy space between themselves, a beautiful pool of common joys. For a long time he suspected that, as people are prone to do, there was some exaggeration involved in the rapturous descriptions of falling in love; now he knows that, if anything, they simply couldn't put it all into words.

The gentle stroke of one finger along his neck, down his chest, sends a long and happy shiver trickling down his spine. He looks up, catching that beautiful familiar yellow gaze; his heart twists and leaps like a flame to see the artless honesty there. Quietly he lets the robe fall to the floor, captivated, seduced.

And because he's Aziraphale, another poem springs to mind--this one far more recent.]

Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter...

[The words aren't his, but he means every one of them.]

From:

duckshaveears

[Crowley's breath hitches in his throat, and he takes another step back, pulling Aziraphale forward by the hand.]

'S unfair, angel, you remember more poetry than I've ever learned. How'm I supposed to keep up?

[Clearly, by making unfair advantages of his own, or at least distractions. Those he can do, he can definitely be distracting. Crowley sits on the bed and tugs Aziraphale into an embrace, kissing the angel's stomach, just above his waistband. His hands splay on Aziraphale's back for a moment, then wander, fingertips trailing along his spine and up to his shoulderblades, tracing the lines where wings would emerge. And he thinks of something, and grins against Aziraphale's skin, because it's cheating.]

Teo torriatte konomama iko--

[How well does Aziraphale remember speaking Japanese? They met there once or twice, though it's been a while. The angel had picked up a taste for sushi and Crowley had accidentally sparked legends of kitsune, fox spirits with red hair and gold eyes...]

Aisuruhito yo, shizukana yoi ni, hikario tomoshi...

[Aziraphale had liked Japan, as Crowley remembers. Maybe they can take a trip there, actually go someplace together, on purpose. But after this week. After he's spent a while having his fill of running hands all over Aziraphale's gorgeous, gorgeous skin and kissing him while they whisper all sorts of soppy romantic mush at each other and do all those stupid things that people in love do.]

From:

confoundthemighty

[Crowley probably doesn't realize, but Aziraphale does pay some attention to his choices of music behind the wheel of the Bentley. Granted, Crowley tends to limit his selections a little more when the angel is in the car with him--if Aziraphale catches him on the right day, he might even flip the station to classical, unless he hears the least hint of Beethoven's Ninth--but the end result is that he has in fact heard a good chunk of Queen's discography. And Aziraphale still uses his Japanese on a fairly regular basis; it's how he's befriended every sushi chef and the very best ramen makers in London. So although it takes a moment, the words do register, kindling a surprised fluttering warmth behind his eyes.

(He remembers Crowley, in a feminine shape, resplendent in a black and red kimono. Long furisode sleeves that swept like wings, barely covering delicate wrists, red hair pinned up in a very slightly disordered bun and fastened by a comb with the coiling figure of a dragon, the nape of her neck flashing temptation under moonlight. They should go back, together. Later. Later.)

His fingers twine into Crowley's hair, tipping his head back, so he can stop the flow of words with a kiss.

This time when he rolls his shoulders the shirt and waistcoat come away neatly (though one of the cuff links escapes again, under the bed); he only lets go of Crowley to pull himself out of the sleeves, but takes the opportunity to crawl into his lap again, pressing him gently backwards.]

From:

duckshaveears

[It's not Crowley's fault that all tapes left in cars eventually turn into Best of Queen compilations, though come to think of it that hasn't happened again since the day the world didn't end. Maybe Adam had changed that too. That would take some getting used to.

At any rate, if Aziraphale recognizes the lyrics he still seems touched by them, and that's enough for Crowley. He'll work on memorizing more poetry later. Right now they have more urgent business to hand. Also to mouth, as Aziraphale demonstrates by kissing him.

A few more layers are removed, and Crowley watches appreciatively. When Aziraphale straddles him and pushes him down, he goes, pulling Aziraphale after him, arms wrapping around his chest. It's the best blanket ever, one made of warm, soft angel, complete with arms and mouth and everything. All he wants in the universe, right here.]

Fuck, I really, really love you.

[It's ridiculous and soppy and he laughs into their kiss as he says it, because he can't help but say it again, it bubbles out of him.]

Can't believe you've got me quoting Shakespeare and talking about beds of roses and everything, what've you done to me...

[It can't be said he sounds at all unhappy about these proceedings, not given how he grins and strokes Aziraphale's back, shifts his legs and lifts one of them to press just so between Aziraphale's thighs.]

Edited Date: 2019-10-29 11:24 pm (UTC)

From:

confoundthemighty

[That grin is nothing if not contagious. Aziraphale feels it before he sees it, but it still curves his own mouth with fondness and warmth and the joy of being close enough to share breath. For all that Crowley protests he's not nice, there have always been flashes of softness in him that Aziraphale loves; knowing he's always had a place in that beautiful soul is still a revelation that steals his breath with wonder. And hearing that admitted to, owned, shared... it's every bit as sweet as the stroke of hands up his back.

When Crowley moves, pressing up and against him, a warm shiver races up the trail his fingers have left either side of Aziraphale's spine. His hips cant downwards, their legs tangling; his breath is starting to come quicker. A low, happy laugh shudders out of him, and he shifts, rocking slowly.]

You're one to talk, my dearest. Here I am taking a week's holiday from the shop to do beautiful filthy things with you...

[Not that it's a complaint. Which he emphasizes by kissing his way along Crowley's jaw to his ear.] I love you too, [he whispers, feathering the words against his skin.]