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[questionablewit]

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You too, huh? ;D

[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.]

Ohhh yeah. Emphasis on amateur.

[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?

Same here. And most of my Shakespeare was an embarrassingly long time ago.

[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.

On that point I plead the fifth. ;) There's been a lot a lot a lot of Shakespeare.

[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.]

There's a Shakespeare Open Mic once a year (on his birthday) round these parts... ;)

[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.]

Oooooooh I want one...! On my end it's mostly a group of similarly addicted friends and I. =)

[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.]

That sounds like a lot of fun tbh!

[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.]

It really is! We're getting together to do Good Omens in February. ;)

[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.

Oh my LORD I will want pictures at the very least!! <3

[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...

If you like! Though as the Voice of God, I don't have to have a costume. ;)

[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.

HA! Just a megaphone and an air of ineffable authority? XD

[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.]

And a deck of cards! And a piano! And a few other things!

[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.]

An asterisk for footnoting? A big sign that says "NOW KISS"? ;D

[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.]

I'm absolutely going to make a sign that says "I SHIP IT." Maybe a few signs. "INEFFABLE :)"

[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.]

A big book titled "INEFFABLE PLAN" that's all just blank pages and/or the shrug emoji...

[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.]

All blank. Maybe one page with a shrug and another with a tiiiiiiny snake hugging a book/sword.

[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.]

Perfection. :D

[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.]

[duckshaveears]

Filthy, is it...

[From the grin on Crowley's face and the low thrum of the words, he likes that idea, he likes it a lot. It's already natural to just press up a little more into the movement of Aziraphale's hips, rub against him suggestively.

Except then there's a whisper at his ear, heated breath teasing the skin and firing down his ear canal straight into the heart of him, or maybe it's those words doing that, lodging themselves somewhere in his ribcage and leaving him feeling blown open in their wake. Crowley's arms tighten hard around Aziraphale for a moment, and he buries his face in the crook of the angel's shoulder, overcome.

It still doesn't seem real, in some ways. Not when he looks at it closely, not when he lets himself be actually aware of it. Still seems impossible. Two days ago the world was ending, and now this...]

Tell me again?

[confoundthemighty]

[All at once Crowley is nearly clinging to him, face buried in his neck; that murmur against his skin seems to knock his heart sideways in his chest. He’s almost dizzy with sudden tenderness; his voice goes soft with it as he breathes into Crowley’s ear, every word as deeply and sincerely felt as if they’re spilling out of him in the unconcealed heat of passion.]

I love you. And I do want you to move in.

[He punctuates the words with a kiss brushed against Crowley’s ear, small and almost chaste but full of meaning.]

I meant it, you know. Last night. When I said I’d stay with you as long as I live.

[He knows he could tease, could add a touch of levity to the situation or quote some more poetry, but—but it feels important to say this, here and now, to make his intentions clear. To speak a truth into being in this new world they’ve made possible.]

[duckshaveears]

[That light, delicate kiss sends honest-to-Satan shivers down his spine, raises goosebumps, all those things you read about but don't believe actually happen. His hands fist in the small of Aziraphale's back.]

I want that. All that. More than anything.

[He turns his head to take a kiss, slides his tongue in for a slow dance, hunger temporarily banked in order to attend to an even deeper longing. After a few minutes he rolls them over, his leg still pressing between Aziraphale's, and starts kissing his way along Aziraphale's jawline and throat.]

I want to sleep curled around you and wake up next to you. For us to make each other tea and for you to complain about my music and me to complain about you leaving your books everywhere. To kiss you whenever I damn well please just because I can, see you smile at me every day, get in each other's way all the time...

[To make a home with you. That's what it all adds up to, he realizes. He hasn't had a home since he Fell, since he wandered out of Heaven not intending to go back even if he'd been wanted there, which he wasn't. Places to stay, sure, and he likes his flat and all his things, but they aren't the same.

He can't put that into words, though, can't make himself say it, not while this is so new. So instead he laughs, though it's a little choked.]

And do beautiful, filthy things to each other for days or weeks on end in our bed.

[confoundthemighty]

[The sensation of being rolled to his back is rather pleasantly like falling--the sort of fall that ends with a gentle collapse into something soft. Combined with the lazy, sweet kiss, he feels as drunk as if they've already opened every bottle in his suitcase. He's held safe, and it's wonderful to realize the weight atop him feels familiar now.

Then Crowley speaks, writing quiet love across his neck between kisses, and Aziraphale's heart very nearly falls silent to catch every word.

He's always been rather moved by the human idea of marriage. Not the various sorts of rituals associated with it, or the many different sorts of special foods invented for weddings (though he's pretty fond of those)--but simply the idea at the core of it. Two souls, promising to face an uncertain future together, to share their joys and misfortunes and accomplishments with each other: whatever we do from now on, we do as a team.

It steals his breath to realize that's what they both want.

Aziraphale's fingers shake as they come up to curve around Crowley's jaw, to tilt his face up gently so they can look one another in the eye.]

Nothing would make me happier.

[His hand drifts lower, curving around the back of Crowley's neck, stirring against his mussed hair.]

I want to know you're close by, all the time. I want every meal from now on to be one we share. I want anyone who walks into the shop to know that it's your place as well as mine. [His fingers card through Crowley's hair, deeply affectionate.] And I want to keep this bed. [He knows he won't be able to let go of it for several decades, if at all--this has been theirs since last night. There might be more comfortable beds out there in the world (though considering Crowley's tastes that's not entirely likely), but he already loves this one.]

[duckshaveears]

[Blue eyes meeting gold. It's easy to fall into Aziraphale's eyes from this close up, that soft blue dream of sky. Crowley shivers a little as fingers drift down the back of his neck, but doesn't look away.

Not until those fingers are in his hair, teasing the short strands, then his eyes drift closed at that and he bites back a moan. He can't help it. They both learned last night how he reacts to having his hair played with. He's already vowed to grow it out again, already fantasized about those possibilities. He swallows, and his voice is husky when he answers.]

We better test it, then. Make sure it's fit for purpose. [He chuckles, opening his eyes again and grinning, seizing one of Aziraphale's wrists and bringing it to his mouth to kiss.] Wouldn't want to bring a substandard bed with me as my dowry.

[confoundthemighty]

[A faint shiver of joy runs up the inside of his arm when Crowley's lips press to the inside of his wrist, following the sweep of his breath. Six thousand years, and he's just now learning firsthand the spectrum of pleasures that his skin can understand. And it's still incredible, to him, how much they can communicate to one another through touch alone--he feels as if last night they said a thousand things to each other that they have yet to put into words, that he may well spend the rest of his life sorting out.

The grin is nothing if not catching, though, and Aziraphale beams back at him, and it's probably something of a miracle they're not both glowing.]

You are yourself a dowry, [he murmurs, and leans up to kiss Crowley quick and warm before he can protest quoting one of the gloomy plays again.] But now that you mention it, it could use a little more testing. See if it's up to all the exercise we'll be putting it through.

[duckshaveears]

[Crowley laughs, a little breathless.]

I'm no Cordelia, angel.

[He could make an argument for the Almighty as Lear, maybe, comparisons of various abuses of power and power's responsibilities, but that's a subject for another day when they're both more drunk and less naked in a bed. Aziraphale naked in a bed definitely deserves more attention right now.

Crowley returns the kiss for the moment but then goes back down to Aziraphale's hand, sucks a little bit at the delicate skin of his wrist, grazes his teeth over it, then kisses his way slowly and deliberately up the arm. The inside of the elbow gets the same treatment the wrist did. The whole time he keeps his eyes on Aziraphale's face as much as possible, wanting to see every single reaction.]