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[questionablewit]

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[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.]