Crowley flinches a little at the sudden tang of miraclulous energy, then blinks, unsure if the sudden change of surroundings is real or a drunken illusion. He looks back at Aziraphale with the same expression, grips his shirt harder, as though to keep him from vanishing like the cantina has. Normally he would be more careful of Aziraphale's high collar, well aware of how self-conscious the demon is about the scar on his neck. But just now Crowley's having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. They're all a jumble, emotions and words and images and one overpowering conviction. He tries to return to that. "No, I have to--it's--"
The sentence gets lost in a meep! as he's suddenly swept off his feet, a sensation more nauseating than uplifting (except in a strictly literal sense). He looks all at once a little more green, and stops struggling. As Aziraphale carries him through the doorway, that last word gradually sinks in. Bath. Yeah, a bath would be...would be good. Long time since he's had one. He doesn't know how long.
Crowley's fingers loosen their grip on Aziraphale's shirt, though he doesn't let go. "...okay," he says, suddenly quiescent. "Bath, yeah. That's...been a while." He shudders, turns his face towards Aziraphale's chest, closes his eyes. Inhales. Aziraphale smells good, clean and faintly perfumed with something. He'd forgotten that smell, somewhere in the haze of the past...however long.
"...you're really here?" His voice is muffled against the shirt now, even quieter than those last words. He'll wake up lying in the dust any minute now, surely, like always. But this is nice while it lasts.
In this case possibly it's me who sucks, but oh well! Tender rescues are a lovely thing.
The sentence gets lost in a meep! as he's suddenly swept off his feet, a sensation more nauseating than uplifting (except in a strictly literal sense). He looks all at once a little more green, and stops struggling. As Aziraphale carries him through the doorway, that last word gradually sinks in. Bath. Yeah, a bath would be...would be good. Long time since he's had one. He doesn't know how long.
Crowley's fingers loosen their grip on Aziraphale's shirt, though he doesn't let go. "...okay," he says, suddenly quiescent. "Bath, yeah. That's...been a while." He shudders, turns his face towards Aziraphale's chest, closes his eyes. Inhales. Aziraphale smells good, clean and faintly perfumed with something. He'd forgotten that smell, somewhere in the haze of the past...however long.
"...you're really here?" His voice is muffled against the shirt now, even quieter than those last words. He'll wake up lying in the dust any minute now, surely, like always. But this is nice while it lasts.