They’re tangled up somewhat awkwardly now, all grasping hands and desperate leaning, breath blurring together. For a moment they simply stay that way, holding on to one another like drowning sailors clinging to the last scrap of ship in a storm. Pain hangs between them, a gossamer-thin but heavy weight.
But the moment, like all of time measured on earth, is finite. Aziraphale shifts, tilting his head, claiming a gentler kiss from Crowley’s mouth. This kiss is meant to settle them both, and he breathes through it slowly, letting the surge of panic ebb.
(He knows what the main difference is between Heaven and Hell, has known for millennia. Heaven lies. Constantly, ruthlessly, more flagrantly than Hell ever has. They parrot back messages of love sung to them long ago, but add on qualifiers and provisos and conditions. Crowley is the only angel he’s ever met whose heart is as expansive as a human’s, or at least the only one he’s met who’s not afraid to show it. And the idea of Heaven condemning Crowley for his purpose the way Aziraphale had been at the beginning...
It doesn’t bear thinking about.
He can’t let it drag them both down.)
“Of course I do.” His forehead rests against Crowley’s; his palms flatten gently against the angel’s back over his shirt. “We’ll burn the commendation. The letter too, if you’ve got it. Lighten the carriage load before we cross the border into Italy.”
There’s a shade of hope in his tone now, providing a faint harmony to the determination that drives the words.
He’ll be very thoroughly taken care of. And spoiled more than a bit.
But the moment, like all of time measured on earth, is finite. Aziraphale shifts, tilting his head, claiming a gentler kiss from Crowley’s mouth. This kiss is meant to settle them both, and he breathes through it slowly, letting the surge of panic ebb.
(He knows what the main difference is between Heaven and Hell, has known for millennia. Heaven lies. Constantly, ruthlessly, more flagrantly than Hell ever has. They parrot back messages of love sung to them long ago, but add on qualifiers and provisos and conditions. Crowley is the only angel he’s ever met whose heart is as expansive as a human’s, or at least the only one he’s met who’s not afraid to show it. And the idea of Heaven condemning Crowley for his purpose the way Aziraphale had been at the beginning...
It doesn’t bear thinking about.
He can’t let it drag them both down.)
“Of course I do.” His forehead rests against Crowley’s; his palms flatten gently against the angel’s back over his shirt. “We’ll burn the commendation. The letter too, if you’ve got it. Lighten the carriage load before we cross the border into Italy.”
There’s a shade of hope in his tone now, providing a faint harmony to the determination that drives the words.