faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

Crowley watches Aziraphale bounce (not really bounce) over to the sign-up board, with some trepidation, trying to remember songs from Anything Goes. "I Get a Kick Out of You"? That wouldn't be bad. He could admit to that much without it being hard. "So in Love", that'd be a disaster, no, wait, that's from the later one, whatchacallit, the Shakespeare one.

With a sudden sinking feeling he remembers "Let's Misbehave" is from Anything Goes and nearly discorporates on the spot. That...would be altogether too appropriate and too dangerous and oh, fuck.

So when it's their turn again, and "You're the Top" (which Crowley had completely forgotten about) shows up as the choice? He's much, much too relieved to be nervous or uncomfortable about it.

And honestly, it's easy to get into singing this one. It's not just compliments and a catchy melody, it's a long, long list of really fantastic things about the world they both freely admit they enjoy being in. Crowley even changes one or two of the lyrics, because why compare Aziraphale to the listed things when he can make inside jokes about crepes in Paris and the like?

In short, he has a ball. It shows.

"Let's Misbehave" would require far more than the bottles of sake they've been sharing, although those lyrics are awfully appropriate, too. This is the trouble with musicals. They can be about all sorts of things, but the classics are always about love. Love that spills out between the lines of a well-crafted song.

In any event, Aziraphale is equally relieved to find that Crowley approves of the song choice. The angel proceeds to compliment his best friend with impunity. Ah, but he's not expecting the compliments to be returned so enthusiastically -- personalized, even! The crepe reference throws him off for a good half-second. Oh, Crowley is just messing around, he can't possibly mean all the things he's singing?

Can he?

They end the song to thunderous applause. Who knew that two middle-aged men singing Cole Porter would be so entertaining? The emcee can't hide his smile. Good for business, these two are. He signals the waiter to send another bottle of sake over to their table, on the house.

"So, ah..." Aziraphale feels a little at a loss for words, after that performance. He sits down and pours himself more sake without thinking, rosy-cheeked and soft-eyed. "Shall we go again? Would you like to pick the next song?"

It doesn't occur to Crowley to wonder if Aziraphale means all these sung praises, past the moment's fun of singing them. The angel likes things. That includes Crowley. It's safely a given. He even lets Crowley hang around in his bookshop, for Someone's sake. No one else has that permission. It's a song about friendship and fun things and 's all good. Easier than the first duet was, really.

Besides, Aziraphale is the top, as far as Crowley is concerned. It's not even a compliment, it's fact. He's an angel, except he's a blessed sight better than all the other ones up there because he's actually good, instead of theoretically hypocritically righteously Good. Crowley will stand by that opinion until his last breath whether Aziraphale ever agrees with it or not. He'd fling it at Gabriel if he had the chance. At the Almighty, even.

Not that this makes Aziraphale flawless, mind, but that's just as well. Perfection would be incredibly boring.

Crowley flings himself back into their booth, draping himself all over his side of it. "Maybe in a bit. Want a bit of a break first. Go on and do a solo, if you like." He has a look at the bottle of sake and looks impressed. "They've sent over the good stuff, angel. Maybe we both should be considering new careers."

So far as Aziraphale is concerned, Crowley is the top, and they'd have a good bicker about it if either of them could admit their feelings about it to one another. The angel has been told in so many words over the years by his superiors that he's nothing special. An eccentric angel full of harmless but peculiar quirks who isn't worth anybody's time.

But Crowley. Crowley is clever and creative and charming and ridiculous in all the right ways. Aziraphale would likely still be under Heaven's heavy thumb, if not for Crowley. Of course he lets Crowley hang around his bookshop. His books make him happy, but it's Crowley who makes him feel like someone worth knowing.

His heart aches suddenly. How he wishes he could just say these things. He masks his turmoil with a soft laugh over Crowley's remark. "And here I was under the mistaken impression that Cole Porter had fallen out of fashion." He then takes a furtive look around the restaurant as a thought occurs to him. What if it isn't the Cole Porter? An angel's aura can seep into the minds of mortals if one isn't careful. But no one seems to be acting strangely otherwise, so he relaxes and has a little more sake.

He hadn't been considering a solo while they wait, but if this is his only chance to express his feelings, he supposes he should take it. "Okay... okay, sure. Excuse me." He heads back to the karaoke machine, and the emcee graciously lets him go next, once he's selected something.

"If I loved you" from Carousel is a bit of a thematic change, but the lyrics speak to him, in that moment. It's likely the good sake. Aziraphale always gets a bit in his own head when he's drunk.

"Some things are timeless. Cole Porter blessed well ought to be one of them." Crowley makes himself comfortable as he watches Aziraphale head back over towards the selection book, a little surprised that he gets another turn right away.

(it's not a surprise. Over half the bar is watching them now and wondering about the gentleman in the fantastic vintage outfit and the guy who looks like an older rock star. Bets are changing hands about if they're dating or not. One group that intended to leave half an hour ago is deliberately lingering just to watch, and a different group has just forcibly prevented a young man from going up to do a song because they want to see what the pair will do next. One girl is tweeting all of it. In another day or two the evening's events will have gone viral)

Crowley breaks open the new bottle and pours himself a cup, and takes a long drink while Aziraphale gets on the stage and nervously fidgets. He almost spits it out as the first notes begin, sitting bolt upright.

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. This is so much worse than "Let's Misbehave." He's not sure he can think of anything that would be worse.

Crowley's not a big fan of musicals in general, aside from some of the funnier ones, but he knows Carousel. There's a whole room in Hell set aside just for people to listen to "This Was a Real Nice Clambake" on repeat, forever. Personaly, Crowley's always felt that was too cruel a punishment even for serial mass murderers or people who talk at the theatre, but even without the cursed clambake song, he's never cared much for Carousel.

And this...this is pretty much the biggest unrequited wistful love song ever, hands down. Perfect for karaoke Terrifying for a demon in love with his angelic best friend who doesn't know it or doesn't acknowledge it or might be trying to tell him something or might just like the pretty melody and oh, fuck fucking fuckbuckets.

Except he doesn't consciously think any of that, aside from deep, deep in his subconscious, because he's too busy listening. Crowley goes absolutely still, still as stone, still as a snake hiding from a predator. It's possible he forgets to breathe. Every note drips with longing and purity, and all he can do is listen and watch.

There isn't a song so far that Aziraphale hasn't put his heart and soul into, and this is no exception. Some of the people who betted on the two gentlemen dating are having second thoughts. One of the servers, who had worked the night before, confides to the lingering group (in hopes for a better tip), that the songs the blond was singing the previous night were far more unrequited than this one. Les Miserables is mentioned, and even the most cynical member of that group lets out a soft little sigh at the news.

Aziraphale, of course, is obliviious to all this while he sings. Even the applause that follows is barely acknowledged. He only has eyes for Crowley. Which is why he knows immediately that something is wrong. Crowley is never this still, never this silent.

"Too sentimental?" he asks softly when he returns to their table, hoping to break whatever spell Crowley is under. A growing sense of dread fills him from within, freezes the butterflies and shatters their pretty wings. He's screwed this up somehow. "Not appropriate for karaoke?"

Edited 2019-09-06 20:43 (UTC)

"No." It's more a croak than a word. Crowley's a little impressed he remembers how to talk at all. "No, that was..."

He swallows, still staring. But from behind his sunglasses. Which he's suddenly very, very relieved to have.

He has to say something. He has to do. Something. What?

Only one tool to hand, really. Death by karaoke. In for a penny, in for a pound. Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more, you only live once.

Crowley swallows again, stands up, suddenly a blur of motion and babbling. "My turn again. You won't like this one, probably. Too modern. If they even have it. Better go check."

He hesitates, and so quietly that only angel ears would catch it he adds, "I wouldn't ever, you know. Leave you," before more or less bolting for the karaoke machine, because that's given himself away good and proper even if the song he wants to do won't and it better be in there and the kid who's currently on stage singing Justin Bieber is in serious danger of getting teleported to Antarctica, and not just because of his poor music taste.

That croaked out 'no' is not terribly reassuring, but at least it's something. More comforting is when he hops out of his seat like one of those prank snakes that pop out of a can of peanuts. All right then, he's off to pick his own song, likely something loud and screechy and safe. That's fine. He shouldn't have expected anything more than that.

But then Crowley murmurs those words and the butterflies in his stomach re-grow their wings and fly right up into his throat. What. Was that why Crowley was so silent? Afraid that Aziraphale thought that? Because he didn't, he never did, not even when Crowley swore that he was off to Alpha Centauri and he'd never think of Aziraphale again. Not even when Aziraphale hoped that he would, not because he wanted Crowley gone, no, never, but because if Crowley was up in the stars, maybe he'd be safe. Safe from the fighting, safe from whatever punishment Hell had in store for him.

Oh, but those words warm him, too, down to his very essense. He'd never leave Crowley, either.

He doesn't have time to say any of this, especially not in his addled state. He simply watches Crowley fumble through the songbook like a desparate man, until the emcee takes pity on him and simply asks for the song title, he'll punch it in, you can go next, sir, no need to wait.

Crowley is twitchy as hell as he waits, which is probably half the reason the emcee took over. The emcee also looked much too happy when given the name of the song, and Crowley's eyebrow considered offering another oblique threat, but he's really too busy just now. Justin Bieber kid has no chance against all these combined forces and more or less melts off the stage when his turn is done.

Crowley manages to get the microphone. He manages to get on the stage. He is painfully aware this is probably the single most awkward and embarassing thing he has ever done in six thousand years of existence, not even excepting that one time in Nigeria with the tamarinds and the crocodile and the paint.

He takes a breath and does it anyway. Simple song, really, only a few notes in use. And most people agree Nick Cave can't sing either, just mumbles musically, so Crowley should be able to manage so long as he sounds melancholic and poetic and serious and all those other things Crowley usually isn't. He likes Nick Cave, though, the guy has all sorts of spooky numbers and murder ballads.

This isn't one of them. Crowley has to change some of the lyrics, can't very well sing about not believing in the existance of angels when you used to bloody be one and are serenading (don't think about that) someone who still is. Not believing in the goodness of angels, though, that works. He changes all God's pronouns to She (which earns him extra points from the feminist twitter afficiando). Referencing Christ isn't hard, the poor bugger always did deserve better than he got, in life or after it, and if more angels did follow Christ's example Heaven would be a different place and a fuck of a lot better than it is...

It's all religious and reverent and some of the lines hit far too close to home and that's why he picked it, because he doesn't have words for any of this so he'd better steal someone else's, and if the song is more a prayer than a love song...well. Even a demon can have one, right? One prayer, a small one, let me have this, please, let us have this, we saved the world and I'm pretty sure that's what You wanted all along You ineffable bloody puppeteer please just let us have this.

He doesn't look at Aziraphale at all, not even from behind his shades, just in case this goes horribly wrong. He looks at the floor. He's always facing the angel, though. Usually is, wherever they are and whatever they're doing, like some heliotropic plant looking for the sun.

It's not a hard song and it's not a long one. When it's done he doesn't even hear the room's reaction, he couldn't care less. He tosses the microphone back to the emcee without looking and slinks back to their table.

Edited (typos galore) 2019-09-06 22:15 (UTC)

Aziraphale's thoughts are still swirling around the words Crowley spoke to him, words not couched behind a pretty melody or a clever turn of phrase. He almost misses it when Crowley takes the stage, all quiet and subdued, looking down at his own shoes instead of anywhere else..

As he begins to sing, Aziraphale understands why. He doesn't recognize the song, but he knows that it isn't some throwaway bebop tune that anyone can sing and have it mean nothing. Crowley chose it to tell Aziraphale something. To leave himself open and vulnerable, to let Aziraphale look into the deepest part of him.

It's a prayer. It's a prayer that Aziraphale desperately wants to answer.

The song is over before he realizes it, Crowley slinking back to their table, not looking at him. Which is just as well, there are tears standing in the angel's eyes, and if the demon so much as lifted his head, he'd never have the courage to do the following:

He gets up, rounds the table, and slides into Crowley's side of the booth. He wraps his arms around Crowley and presses his face against the demon's temple. He takes a soft, selfish inhale of his best friend's scent, before pressing a kiss there, featherlight.

"You have me," he whispers into Crowley's ear. "You have me. Always."

He could have shrugged it off, if needed. He's never lied to Aziraphale, but he's good at bullshit. Wouldn't have been hard. It's just karaoke, right? Drunken singing shenanigans for a lark. The script for it is running in his head even as he sits down.

Except as soon as he has, sooner really, the booth is suddenly crowded with the (warm, welcome, wonderful) addition of angel, with arms circling him and heated breath against his face. Crowley closes his eyes, bowing his head so he can hide his face against Aziraphale's neck. Prayer answered, then? Been a long, long time since She did that...

Though he wasn't really asking Her, not ever. He was asking Aziraphale.

Crowley's arms wrap around Aziraphale in turn, holding him hard. "You sure about that, angel?" His voice is a little shaky. Only a little. He expected worse. "If you need to write this off as alcohol and music later I'll let you off the hook." An offer completely belied by the grip he has around Aziraphale's waist.

As painfully oblivious as Aziraphale can be at times, there's no mistaking the way Crowley holds him in return, and the sound he gives in response is caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Not a chance," he whispers fiercely, even as he reaches up and gently cards a hand through Crowley's hair. It's so soft, just as he imagined. "We've both done just as Cole Porter instructed, like birds and bees and educated fleas. You're stuck with me and that's all there is to it."

Twitter Girl is typing furiously over by the bar. The one person who bet on a mutual pining scenario is generously buying a round of drinks with his winnings.

Aziraphale turns his head and presses a kiss to Crowley's hairline. The sake in his system is no match for the love coursing through him, pouring off of him in waves. "Do you want to go?" he asks softly. "Sing something else? There's so much I want to tell you, but I can do it in a song, too."

Crowley takes a long shuddering breath as Aziraphale caresses his hair, because fuck, that feels better than it has any right to. So do those kisses on his temple. "Think--we'd better stop on a high note," he says. Deep down he's aware of the irony. Can Nick Cave even hit any high notes? "We've got a bit too much audience here, in case you'd forgotten."

He can hear them chattering now, various happy squeals and omgs (curse whoever invented that bit of slang, oh, wait, that was him), and even one "Kiss him, you fool!" called out from the other side of the room. Someone else is making their way to the karaoke machine and very blatantly singing "At Last" and probably looking right at them. He doesn't lift his head to see. He's still snuggled against Aziraphale and honestly, that's just where he wants to stay.

His hand stills in Crowley's hair as he casts a surprised glance behind him. He had, in fact, forgotten, and unconsciously holds Crowley a bit tighter when he realizes that all that happy chattering is because of them. Oh, dear. He doesn't feel self-conscious so much as protective of Crowley. He knows how much his demon would rather not deal with such an onslaught of goodwill from random strangers.

A quick miracle, and suddenly, everyone is back to minding their own business. He doesn't make them forget about the events of the evening, but it will give himself and Crowley some much needed privacy. He lets the karaoke performer continue their rendition of "At Last", though. That's frankly inspired, and he even hums a few bars into Crowley's hair before planting another soft kiss there.

"All right. We don't have to go anywhere." There's nowhere else he'd rather be, either.

Crowley does breathe a sigh of relief as he feels attention go off them. Normally he wouldn't care, but... it's been an evening. It's definitely been an evening.

And he's holding Aziraphale. Aziraphale is holding him back. Aziraphale even just more or less stated that he's in love. With Crowley.

Crowley's not entirely convinced he ever wants to move again, just in case this shatters.

"Somewhere quieter might be good. In a minute. Or two." Or five. Ten. "...not really wanting to kiss you for the first time in this sort of atmosphere. If you'd, uh, possibly be. Up for that."

Crowley has absolutely no idea what to do with any of this and hangs into Aziraphale something like a person in the ocean hanging on to a life preserver.

All this because of a video sent at three in the morning. Drunk Aziraphale has some pretty good ideas, after all.

"Take your time," he says in soft, comforting tones. He could use a few minutes, too, simply to bask in the feeling of Crowley's arms around him, the way his soft hairs tickle the side of his face. Closer than they've ever been, even when they switched appearances. All they'd needed to do was hold hands. This love between them, it needs so much more than that.

His breath catches when Crowley brings up kissing him. On the lips, he assumes, something he has done with humans on occasion, always in the context of a formality, as when dancing the Gavotte. He reacted to these kisses not at all, and he always assumed it was because he was an angel who hadn't made an Effort.

Turns out, it wasn't the kissing that was the issue. It was because he wasn't kissing Crowley.

"O-oh... yes. Yes, I think I'd like that very much." He presses another kiss into Crowley's hair, to emphasize his agreeability.

"...right." It's more a breath than a word. "Good to know." Crowley still hasn't moved. Hard grip around Aziraphale's waist, the angel kissing his head with unquestionable affection, himself all sort of curled up against Aziraphale's chest...Etta James wasn't wrong. This feels more like Heaven than he remembers Heaven feeling.

They just stay there for a few minutes, like some new sculpture that's been built by some modern artist who goes around putting statues of people in trendy Japanese restaurants. Crowley listens to Aziraphale breathe. It's amazing how comforting that is, considering neither one of them technically needs to do it.

Eventually he uncoils himself a little, enough to sit up and be able to look at the angel. "Did you plan this? Seduction by pop music and sake, I mean?"

Not that he's at all complaining.

Crowley's breathless reply earns him another warm squeeze and a besotted smile hidden in his hair. So soft. He never thought he'd ever be so blessed as to have Crowley curled up in his arms. He'd stay like this forever if Crowley let him, soaking in that love. Let the rest of the restaurant continue to ignore them for a little while longer.

He loosens his grip a little, lets his arms drape over Crowley's shoulders when the demon sits up. The tears in his eyes have long since dried, but there is a shine there, as well as a rosy tint to his complexion. That blush only grows with Crowley's question.

"What?" He lets out a surprised laugh. "Goodness, no. My dear, there's no way I could have planned a-- a seduction." He's not even referring to his angelic nature; the only knowledge he has of romance is through observation alone. "I... I, ah... well. I suppose I wanted to find a way to tell you how I felt that would give you an out if... if you didn't reciprocate. I've had these feelings for so long, it was becoming so hard to keep them to myself."

Honestly staying in that embrace forever sounds pretty blessed good for Crowley, so long as it was at the bookshop or his flat or somewhere. Not here. Chances seem good for more embracing happening in the future, fortunately, which is about the only reason Crowley can make himself let go at all, as much as he does. Which isn't much; one of his arms stays around Aziraphale's waist, and the angel's arm is still on his shoulders. That works.

Aziraphale's eyes are brighter than usual, and he's gone all pink, and Crowley reminds himself that it was him who just said this wasn't where he wanted to do a first kiss, because honestly it's much too tempting. Enough that he almost misses the answer to his question. "How long?" he asks, reaching up with his free hand and twining his fingers through Aziraphale's where they rest on his shoulder. All the ways they can be connected, he wants.

Aziraphale's miracle holds and their booth remains undisturbed while they settle into a looser grip with one another. When Crowley reaches up and twines their fingers, he makes a soft sound of pleasure. Just to have Crowley touch him, to keep that connection between them, makes him so blissfully happy.

"Oh... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time." He exhales, as if relieved to finally get that off his chest. "But I didn't realize it until that night you saved my books from the church bombing." His eyes, already giving Crowley a soft look, turn nostalgic as he remembers. "Up until then, I could pretend that your acts of kindness towards me were simply to grease the wheels of our Arrangement... but to rescue the books without me even asking... well, I really had no choice but to admit to myself my feelings for you."

He gently squeezes the fingers held between his own. "How about you? When did you know that you loved me?"

Crowley hasn't actually said the word love yet. Even when singing, that one came out more of a mumble. But he doesn't deny it. "Fuck...forever, I sometimes think, except that I kept trying so blessed hard not to call it that." The noise Aziraphale makes when he joins their hands shivers down his spine. He'd like to wrap it up in a box or something, keep it for later. "Couldn't call it anything else after what you did in 1967, though. That was a real kick in the head. Tied me in knots for months."

He's still not looking at Aziraphale, though their heads are bent close together, foreheads touching as they crowd close together on one side of the booth, just...getting used to this. No, not getting used to it at all. Still recovering from the sheer astonishment of it all, that they're actually talking about it, after so much time and so much effort putting into not acknowledging it at all.

No, Crowley hasn't, but he doesn't need to. Aziraphale feels that love as surely as Crowley's warm body crowded against his. It's nearly embarrassing, that he hadn't noticed it before. But maybe it's like anything else that's been around him for so long, like the sounds of London outside his bookshop or the air he doesn't need to breathe but does so anyway.

"Oh..." His gaze drops as he thinks back to that moment in the Bentley when he handed over the holy water. It's a reminder that his love for Crowley is not merely a sweet, effervescent spring. It runs deep, so deep it hurt at times, knowing how close he was to losing Crowley, how he could only do so much to keep him safe. How it never felt like enough.

"Well, I... I loved you. I couldn't very well let you risk your life because of me." His eyes flutter shut, a sigh of regret escaping his lips. "I wish I had been braver. I thought, when push came to shove, I wouldn't choose you." Another sigh, and then he whispers, "So, so glad I was wrong about that, by the way."

It's strange how alone they are, despite being surrounded by so much noise and activity. On the other hand, it's always felt like that. One of the things that made him keep greeting the angel way back when, in the earliest days. Even then it felt like the two of them surrounded by everything, like they were in a bubble together, a shared and unique perspective.

It wasn't the only reason he'd kept putting himself in the angel's path, but it'd certainly been a justification for it.

"I thought you wouldn't either," Crowley admits after a minute. "But it wasn't about wanting you to--to pick me over all the hosts of Heaven, you know. I mean, obviously I wanted you to, but that wasn't why I kept pushing. I just wanted to keep you alive."

There's a second where his fingers spasm hard around Aziraphale's, so hard, as he remembers that horrible hour where he thought Aziraphale was gone. Fuck. Someday he'll be able to think of that without his heart stopping all over again, but not for a long while. He bends that much closer to Aziraphale, breathing in the smell of him, cologne and cotton and sake and angel. Just to make absolutely sure once again that this is real and the worst didn't happen, except for that hour.

They always had one another, didn't they? Even when they couldn't express it in so many words. Aziraphale is grateful to have the chance now. Not in a song, but in his own words.

It hurts, though, to know that Crowley thought he'd been abandoned at the bandstand, and again on the street corner, begging the angel to go off with him to Alpha Centauri. He hates himself for it, for turning Crowley away, but he wasn't ready. He needed more time, just one more chance to try and get through to the Almighty and stop Armageddon through the proper channels.

The sharp squeeze of his hand snaps him out of his spiral of self-loathing. He looks up at Crowley , realizes immediately that he's forgetting the deepest cut of all -- Crowley finding his bookshop in flames and the angel gone. Discorporated, except Crowley didn't know that at the time, did he?

As close as Crowley gets, Aziraphale pulls him in that much more, pressing a frantic kiss into Crowley's hair. "I'm here, I'm here," he whispers, as much for his own reassurance as for Crowley's. "Please... please, my dear. My dearest. Can we go now?"

Edited 2019-09-09 15:41 (UTC)

Someday Crowley will tell the angel he was right to refuse, both times, maybe not in how he went about it but right to refuse all the same. If they'd gone, would the world still be here?

Might. Might not. Either way, this is better. Even without right now, this is better. And with right now...Crowley closes his eyes as Aziraphale kisses his hair again, at that urgent whisper. "Yeah...yeah, I think we'd better..." Fuck, he's going to get bloody maudlin if they keep on this trail of conversation, or if Aziraphale keeps calling him sweet things.

Dearest. Sweet son of Satan (who isn't, on either count, but nevermind), it feels like he's been waiting thousands of years just for that one word. And he has, really.

Crowley digs in his pocket for his wallet and pulls out several fifty pound notes, more than enough to cover dinner, drinks, a large tip, and probably a few dozen more tracks for the karaoke machine as well. He doesn't want to wait around to talk to the waiter, or anyone else. "You'll have to get out first, angel," he murmurs. "I'm a little trapped over here." Which is nice, honestly. But not so conducive for moving.

I'm loving all of this way too much, and just gonna skip to singing again.

\o/

They absolutely now have shippers in this bar, and I may be bringing them in later.

Haha, nice!

Oooh, ow, right to the gut with that one. Perfect, thank you.

Thanks! I'm not very musical savvy so this has been fun research

I wouldn't have guessed! =) Augh I love all of this.

Me too. :)

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Perfect song choice!!!

Thank you! It all but throttled me going "THIS THIS DO THIS'

Turns out Nick Cave is the real MVP.

A triumph of modern music over the classics! ;)

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