faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

Not just a house. Not just a flight of fancy, apparently. But what takes the demon aback is just how clearly he can picture it all in his mind, the colors, the coast, the garden - the two of them. Clearer than most other things he could ever conjure up in his old mind.

He's quiet - quieter - then, a moment given to process the place the angel has spoken into being (not literally, although that's entirely out of the realm of possibility), and all moments need to be carefully studied in situations like this. So many romances of old come to mind, stories created by some of the most creative human minds, and now he understands an entirely new perspective on the quiet drama of it all. Waves of emotions lapping onto still shores, crashes at first, but then merely a slowly rising tide.

"It sounds..." He hesitates again, careful, but also not sure what will come out of his own mouth. So many words and none come to mind if he tries to grasp at them.

"...lovely." A word so overused, but the meaning hides itself in the tone.

"Yeah?"

Crowley looks up again, and if he's trying to hold back how hopeful he is he's doing a terrible job of it.

"Enough that you might want to give it a try, maybe?"

Being looked up at in hope is not, actually, something that's never happened to him before, despite his nature as a demon. Stories he doesn't quite share, never did, partly for show, partly for safety. But nothing compares to that sort of look from the angel. The context, the significance. That feels truly unique, and fills the demon's sore heart in ways it never has experienced before.

It's only a few seconds where he doesn't answer, but he's looking back at the angel now, no barriers between their gazes, no missed connections. It does feel like they're at a place to put a fine point to things, a crossroads of sorts, with no way to turn back. And yet, despite the finitude of it all...there isn't doubt in his mind. For once, none of it. Barely the will to pose any questions, to search for other ways. Terrifying all the same, but right. The rightest anything has ever been.

"Yes." He finally nearly whispers, barely catches it as his own voice. But then, a smile. Soft, and careful, and fragile, and vulnerable. But a smile, and, this time, he says it with purpose. "Yes. I believe I do."

Crowley's always had a lot of hope, and a lot of faith. Not the usual angelic sort, the "God has a plan and all of it is for the best" that's written in gold sigils with underlining, but a quieter general optimism that everything will ultimately be mostly okay, himself and Zira included. He doesn't advertise it, that'd be a little harsh given that his most constant companion over the centuries is a very justifiably paranoid demon, but it's always been there.

Having that quiet bedrock of general belief is different to being told outright that one of his dearest wishes might be realized, however. He smiles again, still radiant. "I might have an area in mind, if you wanted to go have a look. Just to see if you--if we like it."

He can say that, all at once. If they like it, not just one of them. They can be a we, a they, a unit together. That's a miracle if Crowley's ever seen one.

But not as much of a miracle as the smile on Zira's face--unmasked, unfeigned, careful and open and real. Crowley's never seen one like it, and he reaches up to touch a finger to the demon's cheek, stopping just before the touch lands, waiting for permission or maybe just afraid of frightening the expression off.

We. They. There's so much in a word. And in the sidestep the angel actively took towards it, even more. Nothing they need to remark on, really - the feeling lingers without any aid.

But then the angel is reaching towards him and the smile almost does run off, skittering away in cautious fear. Just a glance, inherent survival. It stays there, hidden, watching, before it slowly and carefully creeps its way back, having decided to stay.

Crowley freezes as he watches that smile stutter and vanish. But before he can move his hand away it creeps back. Crowley's own expression is open with wonder as he carefully touches the tip of his finger just to the edge of Aziraphale's mouth, where small wrinkles curve upwards into something that tentatively looks...happy.

Being gazed at with such attention and, daresay, adoration nearly knocks him right back on his feet and right out the door.

But he doesn't do that. And not merely due to the fact that the angel is laying at his feet as it is, and he has no intention of disturbing him. But for as overwhelming as it is to be the recipient of such a look, he finds himself wanting it. Which is not really the surprising part - that would be the fact that perhaps, maybe, just this once, he thinks he can allow himself to stay within it.

If he may be so bold, he may even - he does even, turn his head slightly, letting- trying- his lips brush against the angel's finger. If there ever was a blasphemous act, it should be this, one of the (ejected) Fallen letting themselves be adored by someone as glorious as this.

Seeing such a genuinely happy smile on Zira's face is enough to halt the world for Crowley, who's been imagining what such a smile would look like for centuries, possibly millennia. There've been echoes of it during that time, hints, but never the real thing. Now that it's here, it's the loveliest thing he's ever seen.

Then Zira turns his head and kisses his fingertip, and Crowley's breath stops altogether.

It barely counts as a kiss, really. But it's more than they've ever allowed themselves, more suggestive, more intimate even than the conversation they've been having. Not words or something theoretical, but an action. Not just any action, but one that's unquestionably romantic.

Crowley's been so used to setting up paths of least resistance for his skittish fiend. Having Zira take a step towards a direction of his own initiative thrills him.

Silently, happily, Crowley continues the moment, brushing his finger more deliberately along Zira's lower lip. If he heard himself described as 'glorious' he'd snort and make any number of sarcastic comments, but there is something like a radiance to his unfettered joy.

The demon has made so many foolish, joking comments over the millennia. Inane suggestive comments, the teasing sort to get a reacting, as he got from most people. But none of them were ever as entertaining as the angel's. Not that he could get a rise out of him, but quite the opposite - someone that took the chatter and gave it back in kind, if not one-upping him from time to time. He didn't know, then, that that feeling would ever lead to a moment like this. To all the things they've gone through to end up here, in the quiet, moving slow and careful, but meeting each other at a point closer than they have ever been.

The smile squeezes into something even more fond. The settling into the safety of a terrifying moment, the confirmation that everyone involved is safe, will be. That things are true, and right. That they see each other, perhaps, clearer than ever before.

The hand still covered moves, thumb reaching up to brush gently over fingers. A return of gentle touch. A response, if nothing else. He never thought much about slow dances before today.

Their history is suddenly divided into all the time before now and whatever will come after: this fulcrum where they're currently balanced, this moment of touch and acceptance. Crowley's gaze flickers down to see where Zira's thumb strokes his skin, so lightly but unquestionably there, the motion deliberate. Then he looks back up to meet Zira's eyes again, looking for...not reassurance, no. Further confirmation, perhaps, that this is something new. That from this point they walk forward together instead of separately.

Crowley suddenly remembers his fingers are still lingering near Zira's mouth, and that he himself is still essentially kneeling at the demon's feet, and he laughs a little. Slowly, so as not to disturb this new and delicate balance between them, he stands. His hand remains in Zira's, turning to clasp his fingers. "Sit next to me?" he asks, tugging vaguely towards the couch.

Zirafell blinks up at the angel, finding himself invited to thread the insurmountable trek of moving himself into a chair right next to his own. To share a space, even closer.

"Well." In a tone that, while still teasing, as is usual for him, is softer than ever before. "No need to be so formal about it."

He lets go only to set aside his book, without worrying about returning to it at a later date. Moves along with the angel, careful, giving the moment a level of delicateness for reasons fully unseen, sitting next to him without ever unlinking their hands again.

Crowley rolls his eyes, still beaming. "You want formal? I'll give you formal. Prithee, sirrah, wouldst please you to repose thine self beside me?"

He mock bows, gesturing elaborately with his free hand; the other stays firmly locked with Zira's. "I am but a humble fellow," he continues (lying happily and shamelessly), "and my means are modest. Yet I would with thee all my worldly goods endow, if you would but grant me the favour of thy company."

Delicate is clearly not a word in Crowley's vocabulary.

Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

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auuuughhhh that last line auuuuughhhhh

My secret skill of delivering super sappy one liners

Um hello I'm sorry I'm the biggest space cadet ever to space?