Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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[salutosinedelectat]

First thing he notices is that their hands are warm. Both of theirs. Maybe clammy, which he finds to be somewhat of a flaw on these corporations. Just unnecessary unpleasant, really, to add to what should be already well present discomfort. But it's okay, like this, he thinks. Somehow it's not so unpleasant when someone else is holding your hand, he finds.

The sternness on his face morphs, slowly and subtly, into something a tad more sort. A tad more different. Bare. Hopeful dread. As such different things can sometimes mesh together in unnatural ways.

An angel kneeling before a demon, and declarations too terrifying to believe. What a sight. Is this really what was expecting the not-end of the world all along?

"- I would." It comes as almost a whisper. Uncertain as if the words aren't really his, like he's still waiting for the carpet to be pulled from under him even when no one's got their hands on it.

honestly I didn't intend for this to get quite so sweet but here we are

[duckshaveears]

"Oh."

And for a moment that's all. Crowley sits there, his hands resting on Zira's, looking more than a little stunned.

When he does speak again, he's almost whispering too. "And you don't mind, uh, the other bit? The, um, the...love...part."

It's hard to say. It came out as part of the flood a moment ago but it's still hard.

I love them...

[salutosinedelectat]

The silence spans ages in single moments, and yet it doesn't feel like a chasm. So often do silences take that shape, and he's lived more than long enough to face his fair share of them. But comfortable silences, too, less often, but more valuable. This one feels like something else. To call it uncertainty wouldn't be doing it justice. It's a new form of terrifying, and the demon isn't sure how he feels about that yet.

But the angel once again puts things into words. The sort of thing he assumed they wouldn't return to, but they do, and thing is laid at their feet then, impossible to ignore.

The angel had said it, he realizes.

And the demon, for a second, had felt it to be true. Isn't that a laugh?

The way he falters isn't neutral. He shakes his head, looking down at their hands. He's hit with a wave of guilt that's nearly overwhelming, but at least he's sitting down.

"I don't." Followed by sudden alarm. "--mind. I mean. I don't- mind it. At all."

[duckshaveears]

A smile blooms slowly and brightly on Crowley's face, shining with a (not literal) radiance only seen a few times in their long, long history. The first was six thousand years ago, when he felt the first drops of rain and laughed with delight at the new sensation. Crowley has always had a gift for delight. It's been dampened (also not literally), eroded by years of Heaven's indifference and his own doubts turned to cynicism, but it's never left him.

It's hardly ever shown as openly as this, however, even to Zira.

"Thank you." He laughs a little in wonder and amazement, squeezing Zira's hands in his, then tilts his head curiously. "What's that face for?" Despite the question he sounds relieved almost to the point of giddiness.

[salutosinedelectat]

More faltering. Partly because he's really not used to their conversations being so...well, direct. Honest. Open in such a way, and facing the fact that they just...can be. That there's really no more excuses to not have them.

But also partly due to the look on Crowley's face. The kind of smile that could brighten even the darkest corners of Hell. Or something equally as dramatic, if words weren't failing Zirafell as badly as they are.

"I. Hum. I don't know." The last part shakes with a chuckle under his breath, confused and happy and terrified all at once. Perhaps a few more emotions thrown in the mix. A twitch on the corner of his lips that isn't sure if it's supposed to be there.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley laughs back a little and leans forward, resting his cheek against Zira's knee. It's partly because he can, because they can, and he hopes Zira doesn't mind and should probably ask. But he could also see that chaotic tangle of feelings and he knows his friend well enough to guess at the turmoil of anxiety it must all cause, knows that it's a kindness to look away and let the demon react unobserved.

"S'okay, you know," he says. "If you need time. I don't mind, I know it's a lot and there's no rush. It's okay. I can wait."

[salutosinedelectat]

Another twang of guilt. And happiness. And fear. And hope. And so many other things at once, pushing and shoving, while the touch of the demon's hands and the feeling of his head against the demon's knee are doing a lot of work to keep him grounded.

--Disbelief. Disbelief is one of the big ones, too.

"I- hum."

Say it. Say it. For Go--Sa--for someone's sake, say it. You know it's true. Not that you've deserved to say those words to anyone or anything in a very long time.

"I'm... sorry."

For what, he isn't too sure. For the fear. For whatever is jumping around in his chest and making a ruckus for whatever isn't working upstairs. For the waiting. For being. For making this happen, somehow. He hopes that the angel, who he really did always think was quite upsettingly clever, can parse through the sludge that are his words and failing communication. He's always had a very annoying knack in reading through everything the demon put up - maybe it can actually be useful for the both of them for once.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley, in contrast, is suddenly more calm than he's been in millennia. No more wondering what to say, how to ask. He has permission. And if only for this, only permission to hold Zira's hands and lean against him...well. It's enough. Maybe later he'll need to figure out how to ask for more, if he wants to ask for more, but for now this is more than enough.

The freedom of it is blissful, and as an angel he knows more than a little about bliss.

"Nothing you need to apologize for." The words come at once, easily and contented. "Never has been. Not to me."

(He means it, is the thing. He's never minded Zira's skittishness or paranoia. He understands it too well to mind)

[salutosinedelectat]

The angel's calm is almost enough to soothe him. Almost. There's far too many knots in the chaos that are the demon's thoughts and feelings for it to be enough, but he thinks he could make sense or it all - or at least forget it all together - if he could just look at that face, at that calm, at him, like that, for a while longer.

What a disgustingly sweet thought. Which he can have, maybe. Which he could admit to have.

The angel's hands are still on his and he's not gripping the book quite as tight anymore. His hands still feel warm. Entirely unlike the warmth of hellfire, so native to those like the old demon himself, but softer.

"Hum." He clears his throat after another moment of silence, comfortably heavy. His voice comes as still vaguely shaking and unsure, soft all the same, lacking in his usual energy. "Where...you mentioned, moving, somewhere. Where would that be?"

[duckshaveears]

Oh, right. That. He'd forgotten that part had come out. "Anywhere?" He lifts his head and looks up, smiling sheepishly at Zira. "I mean, I have ideas, yeah. Things I've daydreamed about. But the important thing was just convincing you to consider the idea. If you'd rather stay here I'm fine with that. More than fine."

Here here, even. Sitting in a chair with an angel at his feet. That'd suit Crowley fine, for any indefinite amount of time.

[salutosinedelectat]

It would suit them just fine, maybe, if the way they were sitting didn't feel like an allegory of some kind of reverence that feels entirely misplaced. Something more intimate than other things they could and things they have shared, but a step too far in some which way.

He does meet Crowley's eye for just a moment, unsure and nervous but not displeased, before his gaze turns elsewhere as if to avoid spilling out too many secrets.

"Oh. Well. Either way would be fine." He could let go of the book. He could properly hold the angel's hand. "But-- daydreams?"

I had been playing this angel as a little different but he's slipping back to my Sheelael default.

[duckshaveears]

"Oh."

Crowley blushes, which is just embarrassing. He's much too old to be doing silly things like blushing. Especially with Zira. They're an angel and a demon and between them they've seen every good or evil or in-between thing that's ever been on the world, what can either of them possibly have left to blush about?

This, evidently.

"...s'a bit silly," he says quietly, too aware that the tips of his ears are pink. Hopefully Zira is still turned away. Crowley's looking over at the wall, himself. It's a very useful sort of wall for that.

And we're back, maybe?

[salutosinedelectat]

He's not looking away, however. Or, rather, now that the angel isn't facing him, the demon's looking down at him on the floor, the softness of his hair, the gentleness of his hands. A missed connection, brought on on purpose, but out of fear, anxiety. It's unclear whether or not he takes in the redness of the angel's ears, as his watchful gaze shares the attention with the demon's own emotions and feelings, and it makes everything quite the mess..

He wonders how long the angel has been thinking about this. How long has he been daydreaming? What amount of time equates to what amount of significance? Meaning? Is there even a concrete answer to concepts so vague?

"I would like to know." Both their words come so quietly now, the scene prepared for them - the quiet room they both sit in, no distractions but the ones they picked - making their words still clear as day.

We come and go, both of us. <3

[duckshaveears]

Crowley just breathes in and out for a minute. It's hard to believe this conversation is happening. It's hard to believe he's sitting here, leaning against Zira's leg--the oddness of the position isn't lost on him, but it pales in comparison to the wondrous strangeness of their touching at all. They've clasped hands over the years, brushed fingers when handed things over, exchanged kisses to the cheek and mouth back in the day when that counted as a greeting. But this is very different. They've fallen into this touch so organically, and it's lasting.

(Crowley leans in a bit closer, savouring it)

"A house," he says finally. "Doesn't have to be a big thing. Though it can be if you want, with a whole floor to fit all your books in. Out on the coast maybe, near the ocean. With enough space for a garden, not like what I've made up on the roof but a proper big one. With trees, maybe. I could grow herbs and fruits and veg, and sometimes maybe I'd find toothmarks on the leaves and come in to find you and tell you you're not allowed to eat them 'til after I've cooked them, and..."

He stops abruptly, swallowing the rest, but the shape of what he wants is clear. Not just a place to live together, but a life together. Getting in each other's way and bickering and sharing things and all of it. Like humans do, like no angel or demon has ever done or would even consider.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

"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?"

[salutosinedelectat]

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."

[duckshaveears]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

auuuughhhh that last line auuuuughhhhh

[duckshaveears]

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.

My secret skill of delivering super sappy one liners

[salutosinedelectat]

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.