[Aziraphale wiggles his hips a little, looking up at Crowley smugly.]
I hardly think we need reading material to put us in the mood, dear. But I'll be sure to humor you, at least once. Just not tonight. Now then, let me fetch the Neruda...
[Which happens to conveniently be sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, along with those silly little reading glasses that he doesn't actually need. With only a little stretching, he's able to retrieve both without moving away from Crowley. A bit of repositioning, and Crowley is the one cuddled up against him while he slips on the glasses and flips through the book.]
Let's see... there's one in particular I'd -- Ah, here it is:
'I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as one loves certain obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which I am not nor are you, so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams.'"
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Date: 2020-06-02 01:58 am (UTC)I hardly think we need reading material to put us in the mood, dear. But I'll be sure to humor you, at least once. Just not tonight. Now then, let me fetch the Neruda...
[Which happens to conveniently be sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, along with those silly little reading glasses that he doesn't actually need. With only a little stretching, he's able to retrieve both without moving away from Crowley. A bit of repositioning, and Crowley is the one cuddled up against him while he slips on the glasses and flips through the book.]
Let's see... there's one in particular I'd -- Ah, here it is:
'I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.'"