[ It amazes him what little human things they adopt over time. Things they don't need, and yet want all the same. Crowley adores Aziraphale's glasses. Very smart and fancy little things, and just that touch of very human vanity.
He holds Aziraphale close as he reads, chin on his shoulder as his eyes follow along with each line (Though eventually only focusing on Aziraphale's lips).
The poem hits all too close, Crowley's throat tightening as he swallows his emotions down, and his arms around Aziraphale tighten. There are few things Crowley regrets about his Fall (however much the sheer principle of it still pains him) but there are moments where he has to wonder what an agony it must have been for Aziraphale, a being made to love, loving something deemed - well - utterly unworthy of it. That to do so is akin to treason, and so had to be kept in the peripherals of their lives. Some furtive secret, a vast and utterly unspoken thing.
He presses kisses into Aziraphale's shoulder and throat and cheek, to remind him how loved and adored he is. ]
Bit on the nose wasn't he? That Neruda bloke.
[ Crowley's attempts to sound unaffected fall utterly short. He's talking around a very obvious lump in his throat, and his gaze is terribly soft. ]
no subject
He holds Aziraphale close as he reads, chin on his shoulder as his eyes follow along with each line (Though eventually only focusing on Aziraphale's lips).
The poem hits all too close, Crowley's throat tightening as he swallows his emotions down, and his arms around Aziraphale tighten. There are few things Crowley regrets about his Fall (however much the sheer principle of it still pains him) but there are moments where he has to wonder what an agony it must have been for Aziraphale, a being made to love, loving something deemed - well - utterly unworthy of it. That to do so is akin to treason, and so had to be kept in the peripherals of their lives. Some furtive secret, a vast and utterly unspoken thing.
He presses kisses into Aziraphale's shoulder and throat and cheek, to remind him how loved and adored he is. ]
Bit on the nose wasn't he? That Neruda bloke.
[ Crowley's attempts to sound unaffected fall utterly short. He's talking around a very obvious lump in his throat, and his gaze is terribly soft. ]