[ The little demonstration gets a huff of laughter from Crowley, and when he teases, his tone is belies his fondness. ]
Sounds very frivolous. What would the other angels say if they knew?
[ His arms snake around Aziraphale's waist as the angel leans back against him and Crowley plants little kisses in those curls and runs a thumb inquisitively over a lower button of Aziraphale's waistcoat. ]
If you're ready then - may I do the honours, angel?
Oh, i'm sure they'd be cross with me. Yet somehow, I can't give a single fig what any of them might have to say on the matter.
[A far cry from the angel who was willing to let himself get discorporated rather than reprimanded again for using another miracle. He smiles, pleased at how far he's come since then, then shivers and sighs softly at that trail of kisses. Crowley's inquiry gets a nod and a hand reaching up to brush against his.]
They really should've appreciated you more if they didn't want you falling into the wicked clutches of an unholy terror.
[ This unholy terror nibbles at the rim of Aziraphale's ear and takes his hand in aforementioned wicked clutches, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Truly a monster to be feared.
The waistcoat buttons are undone at a leisurely pace. Crowley is mindful of the old seams and delicate threads holding them in place, and he takes great care not to accidentally launch one into some far-flung corner of the bathroom. Crowley then trails his fingers delicately up the buttoned up front of his dress shirt, coming to rest on the bow tie. ]
...Bit like unwrapping a present, isn't it?
[ Crowley isn't always the most graceful creature, but he does manage to pull the bow tie free in one fluid motion. ]
[Aziraphale suppresses obvious laughter at the 'unholy terror' business, squirming a little before finally settling down again while Crowley takes his time undoing his waistcoat buttons. It's such a sweet gesture, how careful Crowley is with his possessions. With him. His breath catches as those fingers work their way up to his bow tie, and he has to swallow before replying at all.]
You'll have to let me return the favor, then I'll know for sure.
[But that can wait a little while. His hands flutter a bit, uncertain, before reaching back and landing on Crowley's hips, keeping him close while he continues to be undressed.]
[ Guided by Aziraphale's well-manicured hands, Crowley rolls his hips up against that sumptuous tush. He took to nibbling his earlobe, and put on his huskiest, most tempting voice - ]
Angel, you can undress me any time you like.
[ -And then he remembers exactly who he is talking to. He can just picture a mischievous glint in bright blue eyes after being dressed down to his black skivvies in the middle of the Ritz and a plummy voice far too pleased saying "well you did say any time, dear" and decides it best to amend his previous statement. ]
[Aziraphale lets out a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan, gripping Crowley's hips tightly before deliberately softening his grip. Easy, easy. They have a bath to get to first.
Undressing Crowley anywhere he prefers had not even crossed his mind. Very little is crossing his mind, in fact, hazy from those delightful little nibbles to his ear. But he does chuckle at the amendment, directing Crowley's hands to the buttons of his dress shirt encouragingly.]
There are the matter of your signed pants... but, no, I think I'd prefer to keep all this to myself. But I would like my turn soon, darling, so please do get a wiggle on.]
[ Crowley muses as he works his nimble fingers down the cotton shirt, gently flicking open button after button. Sinuous snake that he is, he wriggles his hips again. ]
...Is this what it means?
[ The demon tries to play innocent, but the effect is rather ruined by the leg he just slipped between Aziraphale's thighs, and the fact he's just pulled open the light blue button-down to slide his fingers up Aziraphale's vest. ]
Not -- oh -- literally, you... you wily serpent...
[It's the best he can do, not his usual level of repartee, but Crowley's wriggling hips are too much of a distraction, and those fingers slipping up his vest? Forget it, the angel is done for, absolute putty in the demon's clever, capable hands.
He does have enough sense to check the running bathwater, nearly full. A brief wave of his hand turns off the tap, and then he's tilting his head back, placing a hot kiss on Crowley's jaw.]
But if that's what it takes, my dear, then wiggle on.
Wily I might be, but you're the one who texted that your knickers aren't vintage.
[ The kiss to his jaw elicits a soft, contented sigh, and he returns the gesture by giving the angel in his arms a loving squeeze. ]
Been wondering about that. Been wondering about that a lot.
[ As one hand wanders up the length of Aziraphale's torso to tease his nipples, the other had made its way to the fasten on his trousers, fiddling with the buttons. There is a lot of fiddling, until Crowley realizes it's a job for two hands and with a soft laugh against Aziraphale's cheek, finally begins to work the trousers free. ]
Well, they aren't. Drawers don't fit well under this style of trouser, I had to give up at some point.
[The angel's definition of vintage might extend quite a bit further than Crowley's, possibly into antique territory, although even he knows that calling underwear 'antique' is one of the least sexy things that someone can say.
As Crowley begins exploring his body in earnest, words once more leave Aziraphale. He shuts his eyes and whines softly at the way Crowley teases his nipples -- more of that please -- anticipation curling in his gut as the demon fiddles with his trousers' buttons and finally gets them open. He's wearing plain white briefs and has very obviously made an Effort, his erection straining against the cotton fabric in interest of the proceedings.]
Well. There you have it... plenty of room for your fancy pen to sign.
[ Peering over Aziraphale's shoulder to see just what his angel is sporting, he licks his lips and grins. He tugs at the waistband gently so as not to snap it. ]
Elastic. Positively modern for you.
[ He presses a kiss to his cheek, clearly delighted by this revelation. ]
You're the only person I know who can make a pair of classic white y-fronts look positively sexy.
[ And to emphasize his point, he cups the prominent bulge, rubbing it tenderly through the soft cotton. ]
[Aziraphale is a hair's breadth away from deflecting the compliment, but then Crowley touches him so intimately that all he can do is arch his back and moan. It overwhelms him, not just being rubbed through the soft cotton of his pants, but everything that's come before, the confessions of love and promises of devotion. Crowley's hands. His mouth.
Quick as anything, he turns in Crowley's arms and kisses him hungrily, hands gripping at the jacket's lapels as he pushes Crowley back into the vanity hard enough to rattle the assorted bottles on its surface.]
[ The sudden exclamation from Crowley is lost in Aziraphale's lips. His surprise, however, only lasts until he's up against the vanity, and then he is thoroughly kissing back, just as hungry and wanting.
He drags Aziraphale flush with his body, writhing against him so he can feel the exact effect his outburst has had on Crowley.
Would they ever make it to the tub? The thought is brief and distant and Crowley can't bring himself to worry too much about it as long as Aziraphale keeps touching him. ]
[It is both a relief and intensely arousing to know that he's having the exact same effect on Crowley. And, oh, how Crowley can writhe. It's putting all sorts of filthy images in Aziraphale's mind, things that Nicholson Baker wished he had the skill to properly describe.
Then, rather suddenly, his thoughts catch up with his actions and he breaks off the kiss, panting and flushed all down his chest, looking almost baffled at his behavior.]
Ah! Sorry, I -- I got carried away...
[He smoothes out the lapels beneath his clutches, then pushes at Crowley's jacket, gently but insistently.]
Perhaps we can save the bath for later? The water will keep.
[ Crowley's in a pleasant stupor when Aziraphale pulls away, trying to chase his lips until he realizes the angel is speaking. ]
Carried away...
[ He echoes, blinking slowly until the world comes back into focus. ]
Yeah, no, don't apologize for that, love. Please continue to get carried away. If you've got a bed buried under all these books, I wouldn't object to being carried away there.
[ Prompted by the tug at his lapels, Crowley eagerly shrugs off the jacket, careful not to jostle the various bottles and jars any more than they already had. Aziraphale took such good care of his things, and Crowley is loathe to see any of his treasures damaged again. ]
Like you said, bath'll keep.
[ And even if it didn't, they could always just run a new one. ]
[It takes a moment for Crowley's words -- his offer -- to sink in, and then the angel smiles like sunlight.]
Oh, well... if you insist.
[He takes Crowley's jacket with a gentlemanly flourish and hangs it on the back of the door with his cardigan, then turns and effortlessly scoops Crowley up into his arms, bridal style.]
I do have a bed, as it happens. Shall I take us there? Not a single book upon it, I swear.
[He'll make no promises about the multitude of stacks around it, however.]
[ Crowley gives a 'woop' of surprise when Aziraphale takes him literally. Not that he's complaining - quite the contrary, he throws his arms around the angel's neck and plants a big, soppy kiss on his cheek. ]
My dashing knight ~
[ He thinks back to Aziraphale's days at the round table - he had cut quite a gallant figure in shining armour. ]
Do take me to what I'm sure is a book-free bed. Onward!
[ The next string of kisses he presses to Aziraphale's face are much more tender, accompanied by the a series of sweet nothings about his lovely angel. ]
[No matter the fact that he was literally grinding against Crowley just a few moments ago, it's the soppy kisses and words of endearment that have him blushing like mad. He smiles bashfully and carries Crowley out of the bathroom, careful to keep his gangly body from hitting the door frame.]
I'd be a bit more dashing without my trousers undone...
[He'd argue the whole 'gallant' thing as well. The fur-lined cloak was very nice, but good luck getting him in a clanking suit of armor ever again.
But, it is terribly sweet that Crowley thinks so. And it definitely appeals to his romantic nature to carry his dear demon over the threshold of his bedroom. There is a bed, as promised, Victorian style with soft dove gray sheets and a plethora of pillows against the headboard. Aziraphale sets Crowley upon it, then shrugs out of his open shirt and waistcoat, folding them up and laying them on a dressing chair. (Well, on the books on the dressing chair.) Then he slips out of his trousers, revealing his plain briefs in their full glory, as well as the fact that he's wearing sock garters.]
Make yourself as comfortable as you like, darling.
Oh, I don't know. Lends a bit of a roguish charm to the whole ensemble.
[ With one last nuzzle to Aziraphale's cheek before being set down, Crowley does indeed make himself very comfortable.
He flops back, settling into the mountain of cushions and wriggling around on the divinely soft sheets. The bed certainly meets with the connoisseur of sleep's approval; it's deliciously cozy and he constantly catches Aziraphale's scent in the cushions. He would go so far as to say as there is no other bed he'd rather be in again. ]
Y'know, this bed is rather nice. Have you tried your hand at sleeping?
[ He pops the top few buttons on his functionally useless waistcoat and miracles his trousers off into the ether since there would be no physically getting them off otherwise. This reveals his cherry red boxer briefs, which also have printed across the waistband in Aziraphale's distinct, neat scrawl;
Property of the Principality Aziraphale
Crowley grins, quite content to watch Aziraphale strip down to his skivvies, while leaving the angel's prior handiwork on full display.
The sock garters are a particularly nice touch. Aziraphale always did look like a Leyendecker ad; so prim, proper and utterly sensual. ]
No... I couldn't risk it, not with Gabriel popping over unannounced. Ever vigilant and all that. But I did try reading in bed several times. The humans made it seem very appealing, all nestled under the covers with a book and a small reading light.
[The thought of using it for anything else, particularly with a certain red-haired demon in it, was far out of the realm of possibility until very recently, but reading alone simply wasn't as satisfying, so soon enough the bed became a place to store books like everything else in the flat.
He folds up his trousers and puts them with the rest of his clothes, then turns and finally takes in the sight of Crowley lying in his bed.]
Good Lord... couldn't wait, could you?
[Despite the eye roll, he's clearly pleased by what he sees. He sits down and traces a finger along the writing on Crowley's colorful boxer briefs. Yep, that's definitely his handwriting. He wishes that he could remember that evening better. Bold enough to sign Crowley's pants, but too shy to take it any farther.
He's not going to squander his second chance.
Carefully, he opens the rest of the buttons on Crowley's waistcoat, then slides a hand underneath Crowley's shirt.]
I suppose I should thank you, those trousers are damn near impossible to get off.
[ He arches under the touch, only just managing to stifle a moan. That really shouldn't feel as good as it does, but, well - it feels really damned good. ]
You're very welcome. The only way those come off is with scissors or a miracle.
[ Crowley reaches up, hooks his hand around Aziraphale's head to coax him in for a kiss. ]
...And you know, we could now, if you like. Start using your bed for sleeping and reading and little midnight snacks. All sorts of things that would give the Archangel Fucking Gabriel an aneurysm.
[ His free hand slips under Aziraphales vest, hiking it up over the curve of his back and swell of his belly. ]
It's an excellent bed for getting into all kinds of mischief.
[Crowley's reaction is absolutely marvelous. He lets his hand wander while he's pulled in for a kiss, his other splayed out on the bed for balance. Shamelessly, he finds one of Crowley's nipples and teases it, hoping for an even stronger response.]
Mmm, so long as you're in it with me, I'm open to just about anything.
[He shivers at Crowley's touch, then slips his hand out from under Crowley's shirt so that he can push it up as well, aching to see more of him.]
[ There's meant to be some witty response, something suave and smooth that will make Aziraphale both laugh and want him even more, but it's lost in a lot of garbled swearing and frantic scrabbling as soon as one perfectly manicured finger makes contact with a sensitive nipple.
Crowley surges forward to kiss Aziraphale, hungry and wanting, parting only briefly to pull his own shirt off and toss it into a stack of books where it would likely be consumed by ravenous literature of dubious repute.
One might think that Herself had spun Aziraphale from the gauziest muslin way Crowley's hands wander achingly tender over the angel's torso. Long fingers flutter and caress, pausing momentarily to tease a nipple to hardness or to stroke along the curve of his spine. It's a sharp contrast to the searing, open mouthed kisses that would make a lamprey blush. ]
[Aziraphale's blue eyes dance with mirth, feeling very pleased with himself over how wildly Crowley reacts, but that's quickly forgotten as he loses himself to Crowley's searing hot kisses. When the demon pauses to pull off his shirt, he does the same with his vest, and though he drops it rather than flinging it aside, the fact that he doesn't bother to stop and fold it should say something about invested he is in getting back to Crowley with fewer clothes in the way.
He lies down on the bed, on his side facing Crowley, enough space between then so that he can continue exploring that beautiful chest, tracing his fingers along ribs and sternum with the same grace that Crowley is touching him. He kisses back, trembling under Crowley's capable hands, and pulls back enough to whisper:]
[ Crowley nestles down alongside Aziraphale, stroking his knuckles along the side of the angel's face, and smoothing back a few curls. He couldn't stop touching, never wanted to stop touching.
Crowley is not one to shy away from questions. He has a million of them at any given moment, after all. But this one tugs at his heart. Even here, in the secluded safety and warmth of this bed, old fears and doubts still nipped at their heels.
Well, time to nip back. Right in the bud.
...Look, he's not the best with metaphors, even when he isn't pitching a tent in his knickers. ]
Nothing to stop us now, right?
[ He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, stroking a reassuring path up and down his back as he peppered kisses along his brow. ]
So I'd say yeah, you can definitely have this. I'll always be yours, Aziraphale.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Sounds very frivolous. What would the other angels say if they knew?
[ His arms snake around Aziraphale's waist as the angel leans back against him and Crowley plants little kisses in those curls and runs a thumb inquisitively over a lower button of Aziraphale's waistcoat. ]
If you're ready then - may I do the honours, angel?
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[A far cry from the angel who was willing to let himself get discorporated rather than reprimanded again for using another miracle. He smiles, pleased at how far he's come since then, then shivers and sighs softly at that trail of kisses. Crowley's inquiry gets a nod and a hand reaching up to brush against his.]
Yes, please do.
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[ This unholy terror nibbles at the rim of Aziraphale's ear and takes his hand in aforementioned wicked clutches, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Truly a monster to be feared.
The waistcoat buttons are undone at a leisurely pace. Crowley is mindful of the old seams and delicate threads holding them in place, and he takes great care not to accidentally launch one into some far-flung corner of the bathroom. Crowley then trails his fingers delicately up the buttoned up front of his dress shirt, coming to rest on the bow tie. ]
...Bit like unwrapping a present, isn't it?
[ Crowley isn't always the most graceful creature, but he does manage to pull the bow tie free in one fluid motion. ]
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You'll have to let me return the favor, then I'll know for sure.
[But that can wait a little while. His hands flutter a bit, uncertain, before reaching back and landing on Crowley's hips, keeping him close while he continues to be undressed.]
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Angel, you can undress me any time you like.
[ -And then he remembers exactly who he is talking to. He can just picture a mischievous glint in bright blue eyes after being dressed down to his black skivvies in the middle of the Ritz and a plummy voice far too pleased saying "well you did say any time, dear" and decides it best to amend his previous statement. ]
...Any time not in public, I mean.
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Undressing Crowley anywhere he prefers had not even crossed his mind. Very little is crossing his mind, in fact, hazy from those delightful little nibbles to his ear. But he does chuckle at the amendment, directing Crowley's hands to the buttons of his dress shirt encouragingly.]
There are the matter of your signed pants... but, no, I think I'd prefer to keep all this to myself. But I would like my turn soon, darling, so please do get a wiggle on.]
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[ Crowley muses as he works his nimble fingers down the cotton shirt, gently flicking open button after button. Sinuous snake that he is, he wriggles his hips again. ]
...Is this what it means?
[ The demon tries to play innocent, but the effect is rather ruined by the leg he just slipped between Aziraphale's thighs, and the fact he's just pulled open the light blue button-down to slide his fingers up Aziraphale's vest. ]
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[It's the best he can do, not his usual level of repartee, but Crowley's wriggling hips are too much of a distraction, and those fingers slipping up his vest? Forget it, the angel is done for, absolute putty in the demon's clever, capable hands.
He does have enough sense to check the running bathwater, nearly full. A brief wave of his hand turns off the tap, and then he's tilting his head back, placing a hot kiss on Crowley's jaw.]
But if that's what it takes, my dear, then wiggle on.
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[ The kiss to his jaw elicits a soft, contented sigh, and he returns the gesture by giving the angel in his arms a loving squeeze. ]
Been wondering about that. Been wondering about that a lot.
[ As one hand wanders up the length of Aziraphale's torso to tease his nipples, the other had made its way to the fasten on his trousers, fiddling with the buttons. There is a lot of fiddling, until Crowley realizes it's a job for two hands and with a soft laugh against Aziraphale's cheek, finally begins to work the trousers free. ]
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[The angel's definition of vintage might extend quite a bit further than Crowley's, possibly into antique territory, although even he knows that calling underwear 'antique' is one of the least sexy things that someone can say.
As Crowley begins exploring his body in earnest, words once more leave Aziraphale. He shuts his eyes and whines softly at the way Crowley teases his nipples -- more of that please -- anticipation curling in his gut as the demon fiddles with his trousers' buttons and finally gets them open. He's wearing plain white briefs and has very obviously made an Effort, his erection straining against the cotton fabric in interest of the proceedings.]
Well. There you have it... plenty of room for your fancy pen to sign.
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Elastic. Positively modern for you.
[ He presses a kiss to his cheek, clearly delighted by this revelation. ]
You're the only person I know who can make a pair of classic white y-fronts look positively sexy.
[ And to emphasize his point, he cups the prominent bulge, rubbing it tenderly through the soft cotton. ]
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Quick as anything, he turns in Crowley's arms and kisses him hungrily, hands gripping at the jacket's lapels as he pushes Crowley back into the vanity hard enough to rattle the assorted bottles on its surface.]
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He drags Aziraphale flush with his body, writhing against him so he can feel the exact effect his outburst has had on Crowley.
Would they ever make it to the tub? The thought is brief and distant and Crowley can't bring himself to worry too much about it as long as Aziraphale keeps touching him. ]
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Then, rather suddenly, his thoughts catch up with his actions and he breaks off the kiss, panting and flushed all down his chest, looking almost baffled at his behavior.]
Ah! Sorry, I -- I got carried away...
[He smoothes out the lapels beneath his clutches, then pushes at Crowley's jacket, gently but insistently.]
Perhaps we can save the bath for later? The water will keep.
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Carried away...
[ He echoes, blinking slowly until the world comes back into focus. ]
Yeah, no, don't apologize for that, love. Please continue to get carried away. If you've got a bed buried under all these books, I wouldn't object to being carried away there.
[ Prompted by the tug at his lapels, Crowley eagerly shrugs off the jacket, careful not to jostle the various bottles and jars any more than they already had. Aziraphale took such good care of his things, and Crowley is loathe to see any of his treasures damaged again. ]
Like you said, bath'll keep.
[ And even if it didn't, they could always just run a new one. ]
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Oh, well... if you insist.
[He takes Crowley's jacket with a gentlemanly flourish and hangs it on the back of the door with his cardigan, then turns and effortlessly scoops Crowley up into his arms, bridal style.]
I do have a bed, as it happens. Shall I take us there? Not a single book upon it, I swear.
[He'll make no promises about the multitude of stacks around it, however.]
no subject
My dashing knight ~
[ He thinks back to Aziraphale's days at the round table - he had cut quite a gallant figure in shining armour. ]
Do take me to what I'm sure is a book-free bed. Onward!
[ The next string of kisses he presses to Aziraphale's face are much more tender, accompanied by the a series of sweet nothings about his lovely angel. ]
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I'd be a bit more dashing without my trousers undone...
[He'd argue the whole 'gallant' thing as well. The fur-lined cloak was very nice, but good luck getting him in a clanking suit of armor ever again.
But, it is terribly sweet that Crowley thinks so. And it definitely appeals to his romantic nature to carry his dear demon over the threshold of his bedroom. There is a bed, as promised, Victorian style with soft dove gray sheets and a plethora of pillows against the headboard. Aziraphale sets Crowley upon it, then shrugs out of his open shirt and waistcoat, folding them up and laying them on a dressing chair. (Well, on the books on the dressing chair.) Then he slips out of his trousers, revealing his plain briefs in their full glory, as well as the fact that he's wearing sock garters.]
Make yourself as comfortable as you like, darling.
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[ With one last nuzzle to Aziraphale's cheek before being set down, Crowley does indeed make himself very comfortable.
He flops back, settling into the mountain of cushions and wriggling around on the divinely soft sheets. The bed certainly meets with the connoisseur of sleep's approval; it's deliciously cozy and he constantly catches Aziraphale's scent in the cushions. He would go so far as to say as there is no other bed he'd rather be in again. ]
Y'know, this bed is rather nice. Have you tried your hand at sleeping?
[ He pops the top few buttons on his functionally useless waistcoat and miracles his trousers off into the ether since there would be no physically getting them off otherwise. This reveals his cherry red boxer briefs, which also have printed across the waistband in Aziraphale's distinct, neat scrawl;
Property of the Principality Aziraphale
Crowley grins, quite content to watch Aziraphale strip down to his skivvies, while leaving the angel's prior handiwork on full display.
The sock garters are a particularly nice touch. Aziraphale always did look like a Leyendecker ad; so prim, proper and utterly sensual. ]
no subject
[The thought of using it for anything else, particularly with a certain red-haired demon in it, was far out of the realm of possibility until very recently, but reading alone simply wasn't as satisfying, so soon enough the bed became a place to store books like everything else in the flat.
He folds up his trousers and puts them with the rest of his clothes, then turns and finally takes in the sight of Crowley lying in his bed.]
Good Lord... couldn't wait, could you?
[Despite the eye roll, he's clearly pleased by what he sees. He sits down and traces a finger along the writing on Crowley's colorful boxer briefs. Yep, that's definitely his handwriting. He wishes that he could remember that evening better. Bold enough to sign Crowley's pants, but too shy to take it any farther.
He's not going to squander his second chance.
Carefully, he opens the rest of the buttons on Crowley's waistcoat, then slides a hand underneath Crowley's shirt.]
I suppose I should thank you, those trousers are damn near impossible to get off.
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You're very welcome. The only way those come off is with scissors or a miracle.
[ Crowley reaches up, hooks his hand around Aziraphale's head to coax him in for a kiss. ]
...And you know, we could now, if you like. Start using your bed for sleeping and reading and little midnight snacks. All sorts of things that would give the Archangel Fucking Gabriel an aneurysm.
[ His free hand slips under Aziraphales vest, hiking it up over the curve of his back and swell of his belly. ]
It's an excellent bed for getting into all kinds of mischief.
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Mmm, so long as you're in it with me, I'm open to just about anything.
[He shivers at Crowley's touch, then slips his hand out from under Crowley's shirt so that he can push it up as well, aching to see more of him.]
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Crowley surges forward to kiss Aziraphale, hungry and wanting, parting only briefly to pull his own shirt off and toss it into a stack of books where it would likely be consumed by ravenous literature of dubious repute.
One might think that Herself had spun Aziraphale from the gauziest muslin way Crowley's hands wander achingly tender over the angel's torso. Long fingers flutter and caress, pausing momentarily to tease a nipple to hardness or to stroke along the curve of his spine. It's a sharp contrast to the searing, open mouthed kisses that would make a lamprey blush. ]
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He lies down on the bed, on his side facing Crowley, enough space between then so that he can continue exploring that beautiful chest, tracing his fingers along ribs and sternum with the same grace that Crowley is touching him. He kisses back, trembling under Crowley's capable hands, and pulls back enough to whisper:]
Can I really have this? With you?
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Crowley is not one to shy away from questions. He has a million of them at any given moment, after all. But this one tugs at his heart. Even here, in the secluded safety and warmth of this bed, old fears and doubts still nipped at their heels.
Well, time to nip back. Right in the bud.
...Look, he's not the best with metaphors, even when he isn't pitching a tent in his knickers. ]
Nothing to stop us now, right?
[ He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, stroking a reassuring path up and down his back as he peppered kisses along his brow. ]
So I'd say yeah, you can definitely have this. I'll always be yours, Aziraphale.
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