[Aziraphale gives a desperate little sound as Crowley shifts his position and puts his tongue to good use. In the weeks that they've been together physically, the angel has enjoyed all sorts of configurations between them, but his favorite remains any sort of sex like this, curled up against one another, skin to skin. Perhaps it was because of all the years he had to keep Crowley at a distance that he now wanted the demon as close as possible.
His hands continue to play with Crowley's hair, delighted by how much more there is to wind around his fingers. He still wants to braid it, but obviously not in his current state. But who can blame him for being distracted, really? His thrusts turn more urgent, pleasure coiling tight within him now that he's finally giving his body what it wants.]
Oh, I -- I'm nearly there -- Crowley --!
[It's the massaging of his wing joints that tips him over, his feathers rustling like a rainstorm. He comes across Crowley's stomach, his climax clutching and releasing him in waves, until with a soft gasp he collapses against his demon, wings drooping off the side of the bed. The smile on his face is nothing short of blissful.]
Felt like you were massaging my very soul, dear... well done...
[ Crowley mouths a trail up Aziraphale's chest as he slithers up for a kiss, dragging his slick belly over the angel's cock. He has the biggest, shit-eating grin on his face as he gently smooths Aziraphale's feathers back into place. The praise may be going a bit to his head.
But he also knows full well what Aziraphale means. That they can touch - truly touch - without hurting each other is astonishing. There's still the lingering possibility that doing so may set off the equivalent of several nuclear warheads, but they could take a nice afternoon or two off at the other end of the solar system to see how that pans out. ]
I know, love. Had your tongue right up against my wings not ten minutes ago. Touching you, being touched by you - it's - I don't know how to describe it, but it feels so very right.
[ He buries his fingers in Aziraphale's damp curls,, stroking him as he comes down from his orgasm. He loves this the best, the sheer intimacy of everything they do, down to the most mundane things. It's always been there; part of the reason he always found himself drawn to Aziraphale, but it was treated as some furtive thing they had to hide and deny. Now that they can just be, Crowley is utterly basking in it. That he can take Aziraphale in his arms and leave him with such a blissed out smile is the most marvelous thing to the demon. He kisses him, gazing back with adoration. ]
You're incredible, you know that? I'm sure I've said it, but it bears repeating.
[Aziraphale's wings twitch from the gentle aftershocks of Crowley's soothing touch, the contented rumble in his chest suspiciously like a purr. His earlier anxieties of having their souls touch is but a faded memory. How could anything that feels this right pose a threat to either of them? It's only a matter of easing into it at this point.
He laughs softly when Crowley's words echo his thoughts, miracle-ing away the mess between them with a lazy wave of his hand.]
Would you call it cliché if I say that I think it's because of our love for one another?
[He returns the kiss, his hands wandering over Crowley's wings without any intention other than to feel the soft feathers under his fingers. The look Crowley gives him, paired with the compliment, make him blush and smile like the demon has hung the moon and stars just for him.]
Only because you deserve it, darling.
[His hands return to Crowley's hair.]
Shall I braid your hair? Surely it's dry enough by now.
[ The logical part of Crowley's brain is saying that the explanation is probably a lot simpler; that angels and demons aren't so profoundly different as either side has led themselves to believe, and that, if they were so inclined, the likes of Hastur and Michael could do this just as easily as Aziraphale and Crowley with no adverse side effects.
The hopeless romantic in him quickly overrules it though. The hopeless romantic loves a good cliche. And there is a rightness to being with the angel Crowley can't simply logic away. ]
True love conquers all? I should object on sheer principle, but I think in this case I can make an exception.
[ He nuzzles up against Aziraphale's cheek, and finally comes to something approximating stillness. Crowley's always been a bit wriggly and a fidgeter, and right now he's fidgeting with a bit of Aziraphale's plumage. ]
And yeah, definitely dry enough. How'd you like me, angel?
True love and a deep understanding of one another. We've put those six thousand odd years to good use.
[There's space for both the practical and romantic in their theory, but he knows what he felt when he had the pulse of Crowley's essence up against his tongue. He feels it still, in the way the demon fidgets with his feathers. Love, in all its glory.]
Goodness, what a question. [He chuckles and rolls to a sitting position.] Sit up, dear, with your back to me.
[He gives his wings one last, good stretch, before tucking them back into the astral plane. They feel so much better, now that they've been so thoroughly groomed. With a snap of his fingers, the hairbrush from the bathroom is within arm's reach.]
Do I brush it again, from the middle, like last time?
[ It's a sentiment Crowley can easily get behind. Six thousand years together, they knew each other inside out. Now, rather quite literally.
Crowley folds his wings, and wriggles his way into what passes for upright for a creature who has tried for many years to come across as downwrong. He settles himself between Aziraphale's legs, and sweeps his wild red ringlets over his shoulders. ]
Mm, just like last time.
[ It's hard for Crowley to think about what he's more eager for - being able to groom Aziraphale's wings, getting his hair brushed, or - well, just everything. His cock, at half-mast since Aziraphale's orgasm, has been put in time out, covered by a pillow so Crowley could have his attention elsewhere. ]
[Aziraphale lets out an involuntary sigh at that sweep of wild hair over Crowley's shoulders. Task momentarily forgotten, he leans in to press his face into all that hair and breathe in the intoxicating combination of the shampoo and Crowley's scent beneath it.]
Absolutely breathtaking, my dear.
[He kisses Crowley's shoulder, then reaches for the brush. The pillow in Crowley's lap does not go unnoticed and he hides a smile. The demon will never hear a single complaint from the angel about how easily aroused he becomes in the angel's presence.
With careful, gentle strokes, he works the brush from the middle of Crowley's hair down to the tips, using a tiny miracle or two on any of the more irksome tangles. The oil's done a lovely job; he's reminded of fine silk, the way those red locks bounce back from each stroke, sleek and shiny.]
[ Oh that has no business being as good as it is. Crowley whimpers something that might have been an attempt at words, but come out as a string of high-pitched vowels. He can feel Aziraphale's breath against his neck, and it's ever so nice. ]
'Nk you.
[ The kiss, and then the brushing leaves Crowley much more relaxed, eyes fluttering open and shut from the sheer pleasure of Aziraphale's touch.
It doesn't look like Aziraphale's effect on the demon is going to be changing any time soon. ]
[It isn't long before Aziraphale has worked through each section of hair, leaving not a single tangle or snarl behind. He knows that he shouldn't over-brush, as much as they're both enjoying it, but fortunately, there's one more bit of pampering to look forward to.
Setting aside the brush, he brings his hands up underneath Crowley's hair, holding it in a loose bundle before letting it cascade back down to his shoulders.]
How do you feel about a french braid? I think that would suit you nicely.
[ Crowley settles briefly, picturing himself with said braid, and how easy it would be for Aziraphale to hold him by it.
Yeah, he thinks, that is a very nice mental image. ]
Yes, I like that.
[ He likes that very much. Along with Aziraphale just playing with his hair - Crowley rather thinks he knows what a melted stick of butter must feel like now. ]
[Aziraphale's voice is tinged with amusement. He doesn't know what his demon is thinking specifically, but he recognizes the tone. Well, whatever it is, Aziraphale is certain that he'll enjoy it, too, if it makes Crowley happy.
He brings up Crowley's hair in a bundle again, this time with more purpose, and divides it into three sections. Starting at the crown, he begins the braid, drawing more hair into the plait as he goes, humming a little to himself while he works.]
When's the last time you braided your hair, dear? You always had it in curls when you were Nanny Ashteroth.
[ Crowley thinks back to when he last had his hair long deliberately and not for a disguise. There was that brief stint in the early seventies when he'd worn it long and straight, and then the mohawk. Before then - good grief had it really been the late 18th century?
Crowley frowns up at the ceiling. ]
A while. Always preferred it long.
[ Aziraphale's humming is a pleasant balm for whatever anxiety just struck him. Crowley has always loved the angel's voice; the way he always sounds so prim and proper in whatever language they're speaking. His frown becomes a content smile. ]
Mm, now that I know you do too, I think I'll just keep it like this.
I do like it long, dear. I think it suits you. But so have all your other styles. It was always a bit of a treat to see how you'd be wearing it whenever we crossed paths.
[He was rather fond of Crowley's curls in Rome. And that shag cut he had in the 1960s, although Aziraphale does not dwell on that memory overlong, as bittersweet as it is. Was Crowley aware of how soft he looked then, sitting in the Bentley? He pauses a moment in his braiding to lean in and kiss Crowley's bare shoulder again, reminding himself of what they have now.]
I'll be hopelessly enamored of you no matter how you choose to wear it. You could even shave it all off and I wouldn't complain.
[Another small pause, before he adds quickly:]
So long as you planned to grow it back, of course.
[ Crowley makes a disgusted noise at the sheer thought of not having any hair on his head. ]
Absolutely never happening.
[ The closest he'd gotten was buzzing the sides for a mohawk back in the late 70s. But that was a mohawk. Bald was not a look for him, unless he was being an actual snake. ]
Even if I liked the idea of being bald, I like your fingers in my hair much better.
[ He tilts his head back so Aziraphale can see his grin. ]
'Specially when you give it a tug. Always knew it was a thing, but I never knew it was going to be my thing.
[Aziraphale titters at Crowley's reaction, at least partially in relief, and resumes his braiding.]
Good, because I like my fingers in your hair, too.
[Although he has to pause once more when Crowley grins at him and says aloud what Aziraphale had managed to infer after their first night together. He blushes a bit and smiles into those upturned yellow eyes.]
Ah, I see why you like wearing it long, then. All the more to tug you with.
[He kisses Crowley's forehead, then urges him to bring his head back down so Aziraphale can properly finish the braid. He's nearly done when he adds quietly:]
So long as I don't have to pull it too hard. I don't want to hurt you.
[ Crowley doesn't shake his head now that Aziraphale is back to braiding but he does demure with a gesture of his hand. ]
I'm not really, uh, into pain. Giving or receiving. I guess it's just a bit of a thrill when you give it a little tug? Like I know you could do more but won't?
[ It feels odd voicing it aloud. He's still not used to how frankly he can express that, in addition to loving Aziraphale, he also desires him. ]
There wouldn't be judgement from me if you did, Crowley. People like what they like. But I don't get any pleasure from giving or receiving pain, either. There's a lot I -- that we haven't explored yet, together, but I already know that much.
[It feels a bit strange to say such things aloud for Aziraphale, too, but only because he's never had reason to share such thoughts before.
A bit of ribbon -- black -- appears in his hand and he uses it to tie off the end of the braid with a little flourish.]
I think I understand what you mean, though. It's the same when you nibble my skin, or I bare my throat to you. I know you'd never take advantage.
[He runs a finger along the braid, admiring his handiwork, before tugging it with the precise amount of pressure that Crowley likes. With his head now tilted back, it's easy for the angel to steal a kiss.]
There, all done. Would you like a mirror, or do you trust me when I say you're an absolute vision?
[ Crowley feels a swell of affection for Aziraphale, and he runs his fingers over the braid, with a hum of approval. The little black ribbon leaves him grinning as his head is brought back for a kiss; one which he is all too happy to return with a slow slide of lips. Moments like these, Crowley likes to savour their kisses, slow and sensuous things that they are. ]
Oh, I don't know. Might take a little advantage.
[ Crowley looks terribly pleased with himself as he murmurs this against the corner of Aziraphale's lips, giving the angel's thigh a light squeeze. ]
Let's have a look then. I trust you, but I also want to admire your work.
[Aziraphale lets that kiss linger on his lips, breaking off only with a besotted giggle at the squeeze to his thigh.]
Only if I may take a little advantage in return. We are naked, in my bed, in case you had forgotten.
[He knows that Crowley has not. That delicious tingle of desire hasn't left Aziraphale, but if Crowley wants to preen in front of a mirror first, who is he to say no.]
Well, all right. There's a mirror in the door of my armoire; I'll fetch the handheld mirror and you you can admire yourself to your heart's content from all angles.
[ Crowley drapes himself in Aziraphale's lap, throwing one arm over his shoulder. Crowley is a master in the art of languishing. Many a chaise lounge have been sprawled upon over the centuries by an over-theatrical demon. ]
Oh, if you must. I'm sure I'll just have to deal with it.
[ As if it were any great hardship and he wasn't absolutely delighted by the idea of Aziraphale being frisky with him.
He lingers there for a little longer before reaching up for Aziraphale to pull him in for a kiss. ]
[Aziraphale does not mind being sprawled upon in the least. He is far more comfortable than a chaise lounge, in his personal opinion, although a certain part of his anatomy is poking at Crowley in a way that piece of furniture most definitely should not. With a thrilled little smile, he returns the kiss avidly, arms wrapping about his torso.]
Oh, I must. The mirror is such a long way away.
[He delivers another kiss, one hand absently batting away the pillow that Crowley had been using to cover his groin.]
I suppose I could carry you there, if you insisted...
[ Oh he can definitely feel Aziraphale's arousal, and he wriggles against it with the most innocent expression he can manage on his beaming face. His smile only grows brighter when the cushion is knocked aside. ]
Now you absolutely have to. I have to preserve my modesty somehow.
[ Says the demon who has frequently wandered around Aziraphale's flat in nary more than that scrap of satin he calls a robe, and maybe a pair of boxer briefs if he's feeling particularly prudish. ]
[Aziraphale bites his lip to keep from moaning outright. Wily serpent, wriggling around like that. Not that he'd have it any other way, of course. He affixes Crowley a droll look before sliding an arm under his knees, holding him more securely.]
We both know that isn't a thing for you around me, my dear. But I'll humor you.
[He stands up from the bed, holding Crowley with his usual ease, and taking a few steps to the armoire. It was built around the same time as his bed, tall with shiny wooden doors and brass handles. A door pops open and reveals the full-length mirror inside. Aziraphale stands before it, focusing on Crowley's eyes in the mirror, a charmed smile on his face.]
[ Crowley gives a delighted 'whoop' as Aziraphale lifts him off the bed. It's not like Crowley is particularly heavy to begin with, but he always gets a thrill at feeling the angel's underlying strength. The Almighty had, of course, made him to fight battles (and Crowley loves him because Aziraphale gave away his sword first chance he got and found better things to do than smite evil) and he's sure some instinctual part of him still smarting from getting kicked out of Heaven should be a little nervous about it, but Crowley's never been particularly sensible when it comes to Aziraphale.
Seeing them together in the mirror has his heart skipping. Naked and with his arms around Aziraphale's neck, draped in the angel's arms - Crowley feels overcome by a wave of some indescribable emotion.
It's one thing to feel Aziraphale against him, warm and so exquisitely soft. It's another thing to see it reflected back at them, a solid reminder that this is all real, that Crowley hasn't sunk into a decades-long dream to soothe a broken heart. They're really together, they can hold each other, love each other, be together completely freely and in front of them is proof of that.
Crowley knows he has the most ridiculous, undemonic grin on his face - h can see it right there in front of them - and he doesn't care. He just rests his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, his arms around him tightening in a proper embrace. ]
[It's rare for Aziraphale to show off his strength. Appearing soft is as much a desire to appear warm and comforting as it is his love of sweets and rich meals. But never misses an opportunity to carry Crowley in his arms -- with the demon's consent, of course. It makes Crowley so happy, and makes Aziraphale feel like he is protecting Crowley, much like their first meeting on Eden's wall when he extended a wing to shield the demon from the rain.
Looking in the mirror, Aziraphale has much the same thought, that their reflection is solid evidence of their togetherness. It's also a lovely image in and of itself: two beings very much in love, almost deliriously happy because of it. (Rather salacious, too, if one's gaze drops too far.)
Aziraphale blushes a little at the compliment and turns his head away from his reflection to kiss the real Crowley's forehead.]
Do you think we should have someone take our photograph sometime? I only have Leonardo's portrait of us. I'd like something to keep on my desk.
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His hands continue to play with Crowley's hair, delighted by how much more there is to wind around his fingers. He still wants to braid it, but obviously not in his current state. But who can blame him for being distracted, really? His thrusts turn more urgent, pleasure coiling tight within him now that he's finally giving his body what it wants.]
Oh, I -- I'm nearly there -- Crowley --!
[It's the massaging of his wing joints that tips him over, his feathers rustling like a rainstorm. He comes across Crowley's stomach, his climax clutching and releasing him in waves, until with a soft gasp he collapses against his demon, wings drooping off the side of the bed. The smile on his face is nothing short of blissful.]
Felt like you were massaging my very soul, dear... well done...
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But he also knows full well what Aziraphale means. That they can touch - truly touch - without hurting each other is astonishing. There's still the lingering possibility that doing so may set off the equivalent of several nuclear warheads, but they could take a nice afternoon or two off at the other end of the solar system to see how that pans out. ]
I know, love. Had your tongue right up against my wings not ten minutes ago. Touching you, being touched by you - it's - I don't know how to describe it, but it feels so very right.
[ He buries his fingers in Aziraphale's damp curls,, stroking him as he comes down from his orgasm. He loves this the best, the sheer intimacy of everything they do, down to the most mundane things. It's always been there; part of the reason he always found himself drawn to Aziraphale, but it was treated as some furtive thing they had to hide and deny. Now that they can just be, Crowley is utterly basking in it. That he can take Aziraphale in his arms and leave him with such a blissed out smile is the most marvelous thing to the demon. He kisses him, gazing back with adoration. ]
You're incredible, you know that? I'm sure I've said it, but it bears repeating.
[ Multiple times a day, apparently. ]
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He laughs softly when Crowley's words echo his thoughts, miracle-ing away the mess between them with a lazy wave of his hand.]
Would you call it cliché if I say that I think it's because of our love for one another?
[He returns the kiss, his hands wandering over Crowley's wings without any intention other than to feel the soft feathers under his fingers. The look Crowley gives him, paired with the compliment, make him blush and smile like the demon has hung the moon and stars just for him.]
Only because you deserve it, darling.
[His hands return to Crowley's hair.]
Shall I braid your hair? Surely it's dry enough by now.
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The hopeless romantic in him quickly overrules it though. The hopeless romantic loves a good cliche. And there is a rightness to being with the angel Crowley can't simply logic away. ]
True love conquers all? I should object on sheer principle, but I think in this case I can make an exception.
[ He nuzzles up against Aziraphale's cheek, and finally comes to something approximating stillness. Crowley's always been a bit wriggly and a fidgeter, and right now he's fidgeting with a bit of Aziraphale's plumage. ]
And yeah, definitely dry enough. How'd you like me, angel?
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[There's space for both the practical and romantic in their theory, but he knows what he felt when he had the pulse of Crowley's essence up against his tongue. He feels it still, in the way the demon fidgets with his feathers. Love, in all its glory.]
Goodness, what a question. [He chuckles and rolls to a sitting position.] Sit up, dear, with your back to me.
[He gives his wings one last, good stretch, before tucking them back into the astral plane. They feel so much better, now that they've been so thoroughly groomed. With a snap of his fingers, the hairbrush from the bathroom is within arm's reach.]
Do I brush it again, from the middle, like last time?
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Crowley folds his wings, and wriggles his way into what passes for upright for a creature who has tried for many years to come across as downwrong. He settles himself between Aziraphale's legs, and sweeps his wild red ringlets over his shoulders. ]
Mm, just like last time.
[ It's hard for Crowley to think about what he's more eager for - being able to groom Aziraphale's wings, getting his hair brushed, or - well, just everything. His cock, at half-mast since Aziraphale's orgasm, has been put in time out, covered by a pillow so Crowley could have his attention elsewhere. ]
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Absolutely breathtaking, my dear.
[He kisses Crowley's shoulder, then reaches for the brush. The pillow in Crowley's lap does not go unnoticed and he hides a smile. The demon will never hear a single complaint from the angel about how easily aroused he becomes in the angel's presence.
With careful, gentle strokes, he works the brush from the middle of Crowley's hair down to the tips, using a tiny miracle or two on any of the more irksome tangles. The oil's done a lovely job; he's reminded of fine silk, the way those red locks bounce back from each stroke, sleek and shiny.]
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'Nk you.
[ The kiss, and then the brushing leaves Crowley much more relaxed, eyes fluttering open and shut from the sheer pleasure of Aziraphale's touch.
It doesn't look like Aziraphale's effect on the demon is going to be changing any time soon. ]
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Setting aside the brush, he brings his hands up underneath Crowley's hair, holding it in a loose bundle before letting it cascade back down to his shoulders.]
How do you feel about a french braid? I think that would suit you nicely.
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Yeah, he thinks, that is a very nice mental image. ]
Yes, I like that.
[ He likes that very much. Along with Aziraphale just playing with his hair - Crowley rather thinks he knows what a melted stick of butter must feel like now. ]
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[Aziraphale's voice is tinged with amusement. He doesn't know what his demon is thinking specifically, but he recognizes the tone. Well, whatever it is, Aziraphale is certain that he'll enjoy it, too, if it makes Crowley happy.
He brings up Crowley's hair in a bundle again, this time with more purpose, and divides it into three sections. Starting at the crown, he begins the braid, drawing more hair into the plait as he goes, humming a little to himself while he works.]
When's the last time you braided your hair, dear? You always had it in curls when you were Nanny Ashteroth.
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Crowley frowns up at the ceiling. ]
A while. Always preferred it long.
[ Aziraphale's humming is a pleasant balm for whatever anxiety just struck him. Crowley has always loved the angel's voice; the way he always sounds so prim and proper in whatever language they're speaking. His frown becomes a content smile. ]
Mm, now that I know you do too, I think I'll just keep it like this.
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[He was rather fond of Crowley's curls in Rome. And that shag cut he had in the 1960s, although Aziraphale does not dwell on that memory overlong, as bittersweet as it is. Was Crowley aware of how soft he looked then, sitting in the Bentley? He pauses a moment in his braiding to lean in and kiss Crowley's bare shoulder again, reminding himself of what they have now.]
I'll be hopelessly enamored of you no matter how you choose to wear it. You could even shave it all off and I wouldn't complain.
[Another small pause, before he adds quickly:]
So long as you planned to grow it back, of course.
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Absolutely never happening.
[ The closest he'd gotten was buzzing the sides for a mohawk back in the late 70s. But that was a mohawk. Bald was not a look for him, unless he was being an actual snake. ]
Even if I liked the idea of being bald, I like your fingers in my hair much better.
[ He tilts his head back so Aziraphale can see his grin. ]
'Specially when you give it a tug. Always knew it was a thing, but I never knew it was going to be my thing.
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Good, because I like my fingers in your hair, too.
[Although he has to pause once more when Crowley grins at him and says aloud what Aziraphale had managed to infer after their first night together. He blushes a bit and smiles into those upturned yellow eyes.]
Ah, I see why you like wearing it long, then. All the more to tug you with.
[He kisses Crowley's forehead, then urges him to bring his head back down so Aziraphale can properly finish the braid. He's nearly done when he adds quietly:]
So long as I don't have to pull it too hard. I don't want to hurt you.
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[ Crowley doesn't shake his head now that Aziraphale is back to braiding but he does demure with a gesture of his hand. ]
I'm not really, uh, into pain. Giving or receiving. I guess it's just a bit of a thrill when you give it a little tug? Like I know you could do more but won't?
[ It feels odd voicing it aloud. He's still not used to how frankly he can express that, in addition to loving Aziraphale, he also desires him. ]
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[It feels a bit strange to say such things aloud for Aziraphale, too, but only because he's never had reason to share such thoughts before.
A bit of ribbon -- black -- appears in his hand and he uses it to tie off the end of the braid with a little flourish.]
I think I understand what you mean, though. It's the same when you nibble my skin, or I bare my throat to you. I know you'd never take advantage.
[He runs a finger along the braid, admiring his handiwork, before tugging it with the precise amount of pressure that Crowley likes. With his head now tilted back, it's easy for the angel to steal a kiss.]
There, all done. Would you like a mirror, or do you trust me when I say you're an absolute vision?
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Oh, I don't know. Might take a little advantage.
[ Crowley looks terribly pleased with himself as he murmurs this against the corner of Aziraphale's lips, giving the angel's thigh a light squeeze. ]
Let's have a look then. I trust you, but I also want to admire your work.
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Only if I may take a little advantage in return. We are naked, in my bed, in case you had forgotten.
[He knows that Crowley has not. That delicious tingle of desire hasn't left Aziraphale, but if Crowley wants to preen in front of a mirror first, who is he to say no.]
Well, all right. There's a mirror in the door of my armoire; I'll fetch the handheld mirror and you you can admire yourself to your heart's content from all angles.
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Oh, if you must. I'm sure I'll just have to deal with it.
[ As if it were any great hardship and he wasn't absolutely delighted by the idea of Aziraphale being frisky with him.
He lingers there for a little longer before reaching up for Aziraphale to pull him in for a kiss. ]
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Oh, I must. The mirror is such a long way away.
[He delivers another kiss, one hand absently batting away the pillow that Crowley had been using to cover his groin.]
I suppose I could carry you there, if you insisted...
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Now you absolutely have to. I have to preserve my modesty somehow.
[ Says the demon who has frequently wandered around Aziraphale's flat in nary more than that scrap of satin he calls a robe, and maybe a pair of boxer briefs if he's feeling particularly prudish. ]
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We both know that isn't a thing for you around me, my dear. But I'll humor you.
[He stands up from the bed, holding Crowley with his usual ease, and taking a few steps to the armoire. It was built around the same time as his bed, tall with shiny wooden doors and brass handles. A door pops open and reveals the full-length mirror inside. Aziraphale stands before it, focusing on Crowley's eyes in the mirror, a charmed smile on his face.]
My, don't you look fetching?
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Seeing them together in the mirror has his heart skipping. Naked and with his arms around Aziraphale's neck, draped in the angel's arms - Crowley feels overcome by a wave of some indescribable emotion.
It's one thing to feel Aziraphale against him, warm and so exquisitely soft. It's another thing to see it reflected back at them, a solid reminder that this is all real, that Crowley hasn't sunk into a decades-long dream to soothe a broken heart. They're really together, they can hold each other, love each other, be together completely freely and in front of them is proof of that.
Crowley knows he has the most ridiculous, undemonic grin on his face - h can see it right there in front of them - and he doesn't care. He just rests his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, his arms around him tightening in a proper embrace. ]
Yeah. We do. Hair looks great too, angel.
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Looking in the mirror, Aziraphale has much the same thought, that their reflection is solid evidence of their togetherness. It's also a lovely image in and of itself: two beings very much in love, almost deliriously happy because of it. (Rather salacious, too, if one's gaze drops too far.)
Aziraphale blushes a little at the compliment and turns his head away from his reflection to kiss the real Crowley's forehead.]
Do you think we should have someone take our photograph sometime? I only have Leonardo's portrait of us. I'd like something to keep on my desk.
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From:Just noticed my dumb typo up there! Sorry. :<
From:lol no worries - i don't remember seeing any typo at all
From:Re: lol no worries - i don't remember seeing any typo at all
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