Ugh, don't remind me. Was washing the gunk out of my hair for weeks - wasn't even worth it.
[ Crowley divests himself of most of his layers until he's down to his vest and jeans and plonks himself down in the stool by the tub, resting his chin on his folded arms. ]
I don't think I've ever seen you having a bad hair day. Always perfectly fluffy.
[Crowley shucking his outer garments distracts Aziraphale for several long moments. What was he doing again? Oh, right, the coconut oil. He pulls out the container and places it on the vanity, switching it for the brush. His gaze flicks up to mirror above the sink, glancing at his own hair in response to the compliment.]
Well... the truth is I don't have to do much of anything. I only go to the barber for the experience.
[He turns and smiles at Crowley, waving the brush in his hand.] Ready, my dear?
[Aziraphale seats himself cross-legged behind Crowley. He spends a minute or two simply running his fingers through Crowley's hair, unable to resist the allure of it. Crowley may claim that it needs treatment, but it feels perfect to him. Eventually, he picks up the brush and starts methodically working on the ends, keeping his free hand higher up on the strands to avoid pulling.]
Really, never? It's a lovely experience. Barbers are always so careful while they work, and I've had the most interesting chats with them.
Mm, never wanted anyone but you touching my hair, to be honest.
[ He exhales so softly as Aziraphale runs his fingers through his somewhat dry locks. It always did this when he miracled things too quickly, but just the touch sent a delightful shiver down his spine. ]
Can definitely see the appeal, though. That feels amazing.
[ Crowley is putty in Aziraphale's hands, and may have to stifle the occasional moan. ]
[The angel melts a little at Crowley's words before resuming his handiwork.]
I only ever got the occasional trim or hot shave. It's nice to be pampered, but it's not the same as when you do it, dear. That's always been special.
[Once the ends are free of any tangles, he moves the brush up higher along Crowley's scalp. There is a great deal to enjoy from being on this end of a good brushing, not the least of which are the sounds Crowley is making. He leans forward and kisses an ear before brushing the hair behind it.]
I think any stylist would be delighted to get their hands on your hair, but I won't complain if you leave the tending to it up to me.
Crowley's chest swells with pride. How delighted he is to know that Aziraphale enjoys his pampering. It also makes it all the more difficult not to lean into the gentle brushing and he occasionally tenses up to restrain himself from getting too wriggly.
That all falls apart when Aziraphale kisses his ear. His ear! Why is something like that so sensitive? Ears have no business getting that kind of sound out of a demon when kissed so tenderly.
Crowley actually has to hide his flushed face in his arms. ]
Definitely leaving it up to you. Don't want any stylist getting ideas.
[It's a good thing Crowley hides his face, because Aziraphale can smile at him soppily with impunity. Crowley really is just too much when he goes all soft, it warms the angel all over, from the inside out.]
I agree. I'm not inclined to share all this silken-spun fire with anyone else.
[He finishes up the brushing, then plants a few kisses on Crowley's bare shoulders, unable to resist all that exposed skin.]
There, all done. How much coconut oil do I use? Do I massage it in, or...?
[ Crowley feels like every bit of him has gone all floppy. Well, every bit of him besides his groin; he wonders if this is some strange fetish (well, perhaps not so strange in the grand scheme of things) or if it was just because he constantly craved Aziraphale's touch.
He makes a series of noises, eventually forming them into words. ]
Gotta - just a bit, rub it down the middle to the ends. Then two washes, two rinses, or it goes all greasy.
[ Crowley glances lazily over his shoulder to watch Aziraphale. He's not too fussed about his hair, really. It will recover even if Aziraphale doesn't do his regimen to spec. The whole thing of Aziraphale taking care of him, grooming him, touching him with those gentle, warm hands - that's much more of interest to him.
A slow, contented chuckle bubbles up from his chest. ]
Love seeing you all buttoned-down. Bet no one ever gets to see you like that.
[Whatever it is to Crowley, Aziraphale is more than happy to indulge. He waits patiently for the demon to answer, idly stroking his hair which probably doesn't help, but he is just enough of a bastard worth knowing, after all.]
Sounds simple enough. Just a tic, dear, hold tight.
[He gets up and returns the brush to the vanity, then opens the coconut oil. Only a bit, how much does that mean exactly? He scoops out a small amount and then holds it up as if weighing the amount and judging its worth. It might not matter so much to Crowley, but Aziraphale would like to get it right.
The question distracts him and he turns to look at Crowley with an amused smile.]
No, of course not. I run a reputable establishment.
[He grabs the jar of oil in case he'll need more and sits down behind Crowley once more. Then, tentatively, he rubs Crowley's hair with what he has in his hand, from the middle to the ends as instructed.]
Reputable is one way of putting it. You should see your reviews on Yelp. And - aah - yes - just like that, love, marvelous -
[ Quite forgetting what else he was going to say, Crowley tilts his head back, letting loose a contented sigh as Aziraphale massages the oil into his hair. It leaves half of it slick and oily, smelling strongly of coconut. ]
[He wrinkles his nose, already certain that he's not going to like the answer. But soon enough he's smiling again, enamored by Crowley's reaction to his touch. He makes sure every strand is coated in the oil, which admittedly is not a good look, but the smell is nice. What does it remind him of...?
The answer has him giggling.]
You're reminding me of my very first piña colada, darling. How long do we leave this in?
Mm, ten minutes at least. I usually do about twenty. And yes, reviews. Where customers rate businesses. You'd probably be very pleased at how many warn against coming into A.Z. Fell and Co. Probably saved you selling a number of priceless first editions.
[ He turns in the chair, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale's middle. ]
Three of them suggested you're some big underworld boss, given how you've chased off London's not-so-finest with a look when they tried to buy the place from you.
[ Crowley cannot begin to convey how much this delights him. A bookshop that doesn't sell books run by an owner who has every crime boss in London giving him a wide berth because no one knows what happens to the poor souls sent in every once in a while to try to get Aziraphale to part with his beloved shop.
Crowley had never stood a chance. How could he not have fallen in love with Aziraphale...? Literally impossible. ]
[Aziraphale's mouth turns down in a prissy little slope, but it's almost entirely a front, for he is pleased to hear that people are recommending others to avoid his shop. He does not mind the occasional foot traffic, but he's not willing to part with any of his precious first editions.
He's absolutely not willing to part with the shop itself, either. He huffs in amusement at the assumption that he's some sort of crime lord.]
Is that what they're saying about me these days? I suppose it's better than the rumor that I'm a vampire.
[He miracles his hands free of the oil so that he can place them on Crowley's bare shoulders, letting himself be drawn in.]
An entire twenty minutes, hmm? How shall we amuse ourselves while we wait?
[ Crowley looks Aziraphale up and down, and grins, gently guiding him into his lap. ]
Oh, I dunno, can see their point. You'd be an awfully cute vampire though. Probably put whipped cream on top of your blood smoothies. Tuck a little kerchief in your collar so you don't get any stains while you nibble my arteries. Very proper vampire, indeed. Not like the regular riffraff at all.
[ His hand wanders lovingly up Aziraphale's back, his gaze warm as he takes in his little pout. ]
...Could always take care of you for the next twenty minutes, yeah?
[Aziraphale sits eagerly, even as he rolls his eyes over the ridiculous imagery that Crowley shares with him.]
Well, if vampires are allowed to sparkle in the sunlight, then I suppose that they can look like anyone, even me. But I much prefer my taste in food. And nibbling.
[He demonstrates by nipping gently along the column of Crowley's neck, careful not to get any coconut oil on his face. He sucks a love bite above his jugular, then sits back, looking over his work. He's still learning how to leave a proper mark.]
You could... or I could continue to take care of you...?
[ Just the feeling of Aziraphale's mouth on his throat is more than perfect as far as Crowley is concerned, and he bears it readily while untucking Aziraphale's shirt to snake his fingers up his back. ]
Can't see a downside to either but - ah - yeah - that'sss good. Keep doing that, never ssstop -
[ Crowley rolls his hips upwards, rubbing Aziraphale's back, kneading his fingers into soft flesh and surprisingly sturdy muscle. ]
[Aziraphale obliges, his mouth back on Crowley's neck where he sucks another love bite to match the first.]
Both, then. All the better to pass the time.
[He squirms in Crowley's lap, already affected by that deft touch underneath his shirt. His intention was to pamper Crowley this evening, but if Crowley wants to reciprocate, he's not about to say no. There's the rest of the hair care regimen to look forward to, anyway. His hands wander over those bare, slender arms as he nuzzles against Crowley's neck.]
You know, if you're waiting at the barbershop, they only give you a magazine to read.
You see? Just adding to the list of reasons why you're a thousand times better than any barber.
[ His breath hitches in his throat, right where Aziraphale nuzzles him. How could a body be this sensitive...? He swore it had to be something to do with Aziraphale because being touched had never felt like this except in his arms. ]
D'you remember what I texted you about before? About seeing if our essences are compatible as the rest of us...?
[That draws a chuckle out of the angel, who kisses up and down Crowley's neck, delighted in giving Crowley special treatment. But rather suddenly he stops, breath warm against the demon's throat, tightening his embrace.]
Yes, I remember.
[He lifts his head to look at Crowley, his eyebrows drawn together and lower lip caught between his teeth in worry. He hadn't expected Crowley to revisit the idea so soon.]
You wanted to try that now? Is that -- do you think this is a good time for it?
[Aziraphale relaxes at Crowley's touch, even before he's drawn in for a kiss. It's safe to start with their wings, they've brought those close together before. And Aziraphale has been itching for an excuse to see Crowley's wings again, maybe even brush through them with his fingers.
It'll be a bit before he says so, accepting the invitation of Crowley's sweet, open mouth first and needing his tongue for other things. Finally, he sits back again, licking his own lips and looking much more approving of the idea.]
You've convinced me, dear. Just -- do be careful. There's only so much room in here for our wings.
[ Crowley grins in that way he sometimes does when Aziraphale agrees to something the demon wants to do but doesn't want to come off too eager. ]
Right. Yeah. Of course. No breaking your things.
[ Not that he would ever. Aside from the fact that Aziraphale could be an absolute terror to anyone who dared to mishandle his books, Crowley would never want to damage the things Aziraphale cherished.
Slowly, Crowley's wings unfurl. They're the one part of him that had remained virtually unchanged from the time before his Fall. She had seen fit, in all Her infinite wisdom, to tear him apart, make him crawl in the dirt (at least until he got a human corporation) and eat ash (at least until he'd discovered apples, among other things). But his wings remained untouched, sleek, glossy and black as they'd always been. Perhaps She'd been too busy with the other demons to think about clipping them permanently and Crowley wasn't about to march back and complain about a possible error.
He'd always wanted to wrap Aziraphale in them, cradle him in the very part of him that still gave off warmth. The part of him that was still whole, and not some carefully pieced together patchwork of some fallen thing that had shattered on impact.
So he does, holding Aziraphale close and folding his wings around him. ]
Been ages since I last flew. Reckon we could find some open place some time and do a few swoops and dives?
[If Aziraphale felt that it was too dangerous to even try, he would have stood his ground. (See: 105 years of his opinion on giving Crowley holy water.) But this? He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to try.
And so, when Crowley unfurls his wings, he watches with a soft-eyed wonder. It never tires, to see Crowley's wings. They truly are magnificent, although he'd disagree that the rest was somehow less than worthy. He thought so even the first time that they met, atop the wall of Eden. Heaven had insisted that demons were ugly creatures, twisted by their evil nature, and it was true that most other demons were unpleasant to look at (and smell, in Hastur's case), but not Crowley.
He makes a sound of surprise that quickly turns to one of deep contentment when those warm, sleek wings fold around him. He reaches out with a hand, pausing millimeters from those shiny black feathers, gaze shifting to Crowley's eyes, seeking permission.]
i haven't flown in ages, either. You'd... like to do that with me? [He laughs self-consciously.] You have to promise not to tease me if I can't keep up. Always been a bit of a slowpoke in the skies.
[ It feels wonderful to hold Aziraphale in both his arms and his wings. There is a comfort in feeling his warm weight and the flutter of his human heart against him as he cards his fingers through the angel's hair. He nods in response to Aziraphale's question. As if there were any answer other than Yes. Yes, he thinks, please touch me.]
Always been a bit of a slowpoke anyway. Always stopping to smell the roses and sample local cuisine.
[ He grins ever so fondly. ]
Can't see anything wrong with being a bit of a slowpoke.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Crowley divests himself of most of his layers until he's down to his vest and jeans and plonks himself down in the stool by the tub, resting his chin on his folded arms. ]
I don't think I've ever seen you having a bad hair day. Always perfectly fluffy.
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Well... the truth is I don't have to do much of anything. I only go to the barber for the experience.
[He turns and smiles at Crowley, waving the brush in his hand.] Ready, my dear?
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Very ready. Was practically born ready for this. You just start at the ends, then work your way up, however you like.
[ He pulls his hair back so it's over his shoulders and Aziraphale has easier access to it. ]
Never been to a barber before - is it all that nice? You seem to like them.
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Really, never? It's a lovely experience. Barbers are always so careful while they work, and I've had the most interesting chats with them.
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[ He exhales so softly as Aziraphale runs his fingers through his somewhat dry locks. It always did this when he miracled things too quickly, but just the touch sent a delightful shiver down his spine. ]
Can definitely see the appeal, though. That feels amazing.
[ Crowley is putty in Aziraphale's hands, and may have to stifle the occasional moan. ]
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I only ever got the occasional trim or hot shave. It's nice to be pampered, but it's not the same as when you do it, dear. That's always been special.
[Once the ends are free of any tangles, he moves the brush up higher along Crowley's scalp. There is a great deal to enjoy from being on this end of a good brushing, not the least of which are the sounds Crowley is making. He leans forward and kisses an ear before brushing the hair behind it.]
I think any stylist would be delighted to get their hands on your hair, but I won't complain if you leave the tending to it up to me.
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Crowley's chest swells with pride. How delighted he is to know that Aziraphale enjoys his pampering. It also makes it all the more difficult not to lean into the gentle brushing and he occasionally tenses up to restrain himself from getting too wriggly.
That all falls apart when Aziraphale kisses his ear. His ear! Why is something like that so sensitive? Ears have no business getting that kind of sound out of a demon when kissed so tenderly.
Crowley actually has to hide his flushed face in his arms. ]
Definitely leaving it up to you. Don't want any stylist getting ideas.
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I agree. I'm not inclined to share all this silken-spun fire with anyone else.
[He finishes up the brushing, then plants a few kisses on Crowley's bare shoulders, unable to resist all that exposed skin.]
There, all done. How much coconut oil do I use? Do I massage it in, or...?
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He makes a series of noises, eventually forming them into words. ]
Gotta - just a bit, rub it down the middle to the ends. Then two washes, two rinses, or it goes all greasy.
[ Crowley glances lazily over his shoulder to watch Aziraphale. He's not too fussed about his hair, really. It will recover even if Aziraphale doesn't do his regimen to spec. The whole thing of Aziraphale taking care of him, grooming him, touching him with those gentle, warm hands - that's much more of interest to him.
A slow, contented chuckle bubbles up from his chest. ]
Love seeing you all buttoned-down. Bet no one ever gets to see you like that.
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Sounds simple enough. Just a tic, dear, hold tight.
[He gets up and returns the brush to the vanity, then opens the coconut oil. Only a bit, how much does that mean exactly? He scoops out a small amount and then holds it up as if weighing the amount and judging its worth. It might not matter so much to Crowley, but Aziraphale would like to get it right.
The question distracts him and he turns to look at Crowley with an amused smile.]
No, of course not. I run a reputable establishment.
[He grabs the jar of oil in case he'll need more and sits down behind Crowley once more. Then, tentatively, he rubs Crowley's hair with what he has in his hand, from the middle to the ends as instructed.]
How's that? Good?
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Reputable is one way of putting it. You should see your reviews on Yelp. And - aah - yes - just like that, love, marvelous -
[ Quite forgetting what else he was going to say, Crowley tilts his head back, letting loose a contented sigh as Aziraphale massages the oil into his hair. It leaves half of it slick and oily, smelling strongly of coconut. ]
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[He wrinkles his nose, already certain that he's not going to like the answer. But soon enough he's smiling again, enamored by Crowley's reaction to his touch. He makes sure every strand is coated in the oil, which admittedly is not a good look, but the smell is nice. What does it remind him of...?
The answer has him giggling.]
You're reminding me of my very first piña colada, darling. How long do we leave this in?
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[ He turns in the chair, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale's middle. ]
Three of them suggested you're some big underworld boss, given how you've chased off London's not-so-finest with a look when they tried to buy the place from you.
[ Crowley cannot begin to convey how much this delights him. A bookshop that doesn't sell books run by an owner who has every crime boss in London giving him a wide berth because no one knows what happens to the poor souls sent in every once in a while to try to get Aziraphale to part with his beloved shop.
Crowley had never stood a chance. How could he not have fallen in love with Aziraphale...? Literally impossible. ]
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He's absolutely not willing to part with the shop itself, either. He huffs in amusement at the assumption that he's some sort of crime lord.]
Is that what they're saying about me these days? I suppose it's better than the rumor that I'm a vampire.
[He miracles his hands free of the oil so that he can place them on Crowley's bare shoulders, letting himself be drawn in.]
An entire twenty minutes, hmm? How shall we amuse ourselves while we wait?
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Oh, I dunno, can see their point. You'd be an awfully cute vampire though. Probably put whipped cream on top of your blood smoothies. Tuck a little kerchief in your collar so you don't get any stains while you nibble my arteries. Very proper vampire, indeed. Not like the regular riffraff at all.
[ His hand wanders lovingly up Aziraphale's back, his gaze
warm as he takes in his little pout. ]
...Could always take care of you for the next twenty minutes, yeah?
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Well, if vampires are allowed to sparkle in the sunlight, then I suppose that they can look like anyone, even me. But I much prefer my taste in food. And nibbling.
[He demonstrates by nipping gently along the column of Crowley's neck, careful not to get any coconut oil on his face. He sucks a love bite above his jugular, then sits back, looking over his work. He's still learning how to leave a proper mark.]
You could... or I could continue to take care of you...?
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Can't see a downside to either but - ah - yeah - that'sss good. Keep doing that, never ssstop -
[ Crowley rolls his hips upwards, rubbing Aziraphale's back, kneading his fingers into soft flesh and surprisingly sturdy muscle. ]
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Both, then. All the better to pass the time.
[He squirms in Crowley's lap, already affected by that deft touch underneath his shirt. His intention was to pamper Crowley this evening, but if Crowley wants to reciprocate, he's not about to say no. There's the rest of the hair care regimen to look forward to, anyway. His hands wander over those bare, slender arms as he nuzzles against Crowley's neck.]
You know, if you're waiting at the barbershop, they only give you a magazine to read.
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[ His breath hitches in his throat, right where Aziraphale nuzzles him. How could a body be this sensitive...? He swore it had to be something to do with Aziraphale because being touched had never felt like this except in his arms. ]
D'you remember what I texted you about before? About seeing if our essences are compatible as the rest of us...?
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Yes, I remember.
[He lifts his head to look at Crowley, his eyebrows drawn together and lower lip caught between his teeth in worry. He hadn't expected Crowley to revisit the idea so soon.]
You wanted to try that now? Is that -- do you think this is a good time for it?
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Maybe just the tips of our wings to start. Worst case scenario is a couple of singed feathers and knowing not to try it again.
[ He reaches up, cupping Aziraphale's chin, stroking his jaw with his thumb. ]
If you don't want to, s'fine, we'll find a better time for it.
[ He tilts his head up, pressing a soft kiss to Aziraphale's mouth. And another, and then another, until he parts his lips to invite the angel in. ]
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It'll be a bit before he says so, accepting the invitation of Crowley's sweet, open mouth first and needing his tongue for other things. Finally, he sits back again, licking his own lips and looking much more approving of the idea.]
You've convinced me, dear. Just -- do be careful. There's only so much room in here for our wings.
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Right. Yeah. Of course. No breaking your things.
[ Not that he would ever. Aside from the fact that Aziraphale could be an absolute terror to anyone who dared to mishandle his books, Crowley would never want to damage the things Aziraphale cherished.
Slowly, Crowley's wings unfurl. They're the one part of him that had remained virtually unchanged from the time before his Fall. She had seen fit, in all Her infinite wisdom, to tear him apart, make him crawl in the dirt (at least until he got a human corporation) and eat ash (at least until he'd discovered apples, among other things). But his wings remained untouched, sleek, glossy and black as they'd always been. Perhaps She'd been too busy with the other demons to think about clipping them permanently and Crowley wasn't about to march back and complain about a possible error.
He'd always wanted to wrap Aziraphale in them, cradle him in the very part of him that still gave off warmth. The part of him that was still whole, and not some carefully pieced together patchwork of some fallen thing that had shattered on impact.
So he does, holding Aziraphale close and folding his wings around him. ]
Been ages since I last flew. Reckon we could find some open place some time and do a few swoops and dives?
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And so, when Crowley unfurls his wings, he watches with a soft-eyed wonder. It never tires, to see Crowley's wings. They truly are magnificent, although he'd disagree that the rest was somehow less than worthy. He thought so even the first time that they met, atop the wall of Eden. Heaven had insisted that demons were ugly creatures, twisted by their evil nature, and it was true that most other demons were unpleasant to look at (and smell, in Hastur's case), but not Crowley.
He makes a sound of surprise that quickly turns to one of deep contentment when those warm, sleek wings fold around him. He reaches out with a hand, pausing millimeters from those shiny black feathers, gaze shifting to Crowley's eyes, seeking permission.]
i haven't flown in ages, either. You'd... like to do that with me? [He laughs self-consciously.] You have to promise not to tease me if I can't keep up. Always been a bit of a slowpoke in the skies.
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Always been a bit of a slowpoke anyway. Always stopping to smell the roses and sample local cuisine.
[ He grins ever so fondly. ]
Can't see anything wrong with being a bit of a slowpoke.
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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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