[It takes Crowley a moment, but it isn't long until recognition dawns and his eyes go huge at what Aziraphale is saying. What he is really saying.
Aziraphale wants to join him up in the stars, and then go to Italy and see this tree that represents eternal love.
Crowley isn't exactly great at some of the more round about ways they talk to and at and past each other, but he's not an idiot. He knows what Aziraphale is telling him here, coming at it sideways the way they've always had to come at anything between them that's bigger than dinner at the Ritz.
Love's a heavy thing - not a burden but so, so heavy, and it weighs Crowley down, as he lays on his side with only a few inches of empty air and the thick soft down of the duvet between him and Aziraphale. He's dumbstruck, not really sure what to say, but he doesn't want to leave his friend -- his dearest, most beloved friend -- hanging out to dry after saying something so monumental.
So Crowley does what he does best when words fail him. He acts.
The hand held to Aziraphale's mouth and cheek turns over, long, deft fingers curling around the angel's hand, and Crowley guides it to the same position on his own face, bringing Aziraphale's palm to his lips in the same not-quite-a-kiss-but-definitely-not-not-a-kiss Aziraphale had given him moments before.
Not once do his eyes leave Aziraphale's face, watching for any sign he might want to put a stop to... to whatever is happening between them.
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Aziraphale wants to join him up in the stars, and then go to Italy and see this tree that represents eternal love.
Crowley isn't exactly great at some of the more round about ways they talk to and at and past each other, but he's not an idiot. He knows what Aziraphale is telling him here, coming at it sideways the way they've always had to come at anything between them that's bigger than dinner at the Ritz.
Love's a heavy thing - not a burden but so, so heavy, and it weighs Crowley down, as he lays on his side with only a few inches of empty air and the thick soft down of the duvet between him and Aziraphale. He's dumbstruck, not really sure what to say, but he doesn't want to leave his friend -- his dearest, most beloved friend -- hanging out to dry after saying something so monumental.
So Crowley does what he does best when words fail him. He acts.
The hand held to Aziraphale's mouth and cheek turns over, long, deft fingers curling around the angel's hand, and Crowley guides it to the same position on his own face, bringing Aziraphale's palm to his lips in the same not-quite-a-kiss-but-definitely-not-not-a-kiss Aziraphale had given him moments before.
Not once do his eyes leave Aziraphale's face, watching for any sign he might want to put a stop to... to whatever is happening between them.
Is this okay? he wonders. Am I going too fast?]