[He feels Aziraphale trembling and Crowley isn't exactly steady himself, a shiver running through him as he feels that hand fist in the dark silk of his nightshirt. It's probably a bit weird that he would gladly crack open his own chest to let Aziraphale reach in there and actually take that beating thing in his hands to hold.
Six thousand years is a very long time to go not acknowledging this thing between them and now the walls are crumbling to pieces, and considering the vastness of it, it's a marvel they managed to keep it hidden as they did.
And then Aziraphale is so, so much closer, and the angel just takes a sledgehammer to every single barrier they built to keep each other safe, because really, what do they need those for now? And how did he go this long without knowing how warm Aziraphale's lips feel against his palm and brow? How can he possibly go back with that knowledge secured in his head if Aziraphale realizes he regrets this?
His breath stutters as he searches his friend's face for any sign that may be the case, but all that's there is the mirror to the love he's been feeling for millennia. He is sure something's gone and gotten into his eyes because they feel damp and itchy, and something wet rolls down his cheek when he moves to repeat the kiss, pressing cool, dry lips to the lines where Aziraphale's brow furrows when he's fussy or fretful, the way he's always wanted to do for so, so long.
He's not sure he's supposed to feel this happy. He knows he's not allowed, of course, that's part of the demon's job description. But he also never thought it possible, and yet...
...and yet. Here they are.
Crowley settles back into the pillows because as nice as kissing is, it also means he had to take his eyes off Aziraphale's face for a whole second and that's completely unacceptable. He can't get enough of the sight of him and his grey/green/blueish eyes and long lashes and laugh lines and soft cheeks and softer curls, and he drinks in the sight like a man parched from decades in a desert.]
Look at you -- [He breathes, not quite a hiss, but there's the echo of the serpent, and then something from before the serpent. He reaches up, brushing his knuckles along the length of Aziraphale's jaw.] -- you're gorgeous.
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Six thousand years is a very long time to go not acknowledging this thing between them and now the walls are crumbling to pieces, and considering the vastness of it, it's a marvel they managed to keep it hidden as they did.
And then Aziraphale is so, so much closer, and the angel just takes a sledgehammer to every single barrier they built to keep each other safe, because really, what do they need those for now? And how did he go this long without knowing how warm Aziraphale's lips feel against his palm and brow? How can he possibly go back with that knowledge secured in his head if Aziraphale realizes he regrets this?
His breath stutters as he searches his friend's face for any sign that may be the case, but all that's there is the mirror to the love he's been feeling for millennia. He is sure something's gone and gotten into his eyes because they feel damp and itchy, and something wet rolls down his cheek when he moves to repeat the kiss, pressing cool, dry lips to the lines where Aziraphale's brow furrows when he's fussy or fretful, the way he's always wanted to do for so, so long.
He's not sure he's supposed to feel this happy. He knows he's not allowed, of course, that's part of the demon's job description. But he also never thought it possible, and yet...
...and yet. Here they are.
Crowley settles back into the pillows because as nice as kissing is, it also means he had to take his eyes off Aziraphale's face for a whole second and that's completely unacceptable. He can't get enough of the sight of him and his grey/green/blueish eyes and long lashes and laugh lines and soft cheeks and softer curls, and he drinks in the sight like a man parched from decades in a desert.]
Look at you -- [He breathes, not quite a hiss, but there's the echo of the serpent, and then something from before the serpent. He reaches up, brushing his knuckles along the length of Aziraphale's jaw.] -- you're gorgeous.