Anthony J. Crowley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inlovewithmycar) wrote2023-06-11 06:36 pm
inlovewithmycar) wrote2023-06-11 06:36 pmThe City Inbox
⛧A.J. CROWLEY⛧
"This is Crowley. I'm not in. You know what to do, so do it with style. Chow." |
inlovewithmycar) wrote2023-06-11 06:36 pm
⛧A.J. CROWLEY⛧
"This is Crowley. I'm not in. You know what to do, so do it with style. Chow." |
no subject
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.
no subject
there's no uncertainty in aziraphale's gaze, his sky-like blue-grey eyes only looking forward. there is no question that he has meant every word spoken, every action taken. something like regret hasn't even occurred to him—how could it? how could it when he finally feels like he's reaching through a hole in their dividing wall?
a hand outstretched.
then a hand taken. crowley reaches across the divide himself, mirroring the angel's show of affection. he offers aziraphale his own kiss in return, gentle in a way that a demon should never be; a way that's dangerous for him to be. crowley does it anyway, his actions so firmly intertwined with his own Love that aziraphale cannot help but feel it.
he feels crowley against his skin and resonating within the core of him and it's nearly overwhelming. although not in an unpleasant way. he feels lit up, shining, and perhaps even a little giddy. )
Me?
( aziraphale asks, his face feeling flushed. the demon's words are overwhelming too, but it's still not in an unpleasant way. it almost feels like this truly is a dream, a reality far too pleasant to be real. )
You must mean you.
( he tells him, warm and loving. aziraphale has thought this very selfsame thought since the very beginning, thought the individual beside him to be gorgeous in a way unlike any other.
aziraphale is still smiling as he moves to wipe away crowley's tears, catching them with the edge of his fingers. )
Thank you for staying with me.
no subject
He's about to protest the 'thank you' the way he's always done. The 'don't' is already halfway to the tip of his tongue before he abruptly shuts his mouth and swallows it back down.
Who's watching? No one. No one they care about, anyway, no one who isn't dangerous regardless of whether or not they say please and thank you and spend their nights together cozied up under the blankets as they figure out this immense thing that's grown from them.
Love, he reminds himself. It's love. It's always been love, from the moment he slithered up that wall, and maybe even before if his fractured memories are reliable.
He chuffs out a soft laugh, just a big puff of air that the 'don't thank me' disintegrated into the second he realized he didn't have to say it, warm and soft against Aziraphale's cheek, and he can't stop smiling. What a marvel that he can just say what he means, without a single caveat.]
...Any time, angel. Any time.
[It feels so good to say it.]
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how did it come to this? how did things turn out this way? what had aziraphale done for things to develop to such a wonderful, fantastic direction? what had he gotten so right? this had started as a phone call, like many they have had over the years, but now the two of them lie underneath the protection of a fluffy comforter, foreheads pressed together, and his hands cradling crowley's face like the precious treasure he is.
aziraphale thinks that he could live in this moment forever.
he couldn't go back to a time before knowing crowley's touch, his warmth, and the noble bow of his lips. he couldn't bear it. not any more, not after having a sample of what he's been longing for for so long.
for a while, aziraphale lingers, rubbing his thumbs along the sharp lines of crowley's cheekbones. appreciating what he has in front of them. appreciating the demon who has been trying so, so hard for him. he wants to kiss him, kiss him full on the lips in the way they do in films, but aziraphale fears that he couldn't take it.
he wants to kiss him, but it might fry every nerve in his vessel if he does. he's not ready for it yet, not ready to take that step.
but he wants to. just as he wants to hold crowley close to him and see if their bodies fit together as perfectly as aziraphale always imagined they would.
aziraphale squashes those feelings down, pushing them down low and out of the way.
then, after a stretch of time, he has something more to say. )
So then, Mr. Crowley, what's next for this wake-up routine?
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It's enough. It's more than enough; it's everything and then some.
He wants this to slot into their routine; this amber warmth in the low light pre-dawn quiet, snuggled close together as their pulses synchronize. Heaven's light is nothing compared to the rosy glow of Aziraphale's cheeks in the incandescent glow of the bedside lamp, God's love but a grain of sand next to Aziraphale's veritable ocean of affection.
He smiles, another laugh escaping him, because how can a body hold this much happiness inside?]
I believe I promised you breakfast...?
no subject
( there's a laugh behind his words, terribly fond. terribly smitten. it feels like crowley's laugh chimes with his, joy echoing between them. no, more than feels. must be. no doubt about it. he feels in tune with the demon laying beside him, firmly standing on the same ground.
it's such a lovely thing.
affectionately, he shifts his hands and smooshes crowley's cheeks. )
Let's not be late.
( in a manner of speaking. )