The City Inbox

[inlovewithmycar]

⛧A.J. CROWLEY⛧ "This is Crowley. I'm not in. You know what to do, so do it with style. Chow."

code by MANUAL

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[benedicus]

( when crowley looks at him in that desperate searching way, his elegant golden eyes a veritable font of unspoken emotion threatening to break forth, he is met only with love. love that has been simmering underneath the surface for countless years, a love that endured time and tribulation, a love without condition. Love. with a capital letter.

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.

[inlovewithmycar]

[Crowley grumbles something about already knowing what he means, but there's no venom to it, especially not with the way he's pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's, still smiling through his tears. He wants, more than anything, just to be near. He's had a taste of his warmth and softness, and now he's not sure he can ever have enough.

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.]

[benedicus]

( how did this happen?

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?

[inlovewithmycar]

[It's a peculiar thing when Crowley is in no hurry to push boundaries, but he is, at the moment, quite content at where things are between them. They have broken walls and added such new and wonderful steps to their dance, how could he not want to savour and explore this fresh and marvelous intimacy? To know that he and Aziraphale are roughly on the same page with what they want, that they can take their time, go it their own pace, at their own leisure, with no swords strung above their heads for having the audacity of simply existing in one another's presence...

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...?

[benedicus]

Why, yes. I believe you did.

( 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. )