Any time Crowley requests it, Aziraphale is eager to comply. Any opportunity to bestow his personal grace upon Crowley, to shine that divine light upon him and remind him that he is loved. So loved, by everything that Aziraphale is. Not to mention how exquisite it feels to have Crowley run his hands over Aziraphale's wings, the delightful shivering sensation it gives him, as if Crowley is touching his very essence. And he returns the favor as often as he can, too, running his hands reverently over those beautiful black wings that glimmer in the light as if they hold the very stars that Crowley made when the universe was new.
He hears that tug of wistfulness in Crowley's voice and answers it with another kiss, this one a bit harder, a heated seal of pressure on his neck. A reminder of how deeply he loves Crowley, in so many ways. "Tonight, maybe?" he asks softly, tilting his mouth towards Crowley's ear, his fingers toying with the satiny curls of Crowley's hair. So, so soft. His heart aches, overflowing with love. He could keep his wings wrapped about Crowley all night, if he wants, glowing just enough to illuminate the demon's face in repose without waking him. (And maybe read a book that he can tuck into that little space, like an owl hiding its treasures from other thieving birds.)
Another kiss, this time to the shell of Crowley's ear. "And whenever else you'd like, my dearest. I'm at your service."
He knows how lucky he is, that he can groom Aziraphale's wings whenever he takes a mind to--if lying in bed for a decadent length of time with his palm stroking over the smooth white feathers until they're both nearly boneless with pleasure counts as grooming--and that Aziraphale will return the favor for him anytime, often without him needing to ask. Personal grace, divine light--he feels surrounded by both those things, as beguiled by them as any creature he's ever tempted into sin. If anyone could seduce Crowley back to the light, Aziraphale could.
The pressure of a hot kiss to his throat makes him shiver, his hands grasping at Aziraphale's hips beneath the cover of those glorious wings. "Tonight," he agrees a little shakily, always amazed by how well Aziraphale reads him. How he knows just what will appease the longing in Crowley's mercenary heart. Offering himself so generously, all the little gestures, the stroke of his fingers in Crowley's hair and the kiss at his ear having him closing his eyes briefly, letting the pleasure of it sweep over him.
"Yeah. Me too." At Aziraphale's service, Crowley means: anything he likes, there is never enough that he can do for his angel. His hands pet Aziraphale's hips softly. "What d'you want to do today?"
It certainly counts as grooming; Aziraphale's wings have never looked better with all the loving attention that they've received. They glow from Crowley's tender care as much as from his own divinity. He does not need to draw Crowley into the light, not when there's always been that light within him, setting him apart from all other demons.
Just as Crowley does not need to try very hard (or at all, really) to tempt Aziraphale into pleasures of the flesh. He wiggles those hips shamelessly when they are grasped, pressing another hot kiss against Crowley's throat. "Looking forward to it," he says in faux innocence, his breath sweet on Crowley's ear. There will be plenty of time to wrap Crowley up in his wings, among other things.
A softer kiss follows to match that gentle petting of his hips. Sitting back a little while still keeping Crowley wrapped up in his wings, he reaches into his waistcoat and pulls out his pocket watch. There is only an hour or so left of the afternoon, and then evening will have arrived in London. He's surprised he managed to nap as long as he did. "It's nearly dinner. We could put in a reservation somewhere, if you feel like braving the cold." Technically speaking, celestial beings weren't beholden to the hours of a day, but Aziraphale had very comfortably fallen into the rhythm of humanity, and unless he has more important plans, it isn't like him to miss an opportunity to have dinner.
That murmur in his ear, Aziraphale's pretended innocence--it gets his pulse racing, Crowley's hands still carefully light on the angel's hips. He might be able to tempt Aziraphale into pleasures of the flesh right now: or be tempted himself, with that enticing wriggle of his hips where they're pressed together, a perfect torment for a lovesick demon. Crowley has to close his eyes briefly, hands tightening on Aziraphale's hips to hold him still. "Keep doing that, angel, I won't wait 'til tonight," he tells him, half-playful and half in earnest, his voice taking on a slight growl.
But then, Aziraphale's become fond of following the rhythms of the day like humans do, and Crowley, though he's never cared as much about mealtimes or whether or not they miss dinner, finds himself charmed by it. By familiar routine, living as though they're any ordinary couple, falling into mutual habit. "I can handle the cold," he says lazily as though it's nothing much to him, though he actually quite dislikes London at its iciest in the dead of winter and enjoys complaining heartily about it when they're out and about. "You pick a place, Aziraphale. Somewhere with good scotch." That'll warm him up.
That growl sends a delighted shiver up Aziraphale's spine. He is very tempted, without Crowley needing to do much of anything except hold him there and warn him teasingly about angels who can't sit still, but there is a pleasure in anticipation, too. Besides, he much prefers Crowley's bed if they're to have their wings out. "Mmm. Suppose I'll have to be on my best behavior until then. I've been told that patience is a virtue."
He leans and kisses Crowley's forehead, a silent thanks for indulging him. He does not bother to replicate all of humanity's routines, but the ones that couples share, he is especially fond of. Even before he acknowledged his love for Crowley, he enjoyed their meals together. Dishes were that much more scrumptious when in the company of his demon. That they can do this every day now, openly, is something that he looks forward to, whether it's dining at the Ritz or a hidden gem without any frills.
"I know, dear." He smiles, amused by the remark considering that he has Crowley bundled up in his wings currently. At the request for a place with good scotch, he only needs a moment to consider. "I'll get us a spot at The Connaught, then." He brushes his hand through Crowley's hair, gently draping it over his shoulder. "Best scotch in Mayfair."
"You'd know better than me." It fascinates him, the ways Aziraphale reacts to his suggestions...how the angel indulges him, teasing and tender, never far from being convinced to come to bed with him. Crowley doesn't mind waiting, really; he's made a habit of it over these many years. He likes the anticipation, too. Likes Aziraphale so close, his wings a shield around him, kissing his forehead as though to thank him for being patient, while Crowley's hands resume stroking his hips lightly, because if he's going to wait he still intends to steal every moment of enjoyment out of touching Aziraphale as he can.
He tilts his head towards Aziraphale's hand, eyes half-closing at the stroke to his hair. "Now you're talking." Several glasses of an expensive vintage ought to set him up just right. One of the many advantages of being a demon--his black card is always good, and he never has to worry about overindulgence. He makes a little sound of longing, turning his head to kiss the inside of Aziraphale's wrist. "But you'll have to put your wings away." It's a sad thought, that.
((Sorry for the delay! Was traveling over the weekend.))
"I don't know about that," he admits quietly. "I kept you waiting a very long time, didn't I?" He kisses him again, wings encircling him more tightly into a warm enclave of feathers, eyes fluttering shut at Crowley's light touch on his hips. He's taken to physical affection in all its forms like a duck to water. How better to demonstrate his love? There's nothing sinful about bringing pleasure to Crowley, or taking that pleasure in turn, so far as he's concerned. The only sin was trying to deny it for as long as he did.
Aziraphale smiles, pleased with his choice of venue. Not only for the scotch that Crowley will enjoy, but because they won't be far from Crowley's flat once they've finished dining. Oh, but that soft sound of longing and kiss to his wrist have him carding his hand through those fiery locks as if in apology. "I will," he says with a sigh of his own. He twitches his wings back, so that the inner feathers brush over Crowley's hands. "Best to get your fill now."
Aziraphale's kisses could make up for a lifetime of waiting, he thinks, giving into it fully, his hands settling where they are to grip Aziraphale's hips just a little firmer. Though Crowley still wouldn't call himself patient, he's perhaps better than the angel at playing long games, laying plans in motion and waiting for them to come to fruition. Sometimes walking right into the mess of consequences he's created and having no one to blame but himself. Just look at him now, as soft as a demon can be, letting Aziraphale coddle him and being bloody happy about it. Oh well, he's done worse to himself before.
"Mmm." He reaches for the wings that Aziraphale offers him, running a hand light over the edge of one, trailing down to the end of the long pinions like a train of lace brushing the ground. His hand comes back up, taking a gentle grip, and he guides those feathers to brush against his cheek like a caress. Closing his yellow eyes, Crowley turns his face against the wing and kisses the feathers.
Aziraphale certainly kisses him like he's making up for a lifetime. It can take him ages to decide upon something, rarely laying a plan in motion because he can barely move beyond the first step. But once he's made up his mind, there's really no stopping him. Crowley will simply have to live with the consequences of having an angel fall madly in love with him.
Crowley's gentle touch sets his wings quivering, as it always does. The sight of him kissing his feathers reaches deep into Aziraphale's heart. It likely shows on his face, the way his smile turns all soppy. He keeps his own hands busy in Crowley's hair, combing it into three loose bundles, as if he might braid it. He's delighted that Crowley's kept it long all this time, it's so beautiful on him. Not that he hasn't always been beautiful in every style, but it gives Aziraphale so much more to run his fingers through. "You're a vision, darling. Do you want me to put your hair up before we go?"
His eyes closed, his face against those soft radiant feathers, Crowley might miss the softness in his angel’s smile, but he can sense the loving aura that surrounds him. It’s still unusual to him to be able to feel it when he’s no longer an angel himself, and by all rights the only sort of auras he should sense are evil ones: but maybe it’s only because he and Aziraphale are so attuned to one another, have known each other for so long and shared so much, that it’s clear to him whenever Aziraphale is hit with a particular depth of sentiment. It always catches hold of Crowley too, making the world a bit fuzzy around the edges. He could stay like this forever, losing himself in the warmth and love Aziraphale exudes, the pleasure Crowley takes in touching his wings and feeling his hands in his hair.
“Hm?” Crowley tilts his head a little so that he isn’t concealed behind a curtain of feathers anymore. He gazes at Aziraphale with eyes gone a little hazy, and leans his head to his hand, entirely inviting. Perhaps demanding is more the word. "Yeah. Go on then."
That sentiment only deepens when Crowley peers up at him hazily, as if caught up in a dream. To know that he's the cause of such pleasure always fills him with contentment, and he has to bite back a sigh, lest he forget the very reason he spoke and drew Crowley out of his reverie in the first place.
"All right," he says warmly as Crowley leans into his hand. Crowley may take the form of a snake, but his behavior sometimes reminds Aziraphale of a large, affectionate feline. "Sit up a little so I can reach and then you can go back to my feathers." It'd be easier to braid Crowley's hair from behind, but Aziraphale is reluctant to leave his lap; with a little dexterity, he can do it by reaching around, and Crowley will still have full access to his wings. It's a win-win.
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He hears that tug of wistfulness in Crowley's voice and answers it with another kiss, this one a bit harder, a heated seal of pressure on his neck. A reminder of how deeply he loves Crowley, in so many ways. "Tonight, maybe?" he asks softly, tilting his mouth towards Crowley's ear, his fingers toying with the satiny curls of Crowley's hair. So, so soft. His heart aches, overflowing with love. He could keep his wings wrapped about Crowley all night, if he wants, glowing just enough to illuminate the demon's face in repose without waking him. (And maybe read a book that he can tuck into that little space, like an owl hiding its treasures from other thieving birds.)
Another kiss, this time to the shell of Crowley's ear. "And whenever else you'd like, my dearest. I'm at your service."
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The pressure of a hot kiss to his throat makes him shiver, his hands grasping at Aziraphale's hips beneath the cover of those glorious wings. "Tonight," he agrees a little shakily, always amazed by how well Aziraphale reads him. How he knows just what will appease the longing in Crowley's mercenary heart. Offering himself so generously, all the little gestures, the stroke of his fingers in Crowley's hair and the kiss at his ear having him closing his eyes briefly, letting the pleasure of it sweep over him.
"Yeah. Me too." At Aziraphale's service, Crowley means: anything he likes, there is never enough that he can do for his angel. His hands pet Aziraphale's hips softly. "What d'you want to do today?"
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Just as Crowley does not need to try very hard (or at all, really) to tempt Aziraphale into pleasures of the flesh. He wiggles those hips shamelessly when they are grasped, pressing another hot kiss against Crowley's throat. "Looking forward to it," he says in faux innocence, his breath sweet on Crowley's ear. There will be plenty of time to wrap Crowley up in his wings, among other things.
A softer kiss follows to match that gentle petting of his hips. Sitting back a little while still keeping Crowley wrapped up in his wings, he reaches into his waistcoat and pulls out his pocket watch. There is only an hour or so left of the afternoon, and then evening will have arrived in London. He's surprised he managed to nap as long as he did. "It's nearly dinner. We could put in a reservation somewhere, if you feel like braving the cold." Technically speaking, celestial beings weren't beholden to the hours of a day, but Aziraphale had very comfortably fallen into the rhythm of humanity, and unless he has more important plans, it isn't like him to miss an opportunity to have dinner.
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But then, Aziraphale's become fond of following the rhythms of the day like humans do, and Crowley, though he's never cared as much about mealtimes or whether or not they miss dinner, finds himself charmed by it. By familiar routine, living as though they're any ordinary couple, falling into mutual habit. "I can handle the cold," he says lazily as though it's nothing much to him, though he actually quite dislikes London at its iciest in the dead of winter and enjoys complaining heartily about it when they're out and about. "You pick a place, Aziraphale. Somewhere with good scotch." That'll warm him up.
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He leans and kisses Crowley's forehead, a silent thanks for indulging him. He does not bother to replicate all of humanity's routines, but the ones that couples share, he is especially fond of. Even before he acknowledged his love for Crowley, he enjoyed their meals together. Dishes were that much more scrumptious when in the company of his demon. That they can do this every day now, openly, is something that he looks forward to, whether it's dining at the Ritz or a hidden gem without any frills.
"I know, dear." He smiles, amused by the remark considering that he has Crowley bundled up in his wings currently. At the request for a place with good scotch, he only needs a moment to consider. "I'll get us a spot at The Connaught, then." He brushes his hand through Crowley's hair, gently draping it over his shoulder. "Best scotch in Mayfair."
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He tilts his head towards Aziraphale's hand, eyes half-closing at the stroke to his hair. "Now you're talking." Several glasses of an expensive vintage ought to set him up just right. One of the many advantages of being a demon--his black card is always good, and he never has to worry about overindulgence. He makes a little sound of longing, turning his head to kiss the inside of Aziraphale's wrist. "But you'll have to put your wings away." It's a sad thought, that.
((Sorry for the delay! Was traveling over the weekend.))
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Aziraphale smiles, pleased with his choice of venue. Not only for the scotch that Crowley will enjoy, but because they won't be far from Crowley's flat once they've finished dining. Oh, but that soft sound of longing and kiss to his wrist have him carding his hand through those fiery locks as if in apology. "I will," he says with a sigh of his own. He twitches his wings back, so that the inner feathers brush over Crowley's hands. "Best to get your fill now."
((No worries! Hope you had a good trip.))
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"Mmm." He reaches for the wings that Aziraphale offers him, running a hand light over the edge of one, trailing down to the end of the long pinions like a train of lace brushing the ground. His hand comes back up, taking a gentle grip, and he guides those feathers to brush against his cheek like a caress. Closing his yellow eyes, Crowley turns his face against the wing and kisses the feathers.
((I did!))
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Crowley's gentle touch sets his wings quivering, as it always does. The sight of him kissing his feathers reaches deep into Aziraphale's heart. It likely shows on his face, the way his smile turns all soppy. He keeps his own hands busy in Crowley's hair, combing it into three loose bundles, as if he might braid it. He's delighted that Crowley's kept it long all this time, it's so beautiful on him. Not that he hasn't always been beautiful in every style, but it gives Aziraphale so much more to run his fingers through. "You're a vision, darling. Do you want me to put your hair up before we go?"
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“Hm?” Crowley tilts his head a little so that he isn’t concealed behind a curtain of feathers anymore. He gazes at Aziraphale with eyes gone a little hazy, and leans his head to his hand, entirely inviting. Perhaps demanding is more the word. "Yeah. Go on then."
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"All right," he says warmly as Crowley leans into his hand. Crowley may take the form of a snake, but his behavior sometimes reminds Aziraphale of a large, affectionate feline. "Sit up a little so I can reach and then you can go back to my feathers." It'd be easier to braid Crowley's hair from behind, but Aziraphale is reluctant to leave his lap; with a little dexterity, he can do it by reaching around, and Crowley will still have full access to his wings. It's a win-win.