Crowley's happy to let Aziraphale see to the meal, stealing only a bite or two of the particularly indulgent-looking desserts before sliding his portions over to Aziraphale's side of the table and having do with the wine. There's nothing really different about the dozens of times they've been here before, many meals passed in just this way with Crowley watching Aziraphale from behind his shades when he isn't drinking, devouring the sight of him the way the angel devours the food--not too fast, not bolting it back for the sake of substance but lingering for pure enjoyment, for savoring each and every bite. He watches Aziraphale the same way, fascinated, hungry for him. Wanting to linger over every detail. The difference now is the ring on his finger and the tender, possessive cast to Crowley's gaze. Aziraphale is his now, his most of all. His husband-to-be.
"Not yours," he explains, bringing Aziraphale's hand up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles. Rather tipsy now, Crowley goes on, "Before. Y'know. Before all the..." He waves the other hand, indicating himself. Before he was a demon. Before his Fall. That hazy time, the memories half-forgotten or deliberately pushed out of his mind, when he was an angel of God, when the universe was dark, when the night was still a black velvet sky unpierced by stars, and Crowley helped in the shaping of nebulae, the design of the firmament. "Didn't have a ring like this. Or maybe I did, but I forgot it." He sighs. "Lots forgotten from back then."
Oh, well. This was going to be a conversation, certainly. He'd never asked about it, out of respect for Crowley as a person. Seemed like a hard time for him to talk about, and so he'd never pushed, never asked any details that he thought would be too painful to bring up. "Not all angels get one, darling. Just like not all demons have one of these," he adds, leaning in and kissing Crowley over where his snake tattoo is. Could've been much worse; he could've wound up with a frog on his head or covered in pockmarks and maggots.
"Do you remember anything?" he asks, because maybe Crowley would like to reflect on his time as an angel and Aziraphale would never want him not to do so, would never want to discourage him from anything he might find cathartic. And who better to talk through his past than the one he was going to marry, the only other person on Earth who understood a modicum of what it was like to live as he does? He doesn't know if Crowley still speaks to God or Satan, or if they respond to him. Certainly, God hasn't taken Aziraphale's call in a long time. So that was it, then. All they really had were each other.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Not yours," he explains, bringing Aziraphale's hand up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles. Rather tipsy now, Crowley goes on, "Before. Y'know. Before all the..." He waves the other hand, indicating himself. Before he was a demon. Before his Fall. That hazy time, the memories half-forgotten or deliberately pushed out of his mind, when he was an angel of God, when the universe was dark, when the night was still a black velvet sky unpierced by stars, and Crowley helped in the shaping of nebulae, the design of the firmament. "Didn't have a ring like this. Or maybe I did, but I forgot it." He sighs. "Lots forgotten from back then."
no subject
"Do you remember anything?" he asks, because maybe Crowley would like to reflect on his time as an angel and Aziraphale would never want him not to do so, would never want to discourage him from anything he might find cathartic. And who better to talk through his past than the one he was going to marry, the only other person on Earth who understood a modicum of what it was like to live as he does? He doesn't know if Crowley still speaks to God or Satan, or if they respond to him. Certainly, God hasn't taken Aziraphale's call in a long time. So that was it, then. All they really had were each other.