The contact between their wings sends sparks along his nerves, errant shivers down his spine. The caress of those white feathers feels like a kind of blessing made for even a demon to have, a form of Aziraphale's love so concentrated that it almost aches in him, and Crowley pulls him in gratefully when Aziraphale turns in his arms, eager for more. The angel's grace is gentle enough for him, and so intimate it resonates in his soul. Joy and longing wraps him up like those great wings as Aziraphale kisses him, with his sweet tender mouth and his arms encircling him like his wings do, the kiss and the embrace lingering for a long, long time, for what might well be hours for beings like them, because after six thousand years time has a tendency to slip away when Crowley's not paying attention to it. And right now his attention is solely, completely in his angel's keeping.
"I love you," he answers when at last they part, his own voice gone a little hoarse, everything in him reaching for the love Aziraphale offers. Crowley embraces him in return, as tightly as he possibly can. "Stay with me. Please stay."
The kiss is long enough to sate something deep within Aziraphale, to satisfy his urge to explore that particular avenue of pleasure, at least for the time being. His fear of being overwhelmed by the physical is long gone; if they can groom one another's wings and let them brush together like this, revealing their celestial selves to one another, then how can he be possibly afraid of anything else being too much for him to handle?
"Always," he says, gently combing at the curls running down Crowley's shoulders. "Always, my love." It feels a little redundant to say, but if Crowley needs the reassurance, he'll say it, as many times as the demon needs to hear it.
Slowly, the world around them comes back to him, in particular the cold, hard floor that they're both sitting on. "Take me to bed?" he asks. The desire that had been steadily burning within him flares to life and sends a little shiver along his wings. As they rub against Crowley's, he peers up at them with a touch of his usual worry. Nothing serious, just a tiny frown as he adds, "I do hope our wings fit. I'd hate to tuck mine away."
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"I love you," he answers when at last they part, his own voice gone a little hoarse, everything in him reaching for the love Aziraphale offers. Crowley embraces him in return, as tightly as he possibly can. "Stay with me. Please stay."
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"Always," he says, gently combing at the curls running down Crowley's shoulders. "Always, my love." It feels a little redundant to say, but if Crowley needs the reassurance, he'll say it, as many times as the demon needs to hear it.
Slowly, the world around them comes back to him, in particular the cold, hard floor that they're both sitting on. "Take me to bed?" he asks. The desire that had been steadily burning within him flares to life and sends a little shiver along his wings. As they rub against Crowley's, he peers up at them with a touch of his usual worry. Nothing serious, just a tiny frown as he adds, "I do hope our wings fit. I'd hate to tuck mine away."