"Oh, it's never boring," Aziraphale replies, mildly distracted by that finger Crowley is running down his throat. There's no bowtie to catch it on, only an unbuttoned collar tugged slightly askew by the way he was lying earlier. "I always have a book to read." His smile turns mischievous. "And then there's you to look at, my dear. Like Endymion, caught in eternal respite. I could watch you for hours."
He's exaggerating, but only a little. Crowley's features soften in his sleep, his restlessness replaced with an endearing torpor. Aziraphale can watch him unabashedly, and he takes full advantage of it.
His lips purse at the mention of catching rats. Yes, he knows Crowley is joking, although if that were necessary, the angel would do it, but it's a rather unpleasant idea. "Mmm, well. Keeping you warm I can do," he replies, mollified by the nuzzling. He threads his fingers into Crowley's hair and gives a gentle, playful tug. "Although I can always order you a heat lamp, if necessary."
Aziraphale reading books while he's asleep--Crowley is shocked to hear it. Look how shocked he is. But his inquisitive fingertip pauses for a brief moment when Aziraphale says he's got him to look at, before resuming its tender exploration over the contours of Aziraphale's neck, edging down beneath the open collar of his shirt. "Really?" A lazy little smile plays around his lips, his voice taking on a little bit of a purr. "Like what you see, do you?" He's not sure why this information delights him. It's not even all that unexpected--he spends enough of his time watching Aziraphale when he has his attention on something else, like a good meal or a book he's fallen into, so he can imagine the angel might have the same desire to watch him. But Crowley finds it oddly charming, a little bit intriguing as well. "Could wake me, you know, if you ever got lonely."
He smiles as he ducks his head down to nuzzle at Aziraphale's temple, leaving the imprint of a brief kiss. He likes that tug in his hair, the bit of playfulness from his angel. "Heat lamp's unnecessary. You'll do."
Crowley's reaction is better than he could have hoped. It sends a small frisson of pleasure through him that the demon enjoys the attention, and that the next time he falls asleep in Aziraphale's arms, it will be with the knowledge that the angel plans to watch him. "Always," he confirms, his voice low and smooth, although there's a soft blush that quickly follows. Crowley's exploratory finger has added a salacious edge to his offer. "Oh, but... you look so peaceful when you're asleep. I'd hate to disturb you. How, ah... lonely would I need to be, exactly?"
It's been a process, learning what Crowley likes when it comes to physical affection, but Aziraphale has always been a quick study. He gives another gentle tug at the kiss to his temple, then turns his head so he can return it properly, on Crowley's lips. "Are you cold now?" he murmurs with affected concern, lightly scratching at the demon's scalp with his blunt, manicured nails. "Shall I warm you up?"
"How lonely?" Crowley pretends to consider the question, his fingertips gentle and inquisitive at Aziraphale's clavicle. The light pink flush in his skin makes him want to touch his cheek with his lips, feel the heat of it beneath his soft kisses. "When you feel even the slightest drop of loneliness, that's when you should wake me," he tells him in a voice pitched low and tender. "And I'll make sure you feel better."
There's a playfulness in him as well, but he means it--Aziraphale should never have to go without his demon's attentions.
He makes a soft sound of longing and pleasure when Aziraphale turns his head to capture his mouth, when his fingers give another light tug in his hair. Always gentle, his angel, always concerned with Crowley's well-being, but he encourages him in those little gestures of physical demand, liking it very much when Aziraphale loses himself and grips at him harder than he means to. The scrape of blunt nails over his scalp makes him shiver as it always does, Crowley's eyes briefly closing in pure bliss. "Mm. Getting a bit cold in here."
Aziraphale's blush blossoms on his cheeks, he gaze ducking shyly, deeply affected by Crowley's tender words. Ever since that afternoon on this very same couch in which he and Crowley finally spoke of their love for one another, the angel vowed to not let another moment pass by in which Crowley felt unloved or that his affection was unwelcome. What he hadn't anticipated was how good it felt to have that kind of attention returned. To be cherished and cared for and indulged. Like Crowley does now, giving him permission to wake him rather than ever feel the slightest bit lonely.
"I'll keep that in mind tonight," he replies, gooseflesh rising underneath the gentle touch of Crowley's fingertips. So maddeningly soft. Who knew a demon could be so soft? He brushes his fingers against Crowley's cheek. "And what's the best way to wake you, love? You're such a deep sleeper."
He'll never tire of the sounds Crowley makes when he's being kissed, as if it's the first one between them, every time. He is always concerned about Crowley's well-being, always has been, in fact, but he also knows what Crowley likes, too. His fingers wind into those curls after another good scratch, his other arm wrapping about Crowley so that he is less of a ball and more like a blanket draped onto Crowley's side. "Better?" he asks, after another kiss.
He leans into the fingers that brush his cheek, eyes gone heavy-lidded, the slit pupils widening. Crowley so enjoys Aziraphale's blushes, teasing them out of him with a few words, a pointed gesture--his own touch still lingers on Aziraphale's collar, stroking his skin beneath his opened shirt in a way that seems idle, almost unconscious--but he also loves having the chance to indulge him. Always has, the evidence there if you look back on their history. All those little miracles, the times he's gotten Aziraphale out of scrapes. Or agreed to multi-course dinners at the Ritz, just to watch Aziraphale enjoy himself.
"Oh, I'm sure you could think of something," he answers, his smile and tone of voice innocently encouraging. It wouldn't be so hard, really, considering how he responds to being kissed--how it lights him up inside, how the shivering delight of it resonates through his entire body and leaves him aching for more. Crowley isn't soft, thank you, but he is perhaps, secretly (maybe not so secretly anymore) a romantic. The way Aziraphale drapes himself against his side, the fingers that tangle themselves in his hair again and the kisses he gives Crowley make him sigh, deeply, almost boneless with contentment. "Almost," he murmurs when Aziraphale asks him if it's better, a hand falling to his hip. "A little closer."
Those indulgences were treasured by Aziraphale, but unfortunately misinterpreted as a sign of friendship at best. Not until Crowley saved his books from the bombed-out church did he realize what those affectionate gestures truly meant. And even then, he felt compelled to keep such a revelation to himself, worried he'd ruin it somehow, making a promise to Crowley that he couldn't keep.
But now he can keep all his promises, even the ones he makes silently to himself when he looks upon Crowley and falls in love all over again. "I imagine I could," he murmurs, his touch against Crowley's cheek matching the idle brushing of fingertips beneath his shirt. Crowley may not consider himself soft, but his skin is, as is the way he melts underneath Aziraphale's touch.
"Almost?" he echoes with a raised eyebrow. He sighs, purely for show, and shifts himself so that he's straddling Crowley, an arm wrapped loosely around the demon's shoulders, his other still buried in all that beautiful hair. "Well, needs must." He smiles, still blushing, and gently rubs his nose against Crowley's. "I can't have you anything less than perfectly warm on my watch."
As Aziraphale strokes his cheek with tender fingertips and shifts over him so that he's straddling Crowley's lap, a languid smile curls the corners of his lips and deepens the blissful look in his eyes, his head tilting back a little in deference to the hand still gripping his hair. Crowley always enjoys Aziraphale teasing him in his turn, pretending to sigh or grumble while giving him exactly what he wants. Almost as much as he enjoys having Aziraphale this close to him, rubbing his nose against his adorably and still blushing in that way that makes him look almost devastatingly pretty.
"That's better," Crowley whispers, gaze dropping to his mouth. Oh, he aches for him and it's not at all feigned, this burgeoning need. It comes and goes and strengthens when he has Aziraphale in his arms, but there's always a low undercurrent. His hand moves from the angel's hip to the small of his back, and from there moves inquisitively up his spine, lingering at the center of his back between the places where his wings would emerge.
It is all too easy to give Crowley what he wants, especially when the demon telegraphs those needs so nicely. He knows that whenever they are close like this, sparks are sure to follow, but he's content to draw out that need between them for a little while longer, soft touches and gentle teasing making for a decadent, leisurely afternoon.
Tilting his head just so, he ghosts a kiss over Crowley's lips. "Better still isn't perfect," he tuts softly, arching a little into Crowley's touch. "Perhaps a feathery blanket would seal the deal?" He tends not to manifest his wings so often in his bookshop, cluttered as it is, but the way the demon caresses the spot between where they manifest is too alluring to resist.
Only Aziraphale would want to go so slowly, Crowley would say, though at the moment he's doing very little to try to hurry him along. All these gentle, teasing touches, lingering over him like he's something to savor, lips brushing his so softly it makes him ache; all too tender for a demon, surely. But he can be patient too, even him, if it's for Aziraphale--of course, Crowley wouldn't admit that he likes it this way too. Leisurely, gentle.
"It might." Crowley's hand is still there between Aziraphale's shoulderblades, stroking softly and encouragingly. Oh yes, a pair of wings wrapped around him just might be enough. He's just cold-blooded enough to like the thought of them settled over him like a blanket, lending him their warmth and radiance. Crowley smiles faintly, his head tilted back against the back of the couch as if not to miss the moment when they unfurl into existence--as though to offer himself to more of those teasingly light kisses, to any touch Aziraphale will give him.
This is a bit slow, even for Aziraphale, whose desire burns as brightly as Crowley's, but he knows that Crowley is enjoying himself, too, even if he tucks it behind a veneer of coy patience. He is a demon who is worthy of soft kisses and tender moments stretched out like taffy. Aziraphale will take any opportunity to demonstrate, hoping that someday Crowley will believe it, too.
Without any further delay, Aziraphale unfurls his wings, careful not to extend them so far that they knock anything over. They arch over Crowley, white and pure as they always are, proof that loving a demon is not a punishable offense, at least in the eyes of God. (Heaven would likely have a few words, but Aziraphale no longer gives a fig about what Heaven thinks.) He wraps them about Crowley before he dips his head to leave a featherlight trail of kisses along his neck and jaw.
"Sometimes I wish I could keep you like this," he murmurs against Crowley's skin. "Wrapped up in my wings. Sheltered."
The bright wings unfolding, arching carefully into the cluttered space of the bookshop--he never tires of seeing them, never misses an opportunity if he can. Sometimes Crowley offers to groom Aziraphale's wings just to have them in his hands, not because they particularly need the attention: just to stroke them and feel their feathered softness, their strength beneath his hands, the warm divine light that is as close to holiness as he'll ever feel again. Sometimes he just wants to see that they are still as pure and angelic as they ever were, not blackened like his. It's a reassurance that whatever they do now, whatever kind of life they make together, Aziraphale is still Aziraphale.
Those wings wrap around him and they are indeed warm, emitting not just heat but a feeling as though all is well, all is right and good in the world and Crowley is exactly where he belongs. It isn't a feeling he's used to, but lately it comes to him more and more with Aziraphale.
"You should. You should do that." His voice is faintly wistful, head tilted to offer more of himself to Aziraphale's mouth. Of course it wouldn't work, but it's something he may dream about tonight--ages passing, the time for him spent in pure bliss wrapped in Aziraphale's arms and wings.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He's exaggerating, but only a little. Crowley's features soften in his sleep, his restlessness replaced with an endearing torpor. Aziraphale can watch him unabashedly, and he takes full advantage of it.
His lips purse at the mention of catching rats. Yes, he knows Crowley is joking, although if that were necessary, the angel would do it, but it's a rather unpleasant idea. "Mmm, well. Keeping you warm I can do," he replies, mollified by the nuzzling. He threads his fingers into Crowley's hair and gives a gentle, playful tug. "Although I can always order you a heat lamp, if necessary."
no subject
He smiles as he ducks his head down to nuzzle at Aziraphale's temple, leaving the imprint of a brief kiss. He likes that tug in his hair, the bit of playfulness from his angel. "Heat lamp's unnecessary. You'll do."
no subject
It's been a process, learning what Crowley likes when it comes to physical affection, but Aziraphale has always been a quick study. He gives another gentle tug at the kiss to his temple, then turns his head so he can return it properly, on Crowley's lips. "Are you cold now?" he murmurs with affected concern, lightly scratching at the demon's scalp with his blunt, manicured nails. "Shall I warm you up?"
no subject
There's a playfulness in him as well, but he means it--Aziraphale should never have to go without his demon's attentions.
He makes a soft sound of longing and pleasure when Aziraphale turns his head to capture his mouth, when his fingers give another light tug in his hair. Always gentle, his angel, always concerned with Crowley's well-being, but he encourages him in those little gestures of physical demand, liking it very much when Aziraphale loses himself and grips at him harder than he means to. The scrape of blunt nails over his scalp makes him shiver as it always does, Crowley's eyes briefly closing in pure bliss. "Mm. Getting a bit cold in here."
no subject
"I'll keep that in mind tonight," he replies, gooseflesh rising underneath the gentle touch of Crowley's fingertips. So maddeningly soft. Who knew a demon could be so soft? He brushes his fingers against Crowley's cheek. "And what's the best way to wake you, love? You're such a deep sleeper."
He'll never tire of the sounds Crowley makes when he's being kissed, as if it's the first one between them, every time. He is always concerned about Crowley's well-being, always has been, in fact, but he also knows what Crowley likes, too. His fingers wind into those curls after another good scratch, his other arm wrapping about Crowley so that he is less of a ball and more like a blanket draped onto Crowley's side. "Better?" he asks, after another kiss.
no subject
"Oh, I'm sure you could think of something," he answers, his smile and tone of voice innocently encouraging. It wouldn't be so hard, really, considering how he responds to being kissed--how it lights him up inside, how the shivering delight of it resonates through his entire body and leaves him aching for more. Crowley isn't soft, thank you, but he is perhaps, secretly (maybe not so secretly anymore) a romantic. The way Aziraphale drapes himself against his side, the fingers that tangle themselves in his hair again and the kisses he gives Crowley make him sigh, deeply, almost boneless with contentment. "Almost," he murmurs when Aziraphale asks him if it's better, a hand falling to his hip. "A little closer."
no subject
But now he can keep all his promises, even the ones he makes silently to himself when he looks upon Crowley and falls in love all over again. "I imagine I could," he murmurs, his touch against Crowley's cheek matching the idle brushing of fingertips beneath his shirt. Crowley may not consider himself soft, but his skin is, as is the way he melts underneath Aziraphale's touch.
"Almost?" he echoes with a raised eyebrow. He sighs, purely for show, and shifts himself so that he's straddling Crowley, an arm wrapped loosely around the demon's shoulders, his other still buried in all that beautiful hair. "Well, needs must." He smiles, still blushing, and gently rubs his nose against Crowley's. "I can't have you anything less than perfectly warm on my watch."
no subject
"That's better," Crowley whispers, gaze dropping to his mouth. Oh, he aches for him and it's not at all feigned, this burgeoning need. It comes and goes and strengthens when he has Aziraphale in his arms, but there's always a low undercurrent. His hand moves from the angel's hip to the small of his back, and from there moves inquisitively up his spine, lingering at the center of his back between the places where his wings would emerge.
no subject
Tilting his head just so, he ghosts a kiss over Crowley's lips. "Better still isn't perfect," he tuts softly, arching a little into Crowley's touch. "Perhaps a feathery blanket would seal the deal?" He tends not to manifest his wings so often in his bookshop, cluttered as it is, but the way the demon caresses the spot between where they manifest is too alluring to resist.
no subject
"It might." Crowley's hand is still there between Aziraphale's shoulderblades, stroking softly and encouragingly. Oh yes, a pair of wings wrapped around him just might be enough. He's just cold-blooded enough to like the thought of them settled over him like a blanket, lending him their warmth and radiance. Crowley smiles faintly, his head tilted back against the back of the couch as if not to miss the moment when they unfurl into existence--as though to offer himself to more of those teasingly light kisses, to any touch Aziraphale will give him.
no subject
Without any further delay, Aziraphale unfurls his wings, careful not to extend them so far that they knock anything over. They arch over Crowley, white and pure as they always are, proof that loving a demon is not a punishable offense, at least in the eyes of God. (Heaven would likely have a few words, but Aziraphale no longer gives a fig about what Heaven thinks.) He wraps them about Crowley before he dips his head to leave a featherlight trail of kisses along his neck and jaw.
"Sometimes I wish I could keep you like this," he murmurs against Crowley's skin. "Wrapped up in my wings. Sheltered."
no subject
Those wings wrap around him and they are indeed warm, emitting not just heat but a feeling as though all is well, all is right and good in the world and Crowley is exactly where he belongs. It isn't a feeling he's used to, but lately it comes to him more and more with Aziraphale.
"You should. You should do that." His voice is faintly wistful, head tilted to offer more of himself to Aziraphale's mouth. Of course it wouldn't work, but it's something he may dream about tonight--ages passing, the time for him spent in pure bliss wrapped in Aziraphale's arms and wings.
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.))
no subject
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.))
no subject
"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!))
no subject
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?"
no subject
“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."
no subject
"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.