Aziraphale

AZIRAPHALE WAS FUSSING. Cracking an eye open as the angel gently slips a pillow beneath his legs, Crowley feels himself deflating against the bookshelf. He should’ve left after that first bottle. He could’ve licked his wounds and spiraled about future repercussions in the solitude of his own flat, and Aziraphale would’ve been oblivious to it all: the way it should be, THE WAY IT’S ALWAYS BEEN. Maybe they would’ve had a chance to put the whole holy water thing behind them at last ( even if he would’ve still looked for ways to obtain it himself ). They’d been on the same page earlier, clinking glasses and musing about shades of grey. It’d felt like the old times…

Instead, Crowley’s made him worried and worry always stirs up the worst of the angel’s anxieties about them. Is seeing him like this—weak and scared like some new-formed cherub—going to divide them further? Put doubt in his mind that, no, he couldn’t possibly trust such a helpless demon like him.

They only have sixty years.

His eye slips closed again after nodding to Aziraphale’s request. The first shoe is unlaced, and, as it’s carefully peeled off from the burnt remains of his sole, there’s not a single twitch or pinch in Crowley’s expression to indicate he was in pain. Once it’s off completely, the sock situation—or lack thereof—becomes apparent. There was no sock left to remove; at least, not on his foot. The charred remains of the cloth hung from his calf, still fastened in place by the sock garter beneath his pant-leg, but the fabric around his foot had been burned away entirely. Almost like a fuse, it must've burned away from the heat generated between infernal and celestial forces colliding. It would've been a good sign, if it didn't mean that that same heat undoubtedly melted the inside of Crowley's shoe.

It meant it likely did hurt when Aziraphale had removed it, given the damage it revealed was a bright, brilliant, blistering pink in stark contrast to the black, scaly skin above. Still, the demon remains unfazed even as the cooler air of the bookshop kisses the sensitive skin, eyes remaining closed as he rasps out, ❝ WHAT'S THE VERDICT, DR. FELL? ❞

#theambergxmbler #── .🗡🪽 v. main #;; now look what you've done you've got azi using somewhat strong language

Aziraphale finds himself unable to pull his eyes away from Crowley's foot so that he is staring, first in confusion, then in shock. He had expected them to be burned - perhaps even blistered - but nothing had prepared him for finding him in this state. The skin on the sole of his foot had been peeled off almost completely when he had pulled it free from its shoe, and the sock Crowley had warned him about was no longer something to concern themselves with.

His lips press together into a thin line as he tries to regain his focus, but all he can think of presently is how badly he must have hurt Crowley taking the shoe of manually. Because he'd been worried. Because he didn't want to use too many miracles. Because he had gone so slowly, looking for any indication that he should stop and his friend had given him none.

"Why haven't you told me -", he gasps, miracling the other shoe away without a second thought about how many miracles he would need to alleviate Crowley's pain. There is more he wants to say - would say - but for now, he is only looking to soothe.

Closing his eyes, it only takes a few seconds for the charred skin to disappear, and the skin underneath to take on a slightly more footlike quality again. Still, it remained pink and likely tender - unpleasant - to the touch, let alone to walk on.

"I'm sorry I - I can't...fully heal this", he admits worriedly as he takes a closer look, gently lifting the foot closest to him by the ankle. Damage done by holy objects, such as holy ground, went deeper than just the physics of his corporation. If Crowley had simply walked on hot coals, it would be a matter of seconds (but then of course, he could have just fixed it himself).

Then he gently puts Crowley's foot down, turning so he could face him as he repeats his earlier question: "Why haven't you told me how badly you were hurt? We've been - we've been having bloody drinks all evening while you were - while you were walking around with those feet!"

crowley had forgotten the difference between his body temperature and others. while his corporation was mostly what the norm was for humans, he retained some of the serpentine qualities like the coolness of his skin. thankfully, he didn't need to bask in the sun or anything too ridiculous, though he did like meeting aziraphale on the park bench a lot. it was pleasant there. thoughts returned from their dalliance on memories back to the transference of warmth from the angel's fingers to him. he hummed with soft delight at it.

the touch traveling up further has him breathing shallowly and his lungs remain functioning this way as the hand smooths over his stomach. it was thin, a light smattering of reddish brown hair and freckles ( which aziraphale would see if the silk shirt left him. ) they hadn't been kissing for a moment. instead, their noses just touched and were breathing in the space between them. the question surprised him, yet he wasn't sure why. of course, the angel had no idea he was loving every second of it. this was all uncharted territory. ❝ yes, 's very pleasant. ❞ his voice was slurred like he'd been drugged ... made very docile with the feel of his long love near to him in this way. aziraphale would recognize this sound. it was the same voice as when they drank countless bottles of wine together.

irritated huff coming from the other draws a soft laugh from his lips. then, the seriousness of the action hit him. the angel would be in the closest state to undressed he'd ever seen yet. and that was saying something considering he had already been taken aback by bare arms only moments prior. crowley gulps and then answers, ❝ 'course not, angel. do what you need to be comfortable. ❞ there was no need to worry for either of them. they didn't have to do anything, didn't need to do more than they already were. he just had to steel himself not to immediately drink in the angel's form and make him any more nervous than he already was. before aziraphale can stand to do this, a hand rose to caress over the warmth that rose in his cheeks. another reassurance.

#blindsite #── .🗡🪽 v. no hell below us//above us only sky

Aziraphale briefly leans into the hand caressing his cheek, head turning to press a fleeting kiss against it. If Crowley means to reassure it has the desired effect, even if, given the novelty of the situation, it's impossible to take away all concerns that rise with exposing oneself in that manner.

Unsure what side to face, he decides to stand sideways so that neither his front, nor his back, is turned fully towards the other. After a moment's hesitation, he walks over to the dresser and folds them with the rest of the clothes he has taken off before getting into bed. It is silly to be so nervous about this, and rushing back to bed - close to Crowley - would not be any less exposing than briding the short distance from the bedsite to the dresser in his underwear. His boxers are a bit old-fashioned, but not terribly so. It was a piece of clothing he has hardly ever considered, and the few changes he has made to his choice of underclothes over his time on Earth have been solely based on comfort.

Slipping beneath the covers, however, he is quick to draw them up to his waist before returning to his former spot next to Crowley. Could they simply pick up where they left off? He is a bit worried about being pressed close up to the other in nothing but his underwear, but keeping his distance now would somewhat defeat the purpose of removing his trousers altogether.

Perhaps they can start out with something more simple - though not necessarily less intimate. He had very much enjoyed the feeling of Crowley's skin underneath his fingers, and the soft hums it had pulled from him.

"I would like to continue...touching you", he suggests eventually, his hand already stroking up and down the other's side over his pyjama's.

creativepromptsforwriting

I do not write to be the greatest writer out there. I write because...

I LIKE it

someone else might LIKE it

it is FUN to do

I get those THOUGHTS out of my head

it's fun to look BACK on

have I mentioned it's FUN?

it's CATHARTIC

it's nice to see what I CAN DO

And also because I just like it.

#── .🗡🪽 ooc

NO MATTER WHAT the initial embarrassment he might've felt letting Aziraphale in on this little secret of his, it was entirely worth it to see the angel's face light up like this. It was one thing to indulge in dreams of spinning him around a ballroom, free of any eyes from Above and Below; it was another thing to bear witness to it in reality, even if they weren't in some posh room for it. Crowley can't help but smile back at him, crow's feet crinkling at the edges of his sunglasses.

❝ As many times as you'd like, angel. ❞ The squeeze to his hand has his own boldness coming forth as his thumb brushes along Aziraphale's knuckles in reassurance. The softness in his smile turns amused at that next question, however, and he can't help but lean in to tease, ❝ YOU TELL ME. You're the Shostakovich expert here. I know you have that man's entire bibliography memorized. ❞

Leaning back, Crowley straightens back up for them to start again. ❝ Shostakovich Waltz No. 2—hum it for me? I'll keep us on beat, yeah? ❞

It was asking a lot, having Aziraphale focus on the newly learned steps and humming the melody for them to follow, but he hoped that the distraction would help keep the angel out of his head. He always did seem to lose himself listening to a new record. It was worth a shot, at least.

#theambergxmbler #── .🗡🪽 v. main

"H- hum it for you?"

It's not that he can't do it, and Crowley has likely heard him hum along to his record player before, but it was an entirely different matter with no music playing. With Crowley this close. While they were dancing. touching. Every mistake, every misstep would be immediately noticed and he isn't sure he can stand feeling more conscious of himself and his corporation than he currently does.

But neither does he want to ruin this frail moment between them with a flat out refusal. Crowley might yet decide that this was not his cup of tea, and nerves aside Aziraphale can't remember the last time he has smiled so easily.

"I - very well", he smiles, although a little self-conscious, as he hums the first few measures. It's so quiet that it would hardly do to keep them on count, and he scrapes his troath, his second attempt much clearer, and by the third they are moving. Not elegantly - but they are, mostly, on beat. The humming actually helps. It keeps him focussed, keeps him from getting in his head about the next step to take and before he realises it, they have completed their little square several times over with few hiccups.

When they come to a stop again, the expression on the angel's face is unguarded, the way often happens when he thinks no one is watching, or when he is so enraptured in an activity that it simply doesn't occur to him to school his excitement. He is breathing a little heavy, and his heart is beating faster than usual, something the minimal excercise demanded by this type of dance had nothing to do with whatsoever.

Finally letting go of the other he takes a step back, returning to the edge of the room to refill their drinks, and as he hands Crowley his glass, he asks: "Does this mean you went to balls?"

THERE'S AN AIR OF JUDGEMENT in the angel's voice, that high-horse that Aziraphale sometimes clings to in order to remain resolute in his morals whenever they waver. Thankfully, Crowley's use to taking those sorts of comments on the chin, but he still chugs the rest of his mead to swallow down any snipping remarks. He's come so far from the outright rejection he'd faced back in that foggy bog, he wasn't about to squander all that progress with a biting tone.

❝ How many, ❞ he burps, hitting his chest to alleviate any more air pockets. ❝ Jus' how many humans are you blessing that are actually evil? I'd wager it's a fat ZERO, considering the kinds of humans 'm usually tempting are already going to Hell 'n not the other way around. ❞

Crowley blows out a breath before straightening up in his seat, reaching across to place his empty tankard on the table. ❝ The secret to my job, angel, is that you can only really tempt someone if that temptation is ALREADY IN THEIR MIND. A faithful man isn't going to cheat on his wife, no matter what you throw at him. A selfless woman isn't going to steal, even if you put gold in front of her. ❞

Standing up, the demon stretches out the aches and cramps that don't exist in his corporation and cocks his head down at Aziraphale before pointing out, ❝ If we did each other's jobs, we'd just be blessing those who're already blessed and tempting those already tempted. You wouldn't be "condemning" anyone since they'd already be on a one-way ticket south.

❝ But, if I can't convince you, I CAN'T CONVINCE YOU. Guess another thousand years of canceling each other out on bloody battlefields won't mean much in the grand scheme of things, huh? ❞ Crowley adjusts his glasses, looking out at the packed inn before them. ❝ Think they have any more rooms available? Don't really want Downstairs to know 'm staying at the same place an angel is bunking down by miracling one free, but I could use a nap 'fore I take off in the morning. ❞

#theambergxmbler #── .🗡🪽 v. main #;; az was this close to suggesting that he didn't need the bed in his room

How many lives has he changed in a meaningful way? It is hard to tell, because, with the rare exception, he never actually gets to see the full results of a blessing. It's not a direct sort of influence. But if he truly tries to think on the question, he doesn't believe that he has ever managed to set a truly evil person straight. Or that he has so much as tried such a feat before. His blessings are bestowed on those he considers deserving - on those he believes are a victim of circumstances, instead of ill will.

Crowley doesn't give him much time to think it over, and as the demon stands, Aziraphale's head snaps up with a questioning, slightly disappointed expression. Shouldn't he be glad to have the argument over and done with? Perhaps, but not of that means that his companion is so eager to leave - would prefer a nap over his continued presence.

"I'm not sure about the rooms", he glances over at the bar, then shakes his head, "I suppose you can always ask - or you - I could...well I'm sure we can arrange for you to sleep tonight."

He has an impulse to get to his feet as well, but he does no more than sit up a little more straight, eyes still focussed on Crowley, as, reluctantly, he bites the clearly strung up bait.

"So what would it help? Say that I believe neither of us makes any difference - aside from putting us both in immortal danger, what good will it do? There will still be bloody battlefields..."

&&| will today be the day I finally finish painting my bathroom? Most likely not but at the very least the first layer of paint is going on the walls before I let myself do anything else.

#── .🗡🪽 ooc #;; I have been procrastinating #;; a task that should have taken 2/3 days is eating up over a week #;; woooops

@theambergxmbler sent 🍺 for a drunk confession

"it's not that easy! I've had some poems pubilsh- bupli- PRINTED in a magazine once. The critics were brutal..."

He sounds genuinely disappointed, for the moment not yet concerned about the fact that he told Crowley about the poems. Poems he very much didn't want him to read.

#theambergxmbler #── .🗡🪽 v. main #── .🗡🪽 answered

FOR A WHILE. They didn’t even have a century left ahead of them until curtains closed, until Earth was no more and eternity in Hell was forever. Furfur thankfully didn’t have any evidence to show the Dark Council, but rumors still spread like hellfire Downstairs. Crowley would have to be at his all-time worst for who knows how many years until the heat of hungry stares waiting for him to slip up again finally grew bored and looked elsewhere. He had already been at his worst since Elspeth…

Crowley was suddenly painfully, irrevocably tired.

It is this bone-deep exhaustion that has the demon caving, briefly leaning against Aziraphale for support as he turns around. Not having the strength nor desire to limp back to the safety of the sofa, Crowley sinks to the floor, bracing his back against the bookshelf as his legs stretch out in front of him. Glazed, golden pools ( without a hint of white in them ) stare up at the angel as he sucks in a breath and admits, ❝ Jus’… BE EASY. On the, on the shoes ‘n socks. Might have to miracle the socks off. ❞

Hand shaking while he brings up the bottle for another fortifying swig, he catches sight of iridescent scales dotting the back of his hand. Crowley lifts his other to his neck and discovers more have climbed up from his spine and were gracing the edges of his jaw now. « Right. Right. Just breathe. You can’t lose it here. » His head thumps back against the wood as his eyes slip close, leaving himself completely at Aziraphale’s discretion.

#theambergxmbler #── .🗡🪽 v. main #;; ok I ended up improvising on why he would not just miracle socks and shoes of in one go #;; and I am not claiming it makes a ton of sense #;; but I needed this gentle moment ok.

A sense of relief washes over Aziraphale when Crowley caves to his plea to let him see. Help. A little surprised that he chooses to sit on the floor, he kneels down besides him, resting on his knees.

"Of course", he promises at the request to 'go easy', and he holds the other's eyes for a few seconds. They are more snake-like than he had seen them in a long time (perhaps ever, not counting the times he was actually a snake), and when Crowley brings the bottle to his lips his eyes linger on his hands, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he takes note of iridescent scales shimmering in the low lamplight.

"Alright, now uhm- I'm going to take your shoes off. Can you -", he looks around the room, pushing himself up to fetch the pillow that had been propped against his back in his armchair so he can rest Crowley's lower legs on it, keeping his feet slightly elevated from the floor. When he once more kneels beside him, he shoots the demon one more worried glance,

"-tell me if it hurts. I can miracle your shoes off, but I need to see your foot to -- to know what to do about the socks. I don't want to do it wrong." and while no one batted an eye if he performed a miracle or two, the more miracles performed close together, the more likely someone Upstairs asked him to explain what they had been used to accomplish. It would hardly be the first time he got a warning about using miracles for his own enjoyment over the past few centuries. Now that they are getting closer to the end, it seems that Heaven's interest in his work was beginning to increase.

He is careful to undo the laces, pulling them fully out of the leather shoes before opening them up as much as the stiff leather allows. Then, he very slowly pulls down the heel, eyes trained on Crowley to see whether he could continue or not.

the hand that was moving about the air drops to his side. comment about his thinking for himself finally makes an angry expression appear on his otherwise neutral face. eyebrows knit and mouth thin. azazel was truly pushing his buttons today. and after he offered to help. quite rude. ❝ and who says they will find out? 's not like they keep track of me much. ❞ the angel of the stars didn't have as important of a job now that all the stars had been mapped and created. he mostly just kept an eye and noted phenomenon as they occurred. once an integral part of creating this universe and now on watch ... not that he minded. it meant he could do a lot with his free time. like drop in on a certain demon.

telling him that he shouldn't be here is obvious. of course, he shouldn't. there were a lot of things that an angel shouldn't do and kokabiel found himself tired of them already. besides, as long as he didn't do anything to physically alter the plans, no one would know but them. finally, he burst. the words came out hard and fast : ❝ would you quit being one of the most stubborn beings i've ever had the pleasure to meet? good lord. ❞ the demon had forgotten his wine. perhaps, they shouldn't have drank during such a tense time. it was supposed to have made it easier. instead, they are arguing. kokabiel fights the irritation to make his tone more playful again as he knows that digging his heels in and continuing this way will not yield any results. ❝ i am offering you my help, oh great demon, who says he does not need it. accept it or .. don't, i guess. not much i can threaten you with. but, oh, do accept it. ❞

#blindsite #── .🗡🪽 v. at any time an invitation//you can't decline

A long, purposefully drawn out sigh leaves Azazel's lips. The more time they spend together, the less Kokabiel takes 'no' for an answer from him, much like one would rather argue with a friend than with a perfect stranger. Neither of them feares chasing away their only friend by something as meaningless as a difference of opinion these days. As angel and demon, such differences are a given. What is more cause for concern are the many times they share the same opinion.

"I never said I didn't need your help. I'm saying I won't let you risk it. This is my assignment (burden)", he argues, hoping that Kokabiel will let it go if he realises it's not his pride stopping him from accepting help. He simply doesn't think he'll be able to focus on the assignment at hand if he has the angel to worry about, and he is the one thing he is not willing to put on the line to avoid going against his principles.

"It's just that the wording doesn't allow me to put much of a twist to it. They are 'to be lost in a roaring fire'. Though I suppose I should be glad she didn't use a word like perish. I suppose there is more than one way to be lost, but the fire tends to pose a problem in either reading," he is thinking out loud, trying to prove, both to himself and to the angel, that he'll figure it out.

"Kokabiel, I -"

"I don't want you to watch...when I execute (the children) this temptation."

crowley-anthony

#── .🗡🪽 crowley. how wonderful life is//while you're in the world

HACKLES RAISING at that condescending ( worried ) tone, the light-hearted air previously surrounding them sours like spoiled milk. Just like that, as if no time had passed at all, they’re back at St. James Park, and Crowley was not drunk enough to rehash this old argument again. Planting both feet on the ground, he hides his pained grimace with a sneer as he reaches across the gap between them to swipe the bottle off of Aziraphale’s desk.

❝ You don’t know what that word meansss, ❞ the serpent hisses, discarding his wine glass on the side table. ❝ You dot your i’s ‘n cross your t’s while doing as you pleassse inside this shop of yours. Dangerous isn’t marring the bottoms of my feet on holy ground. Dangerous isn’t aiming a gun I don’t know how to shoot at my best friend with the very real chance of killing ‘im. You wanna know what danger is, angel? ❞

He’s up now, back on his throbbing feet, pacing away from Aziraphale as the lip of the bottle meets his own for a quick, desperate swig.

❝ Dangerous is slicing your hand in shark-infested waters. Dangerous is bein’ the WEAK LINK in a pack of starving wolves. Dangerous is slipping up—showin’ your bloody soft belly to teeth ‘n claws that won’t hesitate to GUT YOU OPEN ‘n have their fill of your misssery. ❞

Crowley doesn’t make it far from their nook, both from his now-apparent injuries and the way the room is starting to sway. He stumbles when a particularly sharp pang shoots up his legs, catching himself on the end of a bookshelf as his forehead comes to rest against the cold wood. A shudder crawls up his spine just as a trembling breath punches out from his lungs.

❝ Tonight… tonight was dangerousss. They almost caught us, angel. AND WHAT THEN? ❞

It had been all his worst fears rolled into one night. It was the exact situation he needed holy water for, and yet… and yet.

#theambergxmbler #── .🗡🪽 v. main

At first, Crowley's words have him defensive. The assumption that he doesn't know danger is almost insulting in its error, and lips purse together into a thin line as he bites the insides of he cheeks to keep himself from saying something that will undo any and all chances of being allowed close enough to help.

Of course he won't deny that, in general, Hell likely punishes more quickly and more brutally than his side tends to do, but a grave enough transgression in Heaven usually assured that the offense was not repeated with an equal succes rate. He is sure that Crowley hasn't completely forgotten how unforgiving Heaven can be. If his side ever caught wind of the agreement, Aziraphale would be surprised if he were ever allowed to set foot on Earth again.

The way Crowley forces himself to move when, clearly, it was torturous for him to do so has the angel follow him with worried eyes, and as his friend stumbles he all but jumps to his feet, stopping only a few paces short of the other. The last part of Crowley's outburst has his face soften almost instantly.

They almost caught us, angel. AND WHAT THEN?

There is a desperation there that was almost familiar, and when he speaks next, his voice is purposefully calm to counter the other's outburst.

"- but they didn't."

"They are none the wiser than they were before, and I'm certain this won't be the first time you'll have to come up with a clever explanation for being in my presence? We'll just have to be extra careful, for a while."

And that likely meant that, once they parted ways tonight, they would not see each other for a while to come. But that isn't something Aziraphale wishes to consider just yet. He was here now, and his friend was in PAIN. Quite a lot more than the angel had realised, by the looks of it. Without giving either himself or Crowley time to react, he takes another step forward and puts a hand at the other's elbow, trying to help take some of the weight off his feet and get him to sit down again.

"You're hurt -"

It's no longer a question he is asking him to corroborate, but an observation that would be pointless to refute.

"- will you let me see? - Please?"

being called wonderful is something he didn't expect. crowley had not done much comforting in his life and yet some force within him drove him to act with a quickness and surprising accuracy for just what the angel needed each time. he supposed some of this could be attributed to knowing each other so well and another to people watching.

golden gaze watches the other closely, wishing to do more, but knowing that the initiated contact of their hands had to be enough until aziraphale made it clear that he wanted more. the hug had broke him ( perhaps for the best because even angels and demons needed to cry and certainly had enough to do so over. ) ❝ dont - don't apologize, angel. ❞ the demon speaks as their eyes meet again, another soft squeeze of the fingers held within his own is further reassurance that he didn't feel burdened by these emotions or troubled. well, perhaps in the fact that he'd rarely seen his companion lose composure at all. that was a bit disturbing to him.

the tug on his hand reeled him in closer to the other again, his free arm wrapping high around the others upper back and shoulders. that hand landed on the crown of white curls and stroked there once before trailing down to rest in a more casual place on the angel's back. he wasn't holding on nearly as tightly as their earlier embrace. ❝ there's nothing to explain. i understand what you're feeling .. well, perhaps not exactly. ❞ they had been through different things but were experiencing similar emotions. at least they could support each other through that. ❝ would you like to sit? ❞ the demon is surprising himself once more at the ability to hold himself together as the other needs this time. he wasn't sure how much longer he could though. his chest burned and eyes still prickled.

#blindsite #── .🗡🪽 v. no hell below us//above us only sky

There was A LOT to explain. Only he would have to find a way to put the well of feelings and haphazzard thoughts into something more palpable before he would be able to do so, and therefore he is grateful that his companion did not expect him to say anything right now. The 'us' Crowley had suggested all those years ago is now the only semblance of certainty he carries.

Certainty that he wants it, and now also the budding certainty that it is attainable, or has perhaps even been part of his very being all along. Because as the foundations beneath him had started to crack, it was the one thing that had kept him going. That, and a VIOLENT need to protect the home they had built for themselves over the past few millennia.

At the suggestion to sit down, he gives a meek nod and takes a step back to glance at the stiff matress of the antique looking four-poster bed that took up a large part of his bedroom. It doesn't look inviting, though perhaps that was merely because of how unfamiliar he was with making himself comfortable on such a piece of furniture. The only other option in the room was a lush armchair, and while it would certainly be suitable for him to read, it was by no means large enough to accommodate them both.

"Perhaps the living room?" he suggests, his voice flat, and a tad too quiet. He can't help but feel slightly embarrassed about such a display of emotion, even in front of Crowley, but he can no more save his dignity than take back the tears that had fallen (were still falling), so instead of trying to lighten the mood Aziraphale remains silent as he holds onto the other's hand still - he isn't sure he is ever planning on letting go - and makes his way over to the large sofa that formed a barrier between the sitting area and the kitchen.

He sits down next to Crowley, much closer than they ordinarily did, and with their intertwined hands resting in the demon's lap, he allows his head to rest on his shoulder again. It was a safe position. Neither of them would have to face the other's worried scrutiny should their hearts grow even more heavy tonight. As they sit there in silence for a few moments, the angel, perhaps for the first time in his long existence, wishes he could sleep. Shut it all off. Leave his consciousness to fend for itself for a couple hours while he sought comfort in the demon's proximity.

Eventually, he pushes himself to lift his head, turning a little to look at Crowley and he carefully shifts to move his free arm behind the other's back, so that he is no longer simply taking comfort but also offering.

"Are you alright, Crowley?"

It seems a silly question to ask, given that he had been the one bawling his eyes out not too long ago, but his friend looked shaken, and while the angel hadn't been paying close attention, every time he did look up at him his eyes retained the same red color, glistening with tears about to fall. It's not the first time Aziraphale sees him upset, but it is the first time that such a clear display of emotion is not paired with a whole flurry of words and movement, and it gives him more cause to worry than he would have had had Crowley paced around the room and cursed, shouted or wailed about the unfairness and cruelty of it all.

bluhtack

passing that single brain cell back and forth between them

#── .🗡🪽 mirror #── .🗡🪽 crowley. how wonderful life is//while you're in the world

nixscriptum

#── .🗡🪽 journal #── .🗡🪽 crowley. how wonderful life is//while you're in the world

being let go after a grip so tight made him dizzy. he finds that he can't cope with anything right now. the angel doesn't want to leave, not at all and he's feeling childish. petulant. like he's going to act out. azazel takes a step away from him. the apology starts the break in a very shoddily built dam and the endearment is the crack in which the emotions burst through like water seeking a new place to fill.

he tips backwards like he is about to back away further, but the momentum instead guides him forward. hands grasp the lapels of the demon's jacket and presses them close together. before the other can realize what is happening and push him away, their lips crash together. it was pathetic, this behavior, truly. and yet, he can't find himself caring as lips part against the other's and a sigh passes between their mouths. the taste, the smell, the warmth, all too familiar. though, if it was warmth he was searching for in azazel, he would not get it. not now and not like this. heaven would come and take him away, take his clothes, give him something boring and sterile to be put to work as punishment in their stark bureaucratic world. and all he would have is cold. cold and loneliness.

#blindsite #── .🗡🪽 v. at any time an invitation//you can't decline

He knows that the mouthed endearment is a mistake the moment he shapes the words and the angel's carefully crafted composure breaks into a million pieces, every heartwrenching emotion openly displayed and there is suddenly something desperate in the other's expression.

Before he can process the shift in Kokabiel, he is pulled forward and the angels lips crush against his with a violence that had never tainted their intimacy before. And yet, he can't bring himself to pull back immediately. In fact, several seconds pass for he regains his senses and the hand that was tangled in the angel's shirt (both out of a surprise and an instinctive need to keep him close) pushes back against the other's chest hard, forcing him to let go.

"You STUPID, stupid angel!" he gasps, bringing a hand up to his mouth to rest against quivering lips before he turns on his heel and all but dashes from the gazebo. Only when he has made it to the edge of the park, all but abandoned at this hour, does he finally stop. His heart aches, and his chest feels impossibly tight, but no tears leave his eyes. He wonders if it would feel like a relief - to be able to cry. Some humans claimed it felt CATHARTIC, but he couldn't imagine something as mundane as tears would do anything to alleviate the sorrow that was currently consuming him.

The child had been, begrudginly, delivered. It simply wasn't the kind of task you could refuse - not that a demon was generally in a position to refuse an assignment. In this case, it wouldn't even do to perform the task half-heartedly, or to give it a spin. Downstairs was rather heavily involved in it's succesful completion, and that left Azazel with no choice but to feign his enthousiasm for bringing about the End of The World (as they know it).

Seated in his drawing room with a large tumblr of Whiskey, there is little left of his act but a looming feeling of utter hopelessness. He might have needed a little time to warm up to Her creation, over the past roughly six thousand years he has come to consider it home. The idea of it being taken from him (and with it, all opportunity to put certain situations to rights) left him feeling more dejected than he had in a long while.

It leaves him in a staring match with his phone, replaying a voicemail several years old, trying to summon up the courage to dial the one number he knew by heart.

"i'm back on earth and i'm fine"

WITNESSING THE REVELATION dawning in those cornflower eyes ( and the way Aziraphale's mouth forms that perfect little "o" in his surprise, the way his voice gets all airy and soft ) steals the breath right out from Crowley's lungs. His throat goes bone-dry, and it’s not until Aziraphale squeezes their joined hands that he remembers to breathe… and blink. With the angel straightening his posture, their chests are almost flushed with one another—all it would take is just a slight shift and they would be.

Unfortunately, that would have to wait.

❝ That’s perfect, angel, ❞ he croaks before shifting back slightly, enough for their shoes to be visible when looking down. ❝ That’s about how close we’ll be when we get to actually dancing. No music for now, though; I’ll show you how I was taught. We’ll start with learning the actual steps first, THE FOUNDATION, before building off of it, yeah? Now, watch my feet. I’m leading, so when I take a step forward with my left, I want you to step backwards with your, with your right. Let your heel end at the edge of the square, ‘kay? Simple stuff. ❞

Crowley waits for a confirmation before counting them down, ❝ On three. One, two, three—❞ He takes a slow step forward as Aziraphale takes a step back. It’s a single move that leaves behind their other feet at the starting position.

❝ ‘Kay. Here’s the only tricky bit. Your left foot is going to glide diagonally to that opposite corner of the square, ‘n your right is going to meet it there. It sounds more complicated than it is, let’s give it a shot ‘fore you overthink it. READY? One, two, three—❞ It’s not an elegant motion as Crowley guides the angel to the opposing corner of their makeshift dance square, but they both come to a stop with their feet together again just as they’d started. He cracks a smile down at Aziraphale, squeezing their hands in reassurance.

❝ There you go. Now, we’ll do those three steps again ‘n finish up the square. Opposite feet this time: left for you, right for me. I’ll take a step back, you follow me forward, yes? One, two, three—❞ His right foot moves back as Aziraphale’s moves forward. ❝ One, two, three—❞

Drifting back across the square, the pair end up back at the corner they’d started in. Crowley relaxes their upheld arms and chuckles, ❝ And that’s all there is to it, really. We could throw in some flair, like spinning in the square or twirling you around, but… HOW WAS THAT? ❞