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[goodtobebad]

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[salutosinedelectat]

[ Moving in together had gone well, all things considered. There hadn't been that many changes, after all - perhaps the presence of 'the bookseller's sharply-dressed friend' had suddenly become all the more obvious, and, sometimes, there seemed to be the faint sound of a television, music, or some kind of conversation going on behind the new decorative curtain hanging on a wall on the top floor of the shop, right by the stairs.

While the flat had originally been made thinking of Crowley's comfort, at a point resembling a smaller version of his previous residence in Mayfair, it didn't take long before it started changing into somewhat of a space clearly lived in by the both of them. Some old tomes and parchments strewn about, dark colors and tidiness being slowly consumed by more warm pastels and signs of life. It's a balance, you see, and the angel has gradually been making more use of an actual home than he did.

Then, there were the plants. Large, luscious and lively, bringing a splash of bright color to the place. Crowley's finest work, of course, and one wouldn't have expected him to change his methods just because he's sharing a space.

The angel does admire the work he puts into maintaining them, though he's commented, more than once, that perhaps a little bit of a balance is needed. Perhaps not his place, but the yelling is...well, the yelling is something. Though, more often than not, he was forced to agree with the results.

That didn't mean that, when the demon wasn't around, he didn't offer the plants some words of encouragement behind his back.



A usual morning. He's taking his time with a nice cup of tea, still in pajamas and robe - a
habit he had picked up as he'd been sleeping more often - stepping around the flat and enjoying the peace.]

Good morning, my leafy friends. [ He's also picked up the habit of greeting the plants every morning, often even spending his breakfast with them, when Crowley was otherwise away or asleep. ] My, you are looking lovely today.

Is that a new leaf coming in? My word, you've been doing such a wonderful job. Good show, well done.

[goodtobebad]

[ Moving in together had been, all things considered, a fantastic idea. Almost as good as kissing the angel - two great ideas, all rolled into one wonderful package that Crowley has been enjoying for several weeks now. Just living with the angel, having him close most of the time, and kissing him whenever he feels like it.

Yes, it's very good.

Except, perhaps, when Crowley wakes up, late in the morning, and can hear, clear as day, his angel's voice sweet-talking his plants.

He makes a low grumbling noise in his throat as he rolls out of the bed, tousled and in black silk pajama trousers (naturally). ]

Are you encouraging them to slack off?

[salutosinedelectat]

[ The angel had been reaching to touch one of the plants, just smiling serenely at them, but he sure jumps when he hears Crowley's voice from the door.

He holds his tea with both hands now, and smiles at him like nothing's happening. Of course, one would know, Aziraphale is a terrible liar. ]

Oh, good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?

[goodoldfashioned]

[Aziraphale is currently shuffling a deck of cards. Somewhat poorly, as here or there a renegade card flops out and must be hastily shoved back into alignment. He could just miracle the deck shuffled, of course, but that rather defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

It's a lovely day to practice some magic, if he says so himself, which he does. Now, if only he could get his (rather fetching) assistant to cooperate.

Yes, that means Crowley. Who else could it be?]

Really, it's just a card trick, it can't be too difficult.

[If he's saying that partially to himself, well, on that score he's staying mum.]

[goodtobebad]

This is completely pointless.

[ Crowley, sunglasses firmly in place, arms crossed over his chest, frowns at the angel. ]

Look, you've already messed it up!

[ He leans down to pick up the card that just flipped onto the ground. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

It's not pointless, Crowley. The point's just getting some magic practice in.

[Oh, darn. Why do they make these cards so bendy?]

That's not the three of hearts, is it?

[worshipsbooks]

[Aziraphale can tell that Crowley is not in the best of moods, and had not been from the moment he had invited himself into the bookshop and promptly set about terrorizing the customers. Not that that in of itself is out of the ordinary, of course. It's the manner in which he's set about doing so. While normally Aziraphale would assume his pestering is all in the name of good fun, these tricks are toeing the line. As though there may be something on his mind and he has felt the need to take it out on the unsuspecting patrons of his shop.

It's around the fourth time he hears the bell ringing, followed by the dash of footsteps tearing away from the storefront, (occasionally the accompanied with a worrying sniffle or two, depending on the severity of the trick Crowley has pulled) that Aziraphale tears himself from the book he's been sitting and reading behind the till and sets it aside with a sigh. He had best try and locate his erstwhile adversary, before he should do something that he should truly regret.]

[goodtobebad]

[ Crowley is very grouchy, and okay, sure, he might be taking it out on the handful of humans who dare to approach the bookshop during its ostensible opening hours.

It's one particular human's fault, after all. So, that doesn't excuse it, but it explains it! Right? Right.

A young woman is perusing some mystery novels, right up until a shadow separates itself from the other shadows and reveals a pair of eerie, glowing yellow eyes. Then she squeaks and hurries out of the shop, leaving Crowley feeling slightly satisfied.

At least, until the angel shows up looking ready for a lecture. ]

Oh, don't start.

[worshipsbooks]

[He may be grouchy, but Aziraphale has known Crowley for long enough not to be scared off by a bit of snarling. Quite the opposite, in fact. After all, this is his bookshop.

He raises both eyebrows at Crowley. Technically, he hasn't even said anything. (Yet).]

If you keep up with those tricks of yours at this rate this establishment is going to develop a reputation you know, my dear.

[His tone of voice is slightly disapproving, but there's no malice behind the words. He understands that Crowley must have a reason for terrorizing his shop patrons! It's up to Aziraphale himself however to get to the bottom of it.]

This is Ashfae, this is my Aziraphale, ISTR you wanted some fluff and/or smut...?

[theniceone]

Aziraphale still isn't all that keen on sleeping. He has, however, become an enthusiastic fan of letting Crowley use him as a pillow.

The actual arrangement varies. Sometimes Aziraphale sits in bed and reads, while Crowley curls around him one way or another, arms around his waist or head on his lap. Quite often Aziraphale takes advantage of the opportunity to play with Crowley's hair, light teasing strokes. He's asked the demon to grow it out again, please, it's so very, very beautiful in the light, and also it would give certain activities they now participate in a distinct additional thrill. The groan Crowley had let out upon realizing what Aziraphale meant suggested that he would eventually get his way in that matter.

Sometimes it's simpler, and they spend countless hours loving each other, teasing, worshipping, or just plain fucking (Aziraphale saves the word for opportune moments; crudity has its place but should be used sparingly for maximum effect), and then they collapse on each other and lie in bed, dozing or talking or just lying in silence and being.

Aziraphale likes those times best, with Crowley's head on his chest, above his heart, and the demon's body sprawled all over the rest of the bed, while Aziraphale lies peaceful and trails fingers down Crowley's spine, sheets and blankets a tangle atop them. Crowley's skin almost glows in the moonlight, and the fire of his hair is dimmed, but it doesn't matter. Aziraphale knows all of him by heart now, all the pieces he was never allowed to touch before, all the privileges they were never able to grant each other. All is known. Knowledge, the gift of the Serpent...Aziraphale smiles to himself and lifts his head to kiss Crowley's hair. "My love?" he asks quietly, seeing if Crowley is awake or still drowsing.

um YES PLZ

[goodtobebad]

Crowley is, quite simply, the happiest he's been... pretty much in his entire existence. Aziraphale has always been the best thing in his life, and things have only been better since they helped stop the Apocalypse.

He's half-dozing right now, lazy and warm and comfortable all wrapped around the angel. "Mmf?" he replies, unable to stop the little ball of warmth and light in his chest whenever Aziraphale uses endearments like "my dear" or "my love".

[goodoldfashioned]

[After a good bit of texting back and forth, Aziraphale's sitting in his favorite chair, waiting for a knock on the door if Crowley's patient or his appearance in the shop if he isn't. The door is always open to him, the way his wine bottles are.]

want to assume established romance or no?

[goodtobebad]

[ True to form, in 20 minutes or less, Crowley is letting himself into the bookshop (and making sure the closed sign is up, the shades drawn). ]

There you are. Hope you've got a good vintage picked out, for drowning our sorrows over dead humans.

[ Is he joking? Serious? Who knows. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

[It is October, which means one thing: an abundance of pumpkin. In this case, it also means an angel is attempting to carve one, only he didn't expect such a mess.]

Have there always been this many seeds...?

[goodtobebad]

[ Meanwhile, Crowley is just sort of hovering, occasionally eating one of the pumpkin spice scones he bought for the angel. ]

Who knows? The Americans have had thousands of years to mess with their gourds. [ he smirks a bit like he’s just made a dirty joke. He hasn’t. ]

[sohoangel]

((ooc: continued from here))

[Aziraphale steps inside, taking a good look around from where he stands. The couch is easy to spot as it's the most welcoming piece of furniture that he can see. It certainly wasn't there the last time he'd been in Crowley's flat.]

Ah. It does look quite comfortable.

[His gaze shifts to Crowley, smiling warmly, but somewhat hesitantly all the same, trying to suss out his friend's level of inebriation.]

Did you still want to... ah. Well, I'll join you, shall I? If that's all right?

[goodtobebad]

[ Crowley glances up from where he's sprawled on said sofa, and he's definitely quite inebriated. Enough so that he just sort of grins at the angel, unaffected, no attempt to hide his happiness at the sight. ]

C'mere, took you long enough, hones'ly. Not like y'have anything better t'do, these days...

Wiiings. And complete lack of grace

[salutosinedelectat]

The first rays of morning light sneak their way past the curtains and into the cozy, well decorated room, as they are wont to do. They seem to refuse to take the hint that they're not entirely welcome just yet, instead taking whichever little crevices between the curtains to try and announce the dawn of a new day. Also, in part, to line and reveal the mess that's taken over the bed.

There are covers, both strewn about and bunched up in places, rather willy-nilly. There are soft pillows, a couple of them having apparently been shunned from the top of of the bed (or, rather, knocked out of it by accident and forgotten there). There are bottles, which, by their location, emptiness, and lack of accompanying glasses, hint that they might have been the last in what must've been a grander party for two - also aided by discarded clothes on the floor. And there are...feathers. Both attached and detached from the two pairs of wings connected to the two beings laying on the previously mentioned bed, somewhere under the wings.

The angel has been holding onto a pillow - or part of a duvet? - for an unknown amount of hours, before one of the errant rays of light decides to shine directly across his face. He frowns and stirs, aimlessly shifting his wings, one of them bumping against the demon.

amazing

[goodtobebad]

The sunlight doesn't bother the demon - black wings go a long way to blocking it out, after all - and he's really quite comfortable in the nest of blankets and pillows and angel he's made for himself. His body aches in certain places - he could miracle that away, but he quite likes the reminder of their rather vigorous activities last night.

It's getting whacked by a wing that threatens to ruin his lovely nap.

"Oy," he grumbles, shoving said wing aside as he cracks an eye open. "Sleeping here."

for oh_bebop

[goodtobebad]

[ cont'd from here ]

You have got to be kidding.

Be there in five.

[ And sure enough, he probably beats the bus there, because traffic pretty much just gets out of his way when he's doing 95+ in central London. By the time the bus rolls up, he's leaning against the Bentley in his usual, languid pose. But maybe with a predatory undertone, just in case the angel needs rescuing. ]

[oh_bebop]

Afraid not.

Mind the pedestrians!

[ And rescuing he does seem to need, as Aziraphale is the very first passenger to step off the bus with the inebriated man hot on his heels and a rose that has seen better days in hand, evidently still trying to engage him in conversation even as Aziraphale's looking around a touch desperately, expression breaking like the morning sun when he spots the Bentley and its at-the-ready demon. ]

Excuse me, so sorry, my very good friend is waiting for me-

[ At which point he beats a hasty retreat over to the Bentley, getting a look about the eyes that says he would very much like to get out of here and quickly. ]

for salutosinedelectat

[goodtobebad]

[ cont'd from here ]

[ When he walks into the shop, he doesn't even say anything, just makes a beeline for the sofa in the back, sprawling out on it with a heavy sigh.

Existential crisis is go! ]

Re: for salutosinedelectat

[salutosinedelectat]

[Aziraphale pops out of the back of the shop as soon as he hears the door.]

Oh, Crowley! I--oh.

[ He approaches the sofa, looking down at the demon.]

I take it you're still feeling glum?

for comfortably - THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

[goodtobebad]

[ from here ]

[ Crowley is having something like a slow-motion panic attack at the thought of Aziraphale not only coming to his flat, but sleeping in his bed. And wanting them to sleep together.

What the fuck.

He doesn't know what to do to prepare. Should he have food? Drinks? Music? Put something on the telly???

So mostly he just kind of paces around, waiting for the angel to arrive, paralyzed in his ability to do anything else. ]

vavoom indeed

[comfortably]

[ Aziraphale is there several minutes later, buzzing in on the telecom. He visits Crowley's flat so rarely that he has no idea how to even come up, and fidgets outside in case anyone sees him.

Because even though they're not hiding it anymore, it still makes him a little nervous, what with all the years of conditioning. ]

Hello!

[ His chin is on the camera thing. ]