goodtobebad | open post;

[ Crowley slithers forward, pressing his face to Aziraphale’s shoulder and wrapping his free arm around his waist. ]

You sure? I won’t drool on you and ruin your jacket, promise.

[Aziraphale lets out a little exhale and doesn't move for a second or two. Then, carefully, he wraps an arm around Crowley's shoulders.]

I'm sure. And if you do drool, you can always miracle it away.

[He shifts a little, relaxing into the back of the sofa. Crowley wasn't kidding, this is warm. This is so warm. Should it be this warm? He feels flushed, and Crowley's hair is tickling his chin, and everything about this is perfect.]

[ It is nice. Crowley, being a serpent after all, loves the warmth, soaks it up greedily, but doesn’t do more than what he’s already done. He can feel Aziraphale starting to relax by turns, and that... that’s good. His mind is still fuzzy with drink, he hasn’t sobered up, but he’s aware of how big a step forward this is, all the same. ]

‘S not. Uh. Not too fast for you, then?

[ His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, uncertain even. Almost mumbled into the angel’s neck, like he’s not sure he wants Aziraphale to hear him. ]

[The question starts up a painful ache in Aziraphale's heart. It's the way Crowley says it, as if he's waiting for the angel to come to his senses and push him away. So, instead, he does the opposite, gathering Crowley a bit closer with the arm around his shoulders, holding him firmly against his warm body.]

No, not at all.

[He sets aside his glass of wine and wraps that arm around him in turn so that Crowley is in a full embrace.]

The truth is, I've been wanting to do this for quite some time.

[ Crowley is quiet for a moment at that admission. It startles him a little, not sure he ever expected the angel to say anything like that to him.

Or wrap him so thoroughly in an embrace, for that matter, at which he lets out a totally unnecessary, shuddering breath. ]

What, really? Me?

Yes, you.

[There is laughter in his voice, but there is a bit of a sob caught in there, too. He turns his head to let Crowley's hair brush against his cheek, inhaling the demon's familiar and comforting scent.]

Only you.

... right.

[ Still drunk, still warm, still trying to wrap his head around this new development, Crowley is even less articulate than usual. ]

Never tempted you, y’know. Not... uh. Well, wasn’t in the job description, tempting angels. Never wanted... I mean... ngk.

[ Is it so hard for him to say “I wanted you to like me for real”? Yeah. It is. ]

Just... like bein’ around you.

I know, my dear. Everything I've ever done with you, it's been of my own volition.

[One of his hands begins to move in small, comforting circles between Crowley's shoulder blades. His words come much more easily, although that ache in his chest remains.]

I like being around you, too. I always have. [His voice wavers slightly.] I know I wasn't always the best at showing you that, and for that I am very sorry.

Naaaaaaaah. I know.

[ He scoffs, melting into the embrace even more, going boneless at the gentle touches - even more than he already was, that is. ]

They could’ve - would’ve - hurt you, if they’d found out. ‘Sides, we had some good times despite them.

[That's a relief to hear, and Aziraphale relaxes even more as a result, snuggling against Crowley while he continues to touch him. Crowley is right, he is cuddly.]

They would have hurt you. [He sighs softly.] I was worried about what Heaven would think, of course, but I was worried about you, too. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you.

[All that business with the holy water... he shivers and holds Crowley a little tighter.]

I don't mean to discount all the time we've spent together, I've cherished every moment of it. You're my best friend, Crowley. Always.

Best friend. Yeah.

[ It’s nice to hear Aziraphale finally say that aloud, because it’s true. It’s been true for Crowley for a long time. More than that, even. Best friends, yes, and more than that, for Crowley, and he’s still drunk but he must not be drunk enough to overcome his cowardice and say the other three words that press at his tongue more and more the past couple of centuries, because he knows the angel likes him but that doesn’t mean he’d want to hear I love you from a demon, even the demon who is his best friend and currently cuddling with him on the sofa.

But they have time again - a lot of time, and Crowley’s gotten good at being patient. Now that they’re on their own side properly, maybe... maybe it could happen, eventually. And in the meantime, he’s got this. He’s got a lovely, warm, soft angel holding him, being his best friend. ]

Y’smell good.

[ That’s a thing he can say, at least. ]

[It's genuine, spoken from the heart, a giant step forward from declaring to anyone remotely within earshot that they weren't friends, that he didn't even like Crowley. And yet, it doesn't encompass nearly the entire truth, that Aziraphale has loved Crowley for quite some time, and not the general love an angel has for all of Creation, either. His love for Crowley is very, very personal, but he's not sure if now is the best time to say it. 'Love' is a four-letter word, after all, and he's only just discovered the sheer joy of cuddling with Crowley. He doesn't want to ruin the mood.

(A tiny voice in his head is telling him that he's being utterly ridiculous, but he hears that tiny voice a lot and has gotten good at ignoring it.)

Crowley's compliment breaks him out of his thoughts and he giggles at the unexpectedness of it.]

Oh... well, thank you. It's a cologne that my barber recommended.

[A pause as he breathes in contentedly.]

You smell good, too.

Nahhhh. ‘S how you’ve always smelled. Like... wine and old books.

[ Crowley is pretty sure Aziraphale smelled like old books long before the invention of the printing press. It’s just part of him. His angelicness. He takes a big, deep breath of him, face still pressed almost against his neck.

He could stay like this forever. Maybe he could talk the angel into it... ]

[Aziraphale blushes reflexively when Crowley breathes him in. I know what you smell like. He had always assumed that Crowley was being sarcastic when he said that, but now he's not so sure.]

That's probably the bookshop, then...

[One hand continues to rub in gentle circles. The other lifts and hovers uncertainly a moment before carding through Crowley's hair.]

You're very good at this. Cuddling, I mean.

[ Crowley is definitely planning some kind of smart comeback for that - the angel, after all, is the one really doing the cuddle-work here, and an excellent job of it, too.

But then there’s a hand in his hair, doing nothing so much as petting him, and it sends a wave of pleasure down his spine, shivering through the wings that aren’t physically manifest on this plane but are nonetheless there - and all that comes out of the demon’s mouth is a moan of rather helpless pleasure, almost wanton, and entirely unplanned-for. ]

[Aziraphale freezes, eyes widening in absolute astonishment. Was that... did Crowley just moan? In pleasure? He's heard the demon make a lot of sounds over the millennia, but that one is completely new.

The moan -- and the fact that he was responsible for it -- cause a curious little frisson of pleasure within him that he finds himself blushing all over again. He feels like he ought to apologize, or at least ask if Crowley's all right.

Instead, he raises his hand and runs it through Crowley's hair a second time.]

[ Crowley is ready to pull away when Aziraphale freezes, tenses up beside him, because the last thing he wants is to make the angel feel awkward or uncomfortable, the last thing he wants is to scare off his best friend with the force of his own desire, pent up for millennia at this point.

But then those fingers move again, through his hair, against his scalp, and all thought of pulling away is gone. No, he’ll be staying right here, thankyouverymuch, for as long as Aziraphale wants to pet him.

He at least is able to regain enough control so he doesn’t make another embarrassing sound. Instead, he simply shudders a bit, trembles a little, fingers digging carefully into the fabric of Aziraphale’s clothes. ]

That’s... angel... [ His voice sounds rough to his own ears. ]

[At the first sign of trembling, Aziraphale rubs Crowley's back a little more firmly, a reassuring circle, before running his fingers through Crowley's hair once more. He lightly scratches at his scalp, turning his head just enough so that he can watch his reaction.]

It's all right, my dear. I'm not going anywhere.

[His voice is surprisingly smooth, far more steady than he feels. He'd like to hear that moan again, but more importantly, he wants Crowley to feel comfortable.]

[ That ‘my dear’, coupled with the continued petting makes him shiver again, and sigh. ]

‘S nice.

Don’t stop.

I won't.

[He settles against Crowley, his fingers threading through Crowley's hair. Sometimes he pauses to toy with a strand or two, or to scratch at his scalp, but he doesn't stop, and doesn't give any signs of stopping, simply holding Crowley close while he plays with his hair. He remembers all the styles that Crowley has worn it in over the millennia.]

It's beautiful.

[ If he was boneless before, as the petting continues he only drapes himself more languidly against Aziraphale. He might as well be purring, the way he leans into the touches, shivers, hums occasionally when those wonderful, angelic fingers find a particularly nice spot, near his ear or towards the back of his neck.

When the angel speaks again, he starts a bit, and makes a scoffing noise, a noise of complete and utter disbelief, but otherwise says nothing. Not one single part of him qualifies as “beautiful,” this, he knows to be objectively true. “Infernal,” maybe, possibly even “seductive” sometimes, but not “beautiful”. Beauty is reserved for things that haven’t been cast from the Almighty’s Grace. ]

[Each sound and shiver that Crowley makes, Aziraphale carefully notes what he's doing when it happens and commits it to memory. If he's allowed to do this again (and God, does he hope so), he wants to know exactly what to do to return Crowley to his pliant, languid state.

That scoff, though, that's not a sound he cares to hear in the midst of all those happy Crowley sounds.]

It is beautiful. I've always thought so.

[He shifts a little so he can look Crowley in the eyes -- well, sunglasses, anyway -- to show how serious he is.]

It's such a a vibrant color, and it always looks so soft, no matter what style you have it in. I've admired it for a long time. Why do you think I'm so eager to touch it now?

[ When he shifts to look at Crowley, the demon finally removes his sunglasses, miracling them away somewhere (or nowhere). He doesn’t like his own eyes, too ever-present a reminder of what he is, but inebriated like this, he doesn’t care quite as much - or maybe he just wants no barriers between him and Aziraphale. ]

‘M not the beautiful one here.

[ It’s Aziraphale. He’s radiant, and golden, and warm and soft and everything Crowley wants in the universe. ]

[Aziraphale takes a moment or two to simply stare into Crowley's eyes. It's not often that he gets to see them unobscured, which is a shame, as he finds them as beautiful as the rest of Crowley.

The implication of that statement -- that Crowley thinks Aziraphale is beautiful -- turn him a bit flustered. He'd wring his hands together, but they're already full of Crowley, so he has to settle for darting his gaze around before resettling it on Crowley's alluring yellow eyes.]

I wish you could see yourself as I do, my dear. You're extraordinary.

[ Crowley doesn’t even know what to do with such a compliment. How to react. Sure, his bosses Downstairs had sometimes given him commendations for good demonic job performance, but by and large, Hell doesn’t go in for saying such things about its denizens. A few times a human had been infatuated with him, but it’s been centuries - and no human he’s ever known would’ve been able to say something like that while looking him directly in the eye.

He fidgets a little, fingers skittering over the angel’s jacket randomly, like he’s not sure what to do with them, and he glances away, embarrassed. ]

Shut up.

[ That’s the only response he can come up with, and it has no bite to it. No sarcasm, no viciousness. It’s soft, uncertain, because while he’s uncomfortable with such unreserved praise, he also craves more, inexplicably. There’s something about Aziraphale earnestly complimenting him, in any way, that’s always been irresistible. He’s always had a good reason for resisting it in the past; now, he’s not sure he does. ]

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