open post;

[goodtobebad]

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[goodtobebad]

[ Crowley grins a bit in return. Whatever, his giggles are way too adorable to be upset about. ]

Good to know.

[ Not that he's going to use the knowledge right now... but eventually...

For the moment, he just keeps doing what he's doing, grinning at the angel. ]

shit lost the notif

[goodoldfashioned]

Don't you start!

[He doesn't know what Crowley might, in fact, dare to do, but he also knows the surest way to make that happen is to fuss a bit first.

Speaking of which, he's gone rather boneless and he can't seem to stop trembling.]

no worries~!

[goodtobebad]

I'm not starting anything!

[ He's in fact simply continuing the current trend of stroking the wings and enjoying the sounds Aziraphale makes and all. ]

Anyway, if you didn't want me to start something, you shouldn't have been so... so... you.

[goodoldfashioned]

Oh, Crowley, dearest. You-- you must know that you, you're always you.

[That doesn't seem to make much sense, but Aziraphale is a little too busy to worry about things like sense or grammar right now.

Of course, all the (very lovely!) attention to the wings has an effect, which is that on the next pass, they FLOMPH outward like champagne when it's been uncorked or a parachute unchuted.]

[goodtobebad]

[ Oh, that's nice. That's very nice indeed. Crowley grins at it, runs his fingers through the feathers at the base of one. ]

I'm always me? I'm assuming that's a good thing...

[ Aziraphale is so beautiful. He's entranced. ]

[goodoldfashioned]

Very possibly the goodest.

[His feathers are more than a bit ruffled -- he never quite got into the habit of keeping them as neat and clean as Policy encouraged. He doesn't even bother trying to stifle his giggling as Crowley explores. If he was a bit ticklish before, well, his wings are another story.

He presses a kiss to Crowley's forehead, not as frenzied and rushed as before, rather calm and soft, a sort of thank you.

In between the laughing, of course.]

In fact, you could say there's no contest, my dear boy.

[goodtobebad]

[ Crowley studies him for a moment, stroking gently, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. Open. Vulnerable. ]

You know I love you, right?

[goodoldfashioned]

[Aziraphale's eyes crinkle at the corners. Soft and happy and overwhelmed.]

I do, yes. And you know I feel the same? That I love you.

[goodtobebad]

Yeah.

[ He smiles faintly. ]

I mean, you've got one up on me: you can sense it, can't you? But it's pretty obvious, even without being able to sense it.

[goodoldfashioned]

A bit of reminding now and then certainly doesn't hurt.

[Sensing it feels a bit like cheating, sometimes. Not when he can hear it directly from the source.]

[goodtobebad]

Well... reminder: I love you.

[ How's that??? ]

[goodoldfashioned]

[Very good, full marks.]

Allow me to return the favor? I love you very much, you see, and I... well, I wouldn't want you to forget that, either. Dreadfully important.

[He's lost track of his limbs somewhere down the line, and if pressed, would probably have difficulty remembering that they're even in a bed. He tracks down where one of Crowley's hands went and holds it in both of his, warm and sure.]

[goodtobebad]

...No. I won't forget. Promise.

[ Usually he'd make some sort of smart remark here, but... well. This is nice. Nice in the best way possible. ]