voidtreckerexpress | Party Time

At first, Aziraphale watches them with no particular thought in mind. But then there's just something in their tone, and the way they run their fingers over his arm, and, for a couple of seconds, the angel doesn't know quite what to do, watching them and that mischievous look in their eyes.

Bottle back in his hands, he gives them a bit of a look. "I'm plenty sure I'm done with any kind of trouble."

Crowley frowns, sighing with a little shake of their head. "That's no fun, angel." they mutter, leaning a bit against him.

"Unavoidable, I'm afraid." Crowley waves him off, trying to look nonplussed by what felt like rejection. "Trouble comes with the territory."

There's a clear bit os miscommunication that flies right over Aziraphale's head, but the angel seems happy enough to have the demon that close.

"What territory?" As he takes the moment to take another sip, the pleasant buzz having just grown stronger. He has them the bottle again, although there's not much left.

"Bringing me as your date tonight, obviously." Crowley replies, taking the bottle and bringing it to their lips, the frown at the little sip that's left, then reach over the angel to place it on the table beside him once its gone.

"We've run out of wine." the demon sighs, "Whatever will we do now?"

For a moment, Aziraphale sits there, thinking about the question and all possible answers. And the one that he apparently chooses comes as a snap of the fingers, and a second, full bottle, now sat next to the empty one. He did, in fact, figured that this would be much less bothersome than getting up and going all the way to the kitchen and back again.

"Resume our evening, of course." He picks the bottle off the table, and a wave over the top of it has it open. Someone's clearly running on free miracles these days.

"And, for what it's worth," He pauses to take a quick sip, then hands them the new bottle. "I don't think you're that much trouble."

"You flatter me, angel." they reply, taking the bottle graciously and tossing it back for a satisfying sip. After they hand it back, their fingers linger a bit on the angel's arm, tracing over the applique on his jacket.

"This really does suit you, you know." they start, their tone a bit less cheeky than before, and a hint sweeter. "I had a lovely time... almost forgot we were trapped on a bloody train."

He turns his head to look at them, as the moment seems to fall into something a bit quieter, a bit calmer. Perhaps it's the wine. Perhaps it's the overwhelming darkness outside the window. Maybe its just how close they're both sitting.

"So did I." He answers more quietly, near a murmur. He rests the bottle on his leg this time, watching their hand. "Perhaps we...could have another dance, sometime."

Crowley smiles, reaching again for the bottle, but placing it over on the table, out of the way.

"We could, you know." they murmur, taking one of the angel's hands in theirs, "I know there aren't speakers in this car, but we don't really need the music, do we?"

"No music?" With the bottle out of the way and the haziness of the bottles they put away parting slightly for a few seconds, he finds he has a flutter feeling in his stomach again. He looks at their hands joined together, as they've been, in some way, shape or form, for most of the evening.

"... I suppose we don't." As he takes hold of their hand.

Crowley stands then, tugging encouragingly at Aziraphale's arms to get him to stand. Once there, those long arms of theirs snake around his neck again, tugging him very close.

Crowley snaps their fingers behind his head, dimming the lights a touch, setting the mood.

"Is this okay?" they ask softly with a smile.

Just like that, they're standing again, in this tiny room, no one else around them, no voices, no distractions, only each other and the nothing.

The fluttery feeling is stronger than ever when Crowley pulls him close. That smile, the dimming of the lights. This time, he can see their golden eyes. It's about as overwhelming as he imagined.

"Yes." He answers after a couple of seconds of just regarding them. He then smiles faintly, bringing his hand to their sides again.

Without a snap of fingers, a wave of a hand, or even a blink, with no gesture to mark it, music starts playing from somewhere impossible, quietly as not to disturb the scene.

"Changed my mind about the music." He remembers it well enough. There's a cheeky glint to his eye, soft as his look may be.

Crowley's breath catches as their eyes meet without the masks obscuring them, and their head tilts up in surprise as the music surrounds them, looking about the room for a moment before settling into it again, gaze resting back onto Aziraphale's with a fond smile.

"I can tell..." Crowley replies teasingly, but their voice is still soft and quiet as they begin to sway. The two of them slightly drunk, alone, dancing in a dark room with such beautiful accompaniment... it's enough that Crowley feels their heart pounding through their chest, and maybe just enough that the demon gets a little carried away, one of their hands creeping up the back of Aziraphale's neck and into his hairline while Crowley bends down to seek out his lips.

Is it them getting carrying away, this? Or the this whole scene, perhaps, with the costumes, the whine, the locked door, the music. The evening of dancing and talking and holding each other's arm in a silly little party, ignoring their overall situation for once?

Maybe it is. And Aziraphale sure feels that fluttery feeling so much stronger, feels his heart race, all those feelings they have no justifiable reason to have, and yet...

His look softens even more as Crowley's hand moves to the back of his neck. He glances at their lips as they move closer. And, finally, he closes his eyes, leaning up to meet them in a kiss.

Crowley's lips press to Aziraphale's sweet and open, their hand gripping at the back of the angel's head carefully. Crowley doesn't break it for a long moment, until they feel it's necessary to whisper against his lips. "You are so wonderful."

Crowley feels more drunk than they actually are, their head flooded with emotions that they don't know how to break down and comprehend. Aziraphale has kissed them before, and they've shared moments together and held one another for comfort, but there was never any sort of feelings discussed or labels attached. Those all seemed like very human things to do, which is perhaps why Crowley felt they wanted those things at all.

Perhaps it is in the human nature of these things that lie the answers for why they're still so new, why that even after they were both free from their former respective head offices, they didn't quite know how to thread through this sort of thing. No matter the amount of observation of human affairs, or the reading or hearing of stories around the topic. Maybe it's been Aziraphale's hesitancy, or fear, or indecision.

There's something about this moment though, and the one they shared back in the islands, one among many. When everything is quiet and it's just the two of them ignoring everything else. They had many of those, along the millenia. He never thought they could turn into this, before.

So many things can becon so many others. Maybe it's the need to see the lines, any lines. Maybe it's the wine. Maybe, for once, it's really just him.

"Crowley, I..." he starts, barely above a whisper. He feels like there's something he should say. Wants to say. He feels like he knows what those words are, now.

New isn't really the right word, is it? Crowley's felt things for a very long time, just never been able to articulate them. It's beyond that, because the demon has never felt these things with anyone else, never been able to properly explore them like this before, and it's been a barrier preventing them from coming to terms with those feelings entirely.

Aziraphale speaks, but there's hesitation there. Crowley wants to fill in the blanks but is so afraid to, in case they're assumptions or hopes that aren't fulfilled, and they are hurt by it again. Dangerous thing to do, making assumptions. Instead, Crowley's hand slides forward to the angel's cheek, their thumb grazing over the corner of his cheekbone.

"Yes, angel?"

There's no more barriers, only the phantom feeling of something that's been there for so very long. He wasn't even aware of them for most of his existence, and when he was able to see them, he didn't question their presence. But they're gone now, have been gone, and he's free to walk through. They both are.

He doesn't quite meet their eye just then, for it might be too overwhelming, but he brings one of his hands over the back of theirs, tilting his head slightly towards the touch. The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue. He could just say them. He should just say them.

But he won't just say them. "This time, after...after everything that's happened," Armageddon, trials, islands, train, and everything before that, for good measure. "It's difficult to put into words just how everything's--well, changed, in recent times." He looks up at them, and there's less of a drunken haze in his eyes, but something a bit more focused, if nervous. "Barely had time to breathe. But...I'm very glad to have you by my side."

Crowley's expression is soft, the words not exactly what they thought the angel might say, but nice to hear, regardless. In the end it wasn't heaven or hell that Crowley chose to be with or to fight for, it was just Aziraphale. Nothing else mattered.

"Me too," the demon murmured, pulling Aziraphale's face to their chest and holding tight, but not before pressing another kiss to the top of his head. Crowley's face stayed buried there in the downy soft hair, breathing in his scent.

"Your side is the only one I'd ever like to be on."

Edited (aaaaaaaaaAAAA) 2020-06-16 23:10 (UTC)

Nobody else has ever made Aziraphale feel quite as...safe? Protected. Appreciated, not for what he is, but by who he is. Nobody else that knew of his true nature as an angel ever really bothered. They don't do that, is the thing, they don't make such connections, they all work for a Higher Power, a Higher Goals, the Greater Good, and in the growing distance from that, he met the only other individual he could ever truly relate to.

Look at them now.

He's pulled against the demon in such a tender embrace, he could swear it sobers him up without his input. His cheeks flush, his face feels hot, and he can smell Crowley's perfume so much more clearly.

He wraps his arms gently around the demon. His eyes are closed. The words finally topple out, not gracefully, not at all, but they do, daunting and terrifying, but no less true.

"I...I love you, Crowley."

It doesn't matter what they'd done together up until this point, because upon hearing those words, Crowley feels like time stands still. Their breath is caught in their throat, heart rattling in its cage just beneath where the angel lay his head. It feels like a century has passed before the demon has the courage to move, pulling themselves back from Aziraphale so that they can meet his eyes, the angel's head held firm in their hands.

"What did you just say?" Crowley croaks, their voice cracking, their eyes blown wide and seemingly wet. Crowley wants to make sure they weren't just hearing things, too drunk and overcome by their own emotions to have a grip on reality. Too afraid to say it back, in case they heard it wrong. But the demon can't wait to, and they close their eyes, trying to blink away the water accumulating inside them, as well as trying to remember to breathe. "Say it again... please." they continue, voice ragged and desperate.

When Crowley pulls back first without responding, Aziraphale gets the immediate impression that he did something wrong. That he said it wrong, at the wrong time, that he got the wrong impression, that it was wrong. It's a lot of ways to think something as simple as words and as heavy as these are wrong, in a mere couple of seconds.

But he sees the look in Crowley's eyes, how they reflect the dim light. Their hands are still on the angel's head and he isn't quite sure what that means. The music misses a few notes and plays entirely out of pace.

"I, hum." He stutters. But it isn't wrong. Can't be wrong. It's not. The time is right. As right as it could ever be. The words are right. He's said it. He's said it.

This time, he holds their gaze. "--I love you."

Crowley exhales. Maybe for the first time since they'd heard it, their breathing harsh as they bend down again, pressing their lips to Aziraphale's briefly, then to each cheek, over and over again.

"I love you," they say, their voice still cracking and sounding anything but cool, "Angel, I've loved you for so very long."

Their fingers slide into his hair, stroking it gently as they press their foreheads together, feeling like they could float away at any moment.

The barrage of kisses is good enough an answer to confirm for the angel that the message was well recieved. He could swear there's a while impossible swarm of butterflies in his belly at this point, as he feels both weak at the knee and overwhelmingly giddy about this development.

He said it. They said it. They're standing here as two people who've said these words and can say those words and mean it. And nobody can stop them. Nobody ever could.

He holds onto their arms, a very gentle grip, and he smiles. "Oh, my dear, I should've said it sooner, I-" But now isn't the time for apologies. They should have their place, sometime soon perhaps, but, right now, it's a celebration. "I love you so very much." He said it again. He can say it more times. Oh, it's thrilling.

Crowley can't keep from grinning ear to ear, their entire body buzzing in excitement hearing their angel's confessions of love over and over again. They press another excited kiss to Aziraphale's lips, their hands sliding down to wrap around him and hold him close, tempted to lift him off of his feet.

"I don't care, angel, you've said it now," they reply, in their own means of forgiveness, tugging him close. Crowley is a mess of emotions, happiness and love with an undercurrent of unworthiness and self-doubt, feeling they try to push aside so that they can linger in the moment, the angel's love and acceptance breaking down Crowley's barriers. It's dizzying, and Crowley takes a step back, tugging Aziraphale along, hoping the two can collapse on the bench together and just hold each other like this until they're inevitably returned to their own separate beds.

Aziraphale could swear he feels lighter. Not that the laws of physics are always necessarily applicable to those of celestial nature, but, still, the feeling is there, somewhere significant.

He clumsily moves along as Crowley pulls him, barely trying to pull away just enough to see where they're going, so the both of them can sit, and then so he can press a kiss on their lips too. And when he looks at them with pure joy in his eyes and can't figure out the right words to say, he kisses them again.

"Oh..." He presses his forehead against theirs again, a hand resting on their shoulder. "It's been quite the evening." He chuckles out the understatement of the century.

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