middaeg | (CLOSED/ACTIVE)

Entry tags:

(CLOSED/ACTIVE)

Who: Aziraphale & Crowley
When: 7/5, late evening.
Where: Within their residence.
What: You know, just friends under the full moon.
Warnings: Language, probably. . . And consensual, very normal shaving.

There have been strange happenings ever since Aziraphale had first arrived here in this city. Most of it was to be expected, of course, as one didn't just simply arrive into a bustling city full of beastmen and magic without coming to expect a certain level of oddity. He wasn't quite yet used to it, not by far, but he was steadily adjusting his expectations for what he might have to encounter or otherwise deal with while residing here.

Mostly he had just been trying not to gawk at anyone's appearance, if he were going to be completely honest. It was just such a difficult affair when he was so delightfully interested in all of the variety that the beastmen had to offer. Oh, he had even seen some fishfolk!

No, the strangest part had been himself.

It was a small thing or so he had been telling himself when it first started. It was just a little nail growth! Albeit a very stubborn one, but surely nothing more than that. He would wake up with claws—of all things!—and promptly clip them off only for them to reappear the next morning. Next had been the teeth. It was barely noticeable in the beginning, but each day it got a little less so. Sharper, more pronounced, and absolutely dreadful.

Hopefully Crowley hadn't noticed that he had begun to take precautions not to reveal his teeth.

Hopefully.

Unfortunately, there had been a new development after evening fell today. Small, uneven patches of thick, white fur had appeared on his legs. He desperately wanted to dismiss it as unchecked hair, but it was too noticeably different from the sort of leg hair that human bodies were supposed to get. This was fur! It was fur!

Swallowing down his panic and horror, he had left his bedroom to call out to the rest of the cottage.

"Crowley—" he starts, already looking for a familiar streak of red hair.

"Something is wrong."

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As soon as he feels the warmth of Crowley's hand against his leg, Aziraphale quickly realises that he definitely has made a mistake here. This was the wrong decision. He should have never agreed to this or allowed for it to go so far, far enough that Crowley is gently and thoughtfully running his fingers against him. Oh, that should never have been allowed.

He should stop this. He should tell Crowley in no uncertain terms that they'll have to find another solution, any other solution—

Except, he doesn't.

Aziraphale can't seem to say anything at all, the words heavy on his tongue as he watches Crowley's face. He's not quite sure what it is he is looking for, but something surely. Surely, surely, surely. A sign, maybe, about how Crowley feels about all of this. He cannot help but wonder.

Although, he supposes that a bright side to this is that the touching itself isn't unpleasant. Not by far. It's actually quite nice beyond the strange way that it makes his stomach tighten. He supposes that's less about Crowley and more about the way he had gotten worked up earlier, tense and panicked. Of course he ought to feel a little strange now, a little restless, and a little too warm.

"Ah," he says after a long moment, finally acknowledging that Crowley had been speaking. He hadn't processed any of it, not a word. Nothing important, he's sure, so he simply nods. If it weren't so uncouth, he might have asked him to put his hand back. Just for a few more minutes.

"Yes, right."

Crowley is busy enough setting down a hand towel and unpacking the bathroom cupboard that he doesn't quite notice the hesitation.

"You want me to use yours?" he prompts, fishing out the straight razor and turning to Aziraphale again curiously. "Was going to use my safety razor but this might be cleaner."

Sharper too, honestly. Though maybe sharper is more dangerous. Crowley has vague mental images of himself cutting open Aziraphale's leg accidentally and frowns down at the razor in thought, wondering if he should reconsider.

Probably not! Just a razor, how hard can it be?

"Got all your bits too," he carries on, glancing around at the brush, shaving cream and little bowl. More effort than Crowley normally goes to, honestly, but Aziraphale likes a sense of ritual and he supposes there's no harm in indulging him if he wants to go through it.

Between the two, it was most definitely a better idea to forgo trying to use the safety razor. That thing hardly seemed like it would be able to do the job at all! Or at least, if it was, they would spend the entire evening in here. Aziraphale doesn't believe he could take that.

He might do something rash.

"I believe you might have to. Considering," he offers as he gestures back to one of the patches of white on his legs.

It was fur, after all, not just hair.

Thankfully, he did trust Crowley to be capable with the razor. It was an easy enough task, wasn't it? Stretching out a leg, he tries to offer Crowley a little more room to work with.

Right, straight blade it is then.

Crowley gathers everything and drops to sit on the floor in front of Aziraphale, eyes his leg.

He's very aware of his leg.

In fact, he's very aware of everything about Aziraphale -- the way the fur patches had felt against his fingers, the expanse of bare skin he can see, the warm familiar scent of him. He wets a cloth with warm water and, after a moment of hesitation, starts to get to work.

"Do you know," he begins, voice dropped down to something soft. "I'm pretty sure people pay for this sort of thing."

He sets aside the cloth, begins lathering up what is probably too much of Aziraphale's shaving cream and smirks up at him. Maybe making a joke will make it less awkward? Only one way to find out.

In turn, Aziraphale was also overly aware of Crowley's presence. It was such a strange thing since it wasn't as if they hadn't already spent countless hours together in close quarters over the years or that anything remarkable was happening at the moment. This was simply. . .

A favour. Yes.

Yet, he finds himself watching Crowley's hands and the way they moved with a bit too much interest. Enough so that he almost starts when Crowley glances back up, but instead he lets out a quiet whuff of a laugh.

"Is this how you intend to make a living then?"

Wasn't there already a famous demon barber?

"Probably a market for that here, you know. Pies included."

If there's monsters, probably some eat weird things, right? Maybe that's not a reassuring thing to say.

"Anyway," he adds, "dunno if I'm up to the whole barber thing. You'll have to tell me how I do, yeah?"

Aziraphale has been to a lot of barbers in his time. Surely he'll know. Picking up the brush he begins applying the shaving cream, frowning in concentration as he does. How much should he use on legs? Are legs more or less sensitive than a face? Does the thickness of the fur change that? Crowley has no idea, but he's going to give it his best try.

Ah, yes. That's the one. Horrifying thought, that.

Although, it does make him wonder if anyone here in this place were able to do anything as fantastic as regenerate parts of their body. Someone must be able to, shouldn't they? If there was all this magic and wild transformation going on, it stood to reason that someone would turn into something that could. Lizards, maybe? Couldn't spiders as well? Or was there magic that allowed it?

"You'll do fine."

It's simple enough. Surely, there's no way that Crowley could somehow mess up shaving.

Still, he opts for trying to guide him a little. Just in case.

"Just apply it evenly," he suggests.

"Evenly, yeah," Crowley says, painting it on it strokes that aren't necessarily even at all. Are you meant to lather it in little circles? Maybe you're meant to later it little circles. Doesn't matter so long as it's all covered, right?

"Wonder if they teach a spell for this in witch school," he says. "Leg-shaving spell. Maybe a bit niche, but probably a call for it right?"

Must be a common problem. Even women would want to shave their legs. Why not shortcut the whole process? Sitting back he examines his haphazard application of shaving cream, which at least seems to cover all the fur, and swaps to pick up the razor instead.

Even with such a basic and simple instruction, Crowley still manages to start veering off course. It would possibly be a little impressive if it weren't so irritating. More so than it usually would, actually, as Aziraphale's overall patience has been thoroughly exhausted by the evening already.

He lets out a small sigh.

"Evenly," he repeats. The both of them knew that this wasn't what anyone would consider to be evenly applied. It didn't matter if Crowley needed to take a little longer, it should be done well.

Then, he adds, "Do you really think they would waste magic on something so frivolous?"

It seemed a little disrespectful!

"Evenly, yeah," Crowley repeats distractedly. "And I don't see why not. Seems pretty normal that everyone uses magic here. If it's so easy to use then might as well. Like electricity."

Both sources of power, right? People waste electricity all the time, why not waste magic? He adjusts the razor in his hand, thinking, then leans in and carefully begins to shave the edge of one of the fur patches. He uses small, hesitant strokes instead of long, confident ones. This might take some time.

That's a thought. Aziraphale does wonder if he's putting too much into it, but he can't help but feel like the use of magic should be reserved for more important and complicated tasks. It just felt like something of a big deal.

"I suppose," he offers. Crowley isn't exactly wrong in that sort of thinking. There were so many witches and they did need to use their magic as he understood. Crowley among them. It didn't really change how Aziraphale felt about it.

His expression wrinkles.

"It just. . . Well, it seems like bad form. Don't you feel like it should be more sacred?"

More sacred?

Crowley gives Aziraphale a doubtful look over that, pausing in his ministrations.

"Was it sacred, then, the time you fixed that bottle of awful Italian wine that got given to us instead of the Riesling?"

Honestly, sacred? The things they've abused miracles for, sacred really is a bit much.

"That's different."

The answer comes immediately and just a tad defensive. That was hardly the same thing at all, most particularly because he would not put the things that both Crowley and himself were capable of in the same category as the magic being taught here.

Also, on that particular occasion it had been entirely necessary.

"And I don't know if I would put what we do in the same consideration as witchcraft."

Is it different, though? Is it really? The way Crowley's face scrunches up says he doesn't strictly agree.

"Technically what you do is considered a whole lot holier than witchcraft, but you still used it to sober up when we drink too much."

He grimaces faux-apologetically, tilts his head then drops his eyes back to the fur patches he's meant to be shaving.

"Anyway, I thought the point of witchcraft was that it isn't sacred at all."

Politely, Aziraphale chooses to ignore the remark about how he chooses to use his own ability. It simply isn't relevant to the conversation. They were discussing the merits of the sacrality of witchcraft used by humans!

"That's more of a human misconception, don't you think? That it isn't sacred."

Plenty of Christian rituals were just rebranded pagan ones, for example. They could change the name all they liked, but it was still what it was.

"Actually," he starts, glancing down at Crowley. "What do you suppose they worship here? I hadn't gotten around to asking."

Crowley opens his mouth to argue that on that logic, what he does might be just as sacred as what Aziraphale does, but perhaps luckily he's being moved on.

Huh. What do they worship?

"That's a good question," he admits, "I know they're big into the moon and moon cycles. Draw power from the moon, magic... weaker in some phases, stronger in others. Lots of... moon themed stuff."

Maybe he should have been paying more attention to some of the weird mysticism bits of the talks.

Aziraphale nods at that. It sounds right to him. Everything here seems to be closely tied to the moon and its phases one way or another. He found parts of it to be a little charming. It reminded him of the civilisations of old and their popular beliefs.

"Oh, yes. I have heard plenty about the moon. Since it's tied to the whole—"

He pauses, glancing down at Crowley and his partially shaven leg.

"Well, this. The bodily changes. It doesn't only affect the werewolf-folk as it were. It's everyone."

At least, Aziraphale has been assuming that is what he is. A werewolf.

"Maybe I'll start getting weird moon effects eventually too, who knows."

Well, most certainly he would know if he paid more attention. That's beside the point, though. He rinses off the blade, begins carefully shaving another patch of fur.

"How fast does leg hair grow, anyway? Or leg fur, in this case. Never thought about it before. Same speed as facial hair, you think? Does it stop or just keep growing, do you think?"

Does all hair grow at the same speed? Is it different if it's on your legs? Hair on your head just keeps getting longer, but dog fur stays one length. What's the difference?

That is a good question.

How fast did hair grow? Aziraphale had never paid any attention to anything like that. It wasn't as if it mattered or was even particularly interesting. It was just hair. Well, he was certainly going to find out for himself soon enough now that everything was so. . . different. All of his hair was going to keep growing and none of it with his permission.

It was a little disturbing to think about.

His face pinches in dissatisfaction.

"Imagine it would keep growing. Endlessly. Like it does with humans."

He doesn't really want to talk too much about that part. He could already tell it was just going to frustrate him to think about. Maybe he should consider letting Crowley try to learn a spell to fix it. Would be simpler.

"For you, I would assume the moon would cause something like behavioural changes? Supposedly it's already done that with lower impulse control or something along that sort."

"Behavioural changes?"

Crowley sounds confused for a moment, about this suggestion. Why would he, specifically, get behavioural--

Oh. It dawns on him, like a splash of cold water, and after a moment's hesitation he carefully carries on shaving the fur in small strokes.

"Right, of course, suppose it'll happen eventually."

You know, when he eventually turns into a monster. Which Aziraphale isn't going to. Since that's how it's meant to be, leg fur aside. Right.

Oh.

Somehow, it seems that Crowley has misunderstood what he was trying to say to him. Or maybe he just didn't understand from the start? About the whole moon tomfoolery and general effects? Although, he would have thought he would have noticed from when it had happened earlier today?

Or did Crowley always feel like that?

"No, no. I don't believe you're understanding me," he says lifting his hands. "There shouldn't be any "eventually". It should be happening now. Did you not experience anything today?"

Lack of impulse control or anything else like that? He had talked about it quite thoroughly with another gentleman he had met who seemed to think it was a conspiracy. He kept meaning to mention it to Crowley as well, but he didn't want to delve too deep into the topic.

But he thinks it stands to reason that Crowley would suffer from regular instabilities from the moon so he ought to still be dealing with it. Or, at least, he would if anything was going to be fair.

Crowley thinks, briefly, about lying. He could claim he was, just to make Aziraphale feel better, but that leads them down a long path of maintaining the lie if it never happens and then having it exposed.

"Not yet," he admits. Then, just to placate: "might be a little more resistant to it. You know, demon. Might take a bit longer to happen for me."

Technically plausible. Crowley has no idea what about being a monster he might naturally be able to resist, but he can't prove or disprove the theory. If it might ease Aziraphale for a moment to consider then he's happy to entertain the thought.

More resistant to it?

Somehow, that doesn't sound right to him. Or, maybe, he just didn't want it to be true because he couldn't think of anything more irritating than the idea that Crowley might get some sort of laxed effect simply on the merit of him being a demon.

"You're not a demon here," he remarks. He was virtually a human! Both of them were.

His eyebrows pinch inward.

"You're a witch."

Oh! So he does accept that. Then why --

He sits back on his heels, squints at Aziraphale.

"Alright. So explain it to me then. How should it work, this witch business with the moon phases?"

Since Aziraphale apparently seems to believe he knows something Crowley doesn't.

Aziraphale doesn't mind explaining what he knows and what he thinks, but not at the expense of stopping Crowley from his current task. For some reason, he's leaning back and looking up at him as if giving him his full attention was somehow more important than shaving off this wretched fur.

It definitely wasn't!

"Well, don't stop! You're nearly done with this leg," he tells him. He knows that Crowley was perfectly capable of both clearing off his leg and listening to what he had to say.

"I suppose I should start with today. Did you feel any differently earlier or, well, now?"

(CLOSED/ACTIVE)

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