Crowley isn't really sure what he'd been afraid would happen -- he supposed even if he said the wrong thing Aziraphale wouldn't leave him entirely, it just might be... more awkward. Still, better not to have get into it at all. He leans toward Aziraphale easily at his urging, feeling as if he's whole corporeal form is vibrating with nerves. They've touched a lot, but never really... intimately. The thought is exciting, but there's also a lot of potential for this to be a bit of a mess. He'd know, he's caused lots of romantic messes during his time. At the last minute he speeds up, a surge of confidence, and squarely bumps both their foreheads together.
The curse he lets out as he leans back is particularly crass, and was very popular in the 90s.
The sound of his own heart beat feels so impossibly loud, loud enough that it feels like the only thing that he can hear at all, as Crowley starts to slowly lean forward to meet him. There's an excitement in that, thrumming just underneath his skin—in the idea that after so many years that he might finally get to kiss him. Finally, finally, finally. In the (mostly) right moment, at the (mostly) right time, and he is already so close. Close enough to kiss, close enough to hold.
Then, all at once, Crowley surges well past the definition of 'close' and right into 'too close', knocking their skulls together. It makes an audible sound, followed by Aziraphale's animalistic yelp of pain as he recoils backwards.
"Good lord, Crowley," he hisses out in a distinctly feline way.
Some part of him thinks, deliriously, that he should have held Crowley's face instead. He could have guided him forward or at least helped control the speed before they knocked heads together like a set of clackers. His eyes close, eyebrows knitting together, as he presses his fingers to the spot on his face that currently throbs.
Crowley reaches to touch his own head, hissing as he reels back and rubs at it.
"Alright, alright, might need a little more practice."
At the... leaning in part, and probably everything else that comes after it. He grumbles softly, leans toward Aziraphale and slumps down so they're pressed closer together.
"Humans make it all look easy."
Though, he supposes, they do tend to start young -- Crowley probably should have gotten more practice under his belt too. It's just that... well, even if he had things tend to fall apart a little with the two of them anyway. He can't quite pinpoint why, but it does.
It's such an incredible thing for him to say and Aziraphale finds himself a little baffled to hear it. Exactly what part needed practice? They hadn't even gotten to the part where their lips touched. Aziraphale would have thought that this part would be easy and they'd fit together like two joining pieces of a puzzle. He huffs and resolutely decides that next time, he will hold Crowley's face.
"I suppose there is no shortage of time in which we could try again," Aziraphale answers after a brief bout of silence, adjusting his arm so that Crowley could comfortably fit underneath. There would be plenty more dinners and other opportunities in which they could attempt to kiss one another. Maybe over breakfast after he'd made coffee for the both of them?
Idly, Aziraphale thinks about the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he had kissed anyone at all. He is positive, however, that no one had ever knocked him in the forehead before.
"Nnngh," Crowley comments, and tucks himself in under Aziraphale's arm. "Don't really cover the dangerous parts in media, do they?"
The high-risk high-reward nature of kissing, that is, with all the painful head knocking. He slinks again after a moment, twisting so he can look at Aziraphale from where he's tucked under his arm. It's the sort of languid twist someone who is used to a more mobile shape might make, someone whose muscles are used to slithering on occasion. His brow is furrowing slightly in thought. Crowley's brain is often a riot of chaotic noise, but right now there's a lot of additional overhead processing going on. It's largely around Aziraphale, and kissing, and potential future kissing.
"But you do want to... try again, yeah?"
Just to be clear. That is the situation they're looking at, yes?
There shouldn't be any dangerous parts. The whole thing should just be simple, natural, and easy. There shouldn't be any danger or peril to it! He has half a mind to just outright say so, but it occurs to him in that moment, just before he is about to say something about it, that there is some degree of hazard to it. Not to kissing as a whole, mind, but to kissing him.
He has a mouth full of sharp teeth that he has already introduced to Crowley's flesh once before—although when they were a little less developed, but still quite sharp. Yet, Crowley is looking perplexed and thoughtful over whether or not Aziraphale wants to try again.
Aziraphale lets out a soft noise.
"I—Well, yes," he says, his voice firm. That part isn't anything he is unsure about. Of course he wanted to kiss Crowley again. He would even do so right now in this very moment. "Truly, I believe the greater question is: are you sure you wish to kiss me?"
"I could bite you again. The teeth have gotten worse because everything has been getting worse."
"Yeah," Crowley says, with barely a few seconds of thought. Aziraphale may well bite him, but he'd rather have this and be injured in the process than never have it at all. The thought of that is... too much. The concept of not being with Aziraphale is too much. He can't process it, can't imagine it, can't imagine existing that way. Perhaps they could... stay together in some limited fashion, but for how long? What if this place accelerates to the point that Aziraphale becomes a creature he cannot be with? What if they lose the chance?
The idea is intolerable.
Crowley squirms to sit up better, pressing close in to Aziraphale's side and hovering barely an inch from his face.
"Yeah," he repeats more softly, then leans in that last inch to nudge their lips together.
There is a very real risk to Crowley's person, to this now oh so feeble vessel, but that doesn't seem to be enough to give Crowley any pause. That doesn't seem to be enough to change the way he is looking at him, soft and affectionate, or prevent him from wiggling his way ever closer as if there were truly no other place he would rather be.
Yeah, he says if it were never any problem at all.
He possibly has a permanent scar in the shape of Aziraphale's bite, might possibly earn himself yet another, and—!
Immediately, Aziraphale loses his train of thought as Crowley closes the distance between them to press their lips together. Whatever he was thinking about hardly feels as important as kissing Crowley. The only thing that matters to him now is wrapping his arms around the demon's waist, carefully trying to pull him closer.
A low rumble begins in his throat, a soft purr that betrays how delighted he is in this moment.
The kiss is a little clumsy, but at least Crowley isn't violently knocking their heads together anymore.
Aziraphale's arms loop around him, and admittedly the plan from here on was not... defined. Should he pull away? He doesn't want to, he thinks. Press into it, then? He can feel Aziraphale's purr vibrating through him and that's...
Nice. It's nice. A subtle tension thrums through his body, straining between the desire to press forward for more and... something else. Some roiling indecision.
He draws back, one hand resting against Aziraphale's chest, and tries to read the mood with somewhat blurry focus. Fingers curl unconsciously to fasten into Aziraphale's shirt.
"Better?" he manages, a little less confidently than he'd like. He feels it is worth checking in, just in case he is getting this whole thing horrendously wrong. There's always a chance.
Much better, Aziraphale thinks to himself as soon as the question is posed to him. It's a ridiculous thing to ask—and right now, of all times!—as anything would have been better than the earlier attempt. He's not sure he could have handled another collision or at least not with any sense of grace or poise.
Gently, he offers Crowley a small squeeze that he means to be reassuring and reaffirming. He isn't bothered, Crowley hadn't failed anywhere, and he was not entirely ready to let this demon out of his arms just yet. In a moment, perhaps, but for now, he likes him exactly where he is.
He does realise that he hasn't actually said anything yet. He really should speak up.
"Yes," he eventually answers. It comes out a little more rushed than he would prefer, but he doesn't think that it matters very much. He leans back in then, moving to reclaim the lost closeness, but not yet touching.
Crowley cannot, in any stretch of his imagination, picture a scenario where he'd mind.
He also, unfortunately, cannot quite form proper words anymore.
"Uh," he manages, and suppresses the urge to wriggle. Aziraphale's arms are still around him, squeezing him even. It's both nice and stifling at the same time. He wants it, but he feels very aware of the way it's cutting him off from escape. He wets his lips nervously, fingers flexing into the shirt he's holding onto.
"Yeah?" he offers finally, then wonders why he intoned it as a question. Anthony J Crowley don't you dare fuck this up. What happened to his confidence? He can do confidence! He can do this kissing thing -- and yes, it's all admittedly turning out differently than he might have imagined. Aziraphale is some sort of Were... Lion and they're in a place where miracles don't work but --
It's Aziraphale, and there's still nothing he wants more.
"Yeah," he repeats more confidently, and pushes forward into another kiss.
The second kiss is hardly any better than the first. It is just as clumsy and unpractised, the both of them unused to being able to touch each other in such a way, but Aziraphale thinks that he likes this one a little better. He likes the hand against his shirt, likes the way Crowley fits so well in his arms, and he likes the small surge of confidence that seems to leak into Crowley's movements.
It feels easy, it feels nice.
Aziraphale is the one to pull back this time, out of breath, but the sound of his purr still loud in his throat. He only puts a scant amount of distance between them, just the polite amount as he remembers how he is supposed to work a mostly mortal body. He had been so delighted, so caught up with just being able to kiss Crowley that he had forgotten that he was supposed to remember to breathe.
Mortal bodies were just so inconvenient.
"Thank you," Aziraphale says for lack of knowing what to say.
What did people usually say after a kiss? Was there even anything to be said?
Crowley lets out a gentle huff of laughter, grinning in easy pleasure.
"Yeah. Not that hard, is it?"
This kissing business. They've clearly totally nailed it, absolute masters both of them. Romantics have nothing on them. Films and novels cannot touch the sheer passion they have. Something like that, anyway.
He hesitates, then adjusts himself to just... lean into Aziraphale's chest. He's taller now, overall bigger than Crowley is used to. He can't quite put his finger on exactly what it is about that, but he... likes it. Likes the warmth of his touch, the security, the scent of him. They sit pressed together often enough, lay curled together sometimes when Aziraphale needs the reassurance, but doing it with intent feels... different. Somehow. Adds an awkward uncertainty Crowley cannot quite explain, a hesitation that he might cross some invisible line.
It isn't lost on Aziraphale that this is the first time that either of them have been able to simply hold one another without some small crisis being the cause. He's spent far too many nights with his face pressed against Crowley, stressed and body in pain, but none so far for the sole purpose of enjoying Crowley's presence or warmth. Never to be there for the sake of being there.
He feels giddy at the thought of it. Aziraphale knows that he is making a weird noise, can feel it just as well as he can hear it, but Crowley hasn't said anything and he isn't exactly inclined to stop at the moment. As long as neither of them address it, he thinks it'll be fine.
"Well, I wouldn't say hard, but—"
It is different, to say the least. Part of it has to do with the fact that Aziraphale had never imagined that the first time they would kiss would be in a place like this or with such a body, which makes it touch nerve wracking. He's fearful he might accidentally make a harmful mistake or otherwise embarrass himself.
"It is nice," he finishes warmly. That much he can say for certain.
Crowley winks playfully -- too bold? He's not sure, but jokes might break the subtle tension so worth a try.
He feels, bone deep, a desperate urge to fidget. Sitting still is difficult without something to occupy his hands, with too much quiet so his thoughts spin constantly out of control. Yet moving or pulling back might break the moment, and he isn't... sure what else to do. Beyond keeping himself glued to Aziraphale, anyway. The hand not latched into Aziraphale's clothing moves up and, cautiously, fingertips trace along the line of his jaw.
A part of Aziraphale wonders what exactly he should be doing next. All of the important things have been covered: they have kissed, established their relationship, and now he has Crowley seated comfortably in his arms. Where is he supposed to go from here? He has, admittedly, not thought that far about it.
He never thought he would need to. He always thought things would just flow naturally, but now he isn't sure how to act, but he knows that he doesn't really want to let go yet. He just wants to hold him for a little longer.
"I must say, I hope for it to never be hard," he comments gently, not catching on to Crowley's meaning. He leans into Crowley's touch then, very lightly pressing against his fingers.
There goes another perfectly good joke, wasted entirely on Aziraphale.
Still.
It's nice regardless.
"Feels good," Crowley admits, because there's no point not admitting that. "Don't you worry, angel, you got this."
The holding on thing. Master of that too, along with the kissing.
He lets his hand drop from Aziraphale's jaw, resting it over his collarbone and just relaxing for a moment. Thinking. Well, he did the date bit, which Aziraphale had specified was necessary. They've done the kissing bit. Is there a list of things they're meant to do after this, in order? He can't really remember. His brain feels like it's struggling to recall important information, and instead all he can think about is how he can feel Aziraphale's heartbeat. How warm he feels.
"Guess we gotta organise the second date now."
That makes sense, doesn't it? There's a series of dates, usually? That's how courting worked, anyway, and nobody really does proper courting anymore but Aziraphale probably does.
Oh, that's right, isn't it? The first one is only just the beginning. There were many more dates to be had in the future and many more evenings to be spent on the couch just like this. He didn't have to try to make sure this current moment lasted because he isn't going to be running short of them any time soon. Well, ideally, anyway.
What a nice thought.
"I believe you're right," Aziraphale says warmly. Shifting his position, just a bit, he moves to rub his cheek against Crowley, gently nuzzling him. What should the second date be like? Another dinner outing or should they actually attempt to go somewhere, or—
Oh. Actually, shouldn't it be somewhere Crowley wanted?
Crowley thinks about that, absently letting himself enjoy the gentle nuzzle. The attention is.... good. Warm. Relaxing.
Mmmm.
"Some music be nice," he says finally. "Think they play music here sometimes, don't they? Must be some decent things."
Would be nice to go to something, absorb some atmosphere. Aziraphale would enjoy the dressing up part too, he's sure. Heading to a concert hall, having a glass of champagne, all that fussy stuff. Crowley could probably entertain himself dressing up too, wear something a little period inappropriate. Just for fun.
What a lovely answer! Elliot, who doesn't seem to be in the city anymore, had been quite the little connoisseur when it came to music. Not only did he teach for a living, but he also introduced Aziraphale to some of the music halls. He was such a lovely young man, it was something of a shame for him to be gone.
Although, mostly a relief.
"I have seen a decent amount of music halls around," Aziraphale remarks, trying to sound somewhat casual about it but there is no disguising the amount of excitement in his voice. "Some of them are rather formal, but it's been quite a while since either of us dressed up!"
He smiles.
"We could take a nice stroll afterwards. Do you recall the last time we went to opera and then went on a little walk through the streets?" he asks. The performance had been so lovely and it had been truly enjoyable to just spend a little time walking about before heading back to the shop.
Ohhh, yeah, a nice walk. Crowley nods, lips quirking into a smile at Aziraphale's barely contained excitement.
"Be good," he says, "little adventure, just the two of us. Find somewhere you can have a treat after, too."
Must be some late night dessert places here, Crowley is sure. Maybe not crepes specifically but something Aziraphale can enjoy, to eat while they wind down after the music.
It would be nice, to think they could just... enjoy themselves that way. It would be nice to do something... more like the things they used to do.
He shifts the way he's tucked up against Aziraphale, thinking things over.
The rumble of Aziraphale's delighted purring has remained steady throughout their conversation, nearly fading off into background noise. It's an honest reflection of his current mood, pleased to be just where he is and with Crowley tucked comfortably against him. As well discussing such a pleasurable topic as future dates for the two of them.
Although, as Crowley talks, he does recognise that that it doesn't sound much different from what they used to do. Their secret little outings, which had never been anything like a formal date, but almost. . . possibly. He's not thought about it much, but it does feel that way. Almost dates.
Except—
"I must admit, I was also thinking that it might be nice to . . . well, hold your hand afterwards," he confesses. He tries not to sound a little awkward about it, but there's hardly any helping it. That's what would set them apart now, wouldn't it? Displays of romantic affection? Would Crowley even be comfortable with that outside of their home?
He continues on without waiting for a response.
"For the third, we have still yet to go to that izakaya bar. I should see if they serve sushi! I would be delighted to hear your opinion on it."
The handholding and sushi bar both. Should he specify? Maybe he should specify.
Reaching out, Crowley slides one hand to run over the back of Aziraphale's wiggles his fingers to try and lace them together. See? Hand holding. They can do hand holding.
"Don't remember the last time I had sake."
Certainly not since their constitutions... changed. He has to remember he can't forcibly sober up now. Hangovers are decidedly unpleasant.
It's a welcome response, the way that Crowley reaches over to lock their fingers together. Aziraphale meets him halfway, helps thread their fingers together, and gently hold his hand in return. Crowley's hand is warm in his, always so inviting.
He gives Crowley's hand a quick squeeze.
"You know," he says, tilting his head slightly as he considers. "I don't believe I recall either."
He barely remembers the last time that either of them had gotten drunk. It feels like a distant to him now. The pair of them had gotten drunk in the days after their arrival here and then they'd been hit by the cold face of reality and—
That had been it. It wasn't the same when they couldn't will away the annoyance of it once they were done with it. Became much easier to stop after just a little.
"Then let's give it a go. What's the worst than can happen, eh?"
Quite a lot, but that aside it's still a good idea. Crowley leans up just a little, reaches out for his abandoned glass of brandy with his free hand and takes a small sip. He shuffles to sit up a little more, squirming so he can be tucked into Aziraphale and hold his hand while still keeping hold of the bandy.
"Anyway," he says softly, "plenty more nights out to plan. Just the two of us."
Years and years of dates to go yet. They have time to get it right, somehow.
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Crowley isn't really sure what he'd been afraid would happen -- he supposed even if he said the wrong thing Aziraphale wouldn't leave him entirely, it just might be... more awkward. Still, better not to have get into it at all. He leans toward Aziraphale easily at his urging, feeling as if he's whole corporeal form is vibrating with nerves. They've touched a lot, but never really... intimately. The thought is exciting, but there's also a lot of potential for this to be a bit of a mess. He'd know, he's caused lots of romantic messes during his time. At the last minute he speeds up, a surge of confidence, and squarely bumps both their foreheads together.
The curse he lets out as he leans back is particularly crass, and was very popular in the 90s.
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Then, all at once, Crowley surges well past the definition of 'close' and right into 'too close', knocking their skulls together. It makes an audible sound, followed by Aziraphale's animalistic yelp of pain as he recoils backwards.
"Good lord, Crowley," he hisses out in a distinctly feline way.
Some part of him thinks, deliriously, that he should have held Crowley's face instead. He could have guided him forward or at least helped control the speed before they knocked heads together like a set of clackers. His eyes close, eyebrows knitting together, as he presses his fingers to the spot on his face that currently throbs.
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Crowley reaches to touch his own head, hissing as he reels back and rubs at it.
"Alright, alright, might need a little more practice."
At the... leaning in part, and probably everything else that comes after it. He grumbles softly, leans toward Aziraphale and slumps down so they're pressed closer together.
"Humans make it all look easy."
Though, he supposes, they do tend to start young -- Crowley probably should have gotten more practice under his belt too. It's just that... well, even if he had things tend to fall apart a little with the two of them anyway. He can't quite pinpoint why, but it does.
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It's such an incredible thing for him to say and Aziraphale finds himself a little baffled to hear it. Exactly what part needed practice? They hadn't even gotten to the part where their lips touched. Aziraphale would have thought that this part would be easy and they'd fit together like two joining pieces of a puzzle. He huffs and resolutely decides that next time, he will hold Crowley's face.
"I suppose there is no shortage of time in which we could try again," Aziraphale answers after a brief bout of silence, adjusting his arm so that Crowley could comfortably fit underneath. There would be plenty more dinners and other opportunities in which they could attempt to kiss one another. Maybe over breakfast after he'd made coffee for the both of them?
Idly, Aziraphale thinks about the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he had kissed anyone at all. He is positive, however, that no one had ever knocked him in the forehead before.
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The high-risk high-reward nature of kissing, that is, with all the painful head knocking. He slinks again after a moment, twisting so he can look at Aziraphale from where he's tucked under his arm. It's the sort of languid twist someone who is used to a more mobile shape might make, someone whose muscles are used to slithering on occasion. His brow is furrowing slightly in thought. Crowley's brain is often a riot of chaotic noise, but right now there's a lot of additional overhead processing going on. It's largely around Aziraphale, and kissing, and potential future kissing.
"But you do want to... try again, yeah?"
Just to be clear. That is the situation they're looking at, yes?
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He has a mouth full of sharp teeth that he has already introduced to Crowley's flesh once before—although when they were a little less developed, but still quite sharp. Yet, Crowley is looking perplexed and thoughtful over whether or not Aziraphale wants to try again.
Aziraphale lets out a soft noise.
"I—Well, yes," he says, his voice firm. That part isn't anything he is unsure about. Of course he wanted to kiss Crowley again. He would even do so right now in this very moment. "Truly, I believe the greater question is: are you sure you wish to kiss me?"
"I could bite you again. The teeth have gotten worse because everything has been getting worse."
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Well.
"Yeah," Crowley says, with barely a few seconds of thought. Aziraphale may well bite him, but he'd rather have this and be injured in the process than never have it at all. The thought of that is... too much. The concept of not being with Aziraphale is too much. He can't process it, can't imagine it, can't imagine existing that way. Perhaps they could... stay together in some limited fashion, but for how long? What if this place accelerates to the point that Aziraphale becomes a creature he cannot be with? What if they lose the chance?
The idea is intolerable.
Crowley squirms to sit up better, pressing close in to Aziraphale's side and hovering barely an inch from his face.
"Yeah," he repeats more softly, then leans in that last inch to nudge their lips together.
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Yeah, he says if it were never any problem at all.
He possibly has a permanent scar in the shape of Aziraphale's bite, might possibly earn himself yet another, and—!
Immediately, Aziraphale loses his train of thought as Crowley closes the distance between them to press their lips together. Whatever he was thinking about hardly feels as important as kissing Crowley. The only thing that matters to him now is wrapping his arms around the demon's waist, carefully trying to pull him closer.
A low rumble begins in his throat, a soft purr that betrays how delighted he is in this moment.
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Aziraphale's arms loop around him, and admittedly the plan from here on was not... defined. Should he pull away? He doesn't want to, he thinks. Press into it, then? He can feel Aziraphale's purr vibrating through him and that's...
Nice. It's nice. A subtle tension thrums through his body, straining between the desire to press forward for more and... something else. Some roiling indecision.
He draws back, one hand resting against Aziraphale's chest, and tries to read the mood with somewhat blurry focus. Fingers curl unconsciously to fasten into Aziraphale's shirt.
"Better?" he manages, a little less confidently than he'd like. He feels it is worth checking in, just in case he is getting this whole thing horrendously wrong. There's always a chance.
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Gently, he offers Crowley a small squeeze that he means to be reassuring and reaffirming. He isn't bothered, Crowley hadn't failed anywhere, and he was not entirely ready to let this demon out of his arms just yet. In a moment, perhaps, but for now, he likes him exactly where he is.
He does realise that he hasn't actually said anything yet. He really should speak up.
"Yes," he eventually answers. It comes out a little more rushed than he would prefer, but he doesn't think that it matters very much. He leans back in then, moving to reclaim the lost closeness, but not yet touching.
"Do you mind if-? Once more?"
For just a moment longer?
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Crowley cannot, in any stretch of his imagination, picture a scenario where he'd mind.
He also, unfortunately, cannot quite form proper words anymore.
"Uh," he manages, and suppresses the urge to wriggle. Aziraphale's arms are still around him, squeezing him even. It's both nice and stifling at the same time. He wants it, but he feels very aware of the way it's cutting him off from escape. He wets his lips nervously, fingers flexing into the shirt he's holding onto.
"Yeah?" he offers finally, then wonders why he intoned it as a question. Anthony J Crowley don't you dare fuck this up. What happened to his confidence? He can do confidence! He can do this kissing thing -- and yes, it's all admittedly turning out differently than he might have imagined. Aziraphale is some sort of Were... Lion and they're in a place where miracles don't work but --
It's Aziraphale, and there's still nothing he wants more.
"Yeah," he repeats more confidently, and pushes forward into another kiss.
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It feels easy, it feels nice.
Aziraphale is the one to pull back this time, out of breath, but the sound of his purr still loud in his throat. He only puts a scant amount of distance between them, just the polite amount as he remembers how he is supposed to work a mostly mortal body. He had been so delighted, so caught up with just being able to kiss Crowley that he had forgotten that he was supposed to remember to breathe.
Mortal bodies were just so inconvenient.
"Thank you," Aziraphale says for lack of knowing what to say.
What did people usually say after a kiss? Was there even anything to be said?
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"Yeah. Not that hard, is it?"
This kissing business. They've clearly totally nailed it, absolute masters both of them. Romantics have nothing on them. Films and novels cannot touch the sheer passion they have. Something like that, anyway.
He hesitates, then adjusts himself to just... lean into Aziraphale's chest. He's taller now, overall bigger than Crowley is used to. He can't quite put his finger on exactly what it is about that, but he... likes it. Likes the warmth of his touch, the security, the scent of him. They sit pressed together often enough, lay curled together sometimes when Aziraphale needs the reassurance, but doing it with intent feels... different. Somehow. Adds an awkward uncertainty Crowley cannot quite explain, a hesitation that he might cross some invisible line.
This, though, this much feels safe.
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He feels giddy at the thought of it. Aziraphale knows that he is making a weird noise, can feel it just as well as he can hear it, but Crowley hasn't said anything and he isn't exactly inclined to stop at the moment. As long as neither of them address it, he thinks it'll be fine.
"Well, I wouldn't say hard, but—"
It is different, to say the least. Part of it has to do with the fact that Aziraphale had never imagined that the first time they would kiss would be in a place like this or with such a body, which makes it touch nerve wracking. He's fearful he might accidentally make a harmful mistake or otherwise embarrass himself.
"It is nice," he finishes warmly. That much he can say for certain.
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Crowley winks playfully -- too bold? He's not sure, but jokes might break the subtle tension so worth a try.
He feels, bone deep, a desperate urge to fidget. Sitting still is difficult without something to occupy his hands, with too much quiet so his thoughts spin constantly out of control. Yet moving or pulling back might break the moment, and he isn't... sure what else to do. Beyond keeping himself glued to Aziraphale, anyway. The hand not latched into Aziraphale's clothing moves up and, cautiously, fingertips trace along the line of his jaw.
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He never thought he would need to. He always thought things would just flow naturally, but now he isn't sure how to act, but he knows that he doesn't really want to let go yet. He just wants to hold him for a little longer.
"I must say, I hope for it to never be hard," he comments gently, not catching on to Crowley's meaning. He leans into Crowley's touch then, very lightly pressing against his fingers.
"Do let me know if I am holding you too tightly."
He can't tell.
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Still.
It's nice regardless.
"Feels good," Crowley admits, because there's no point not admitting that. "Don't you worry, angel, you got this."
The holding on thing. Master of that too, along with the kissing.
He lets his hand drop from Aziraphale's jaw, resting it over his collarbone and just relaxing for a moment. Thinking. Well, he did the date bit, which Aziraphale had specified was necessary. They've done the kissing bit. Is there a list of things they're meant to do after this, in order? He can't really remember. His brain feels like it's struggling to recall important information, and instead all he can think about is how he can feel Aziraphale's heartbeat. How warm he feels.
"Guess we gotta organise the second date now."
That makes sense, doesn't it? There's a series of dates, usually? That's how courting worked, anyway, and nobody really does proper courting anymore but Aziraphale probably does.
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Oh, that's right, isn't it? The first one is only just the beginning. There were many more dates to be had in the future and many more evenings to be spent on the couch just like this. He didn't have to try to make sure this current moment lasted because he isn't going to be running short of them any time soon. Well, ideally, anyway.
What a nice thought.
"I believe you're right," Aziraphale says warmly. Shifting his position, just a bit, he moves to rub his cheek against Crowley, gently nuzzling him. What should the second date be like? Another dinner outing or should they actually attempt to go somewhere, or—
Oh. Actually, shouldn't it be somewhere Crowley wanted?
"Is there somewhere you would like to go?"
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Crowley thinks about that, absently letting himself enjoy the gentle nuzzle. The attention is.... good. Warm. Relaxing.
Mmmm.
"Some music be nice," he says finally. "Think they play music here sometimes, don't they? Must be some decent things."
Would be nice to go to something, absorb some atmosphere. Aziraphale would enjoy the dressing up part too, he's sure. Heading to a concert hall, having a glass of champagne, all that fussy stuff. Crowley could probably entertain himself dressing up too, wear something a little period inappropriate. Just for fun.
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Although, mostly a relief.
"I have seen a decent amount of music halls around," Aziraphale remarks, trying to sound somewhat casual about it but there is no disguising the amount of excitement in his voice. "Some of them are rather formal, but it's been quite a while since either of us dressed up!"
He smiles.
"We could take a nice stroll afterwards. Do you recall the last time we went to opera and then went on a little walk through the streets?" he asks. The performance had been so lovely and it had been truly enjoyable to just spend a little time walking about before heading back to the shop.
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"Be good," he says, "little adventure, just the two of us. Find somewhere you can have a treat after, too."
Must be some late night dessert places here, Crowley is sure. Maybe not crepes specifically but something Aziraphale can enjoy, to eat while they wind down after the music.
It would be nice, to think they could just... enjoy themselves that way. It would be nice to do something... more like the things they used to do.
He shifts the way he's tucked up against Aziraphale, thinking things over.
"Then you can pick something to do next, yeah?"
Take it in turns! That sounds reasonable.
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Although, as Crowley talks, he does recognise that that it doesn't sound much different from what they used to do. Their secret little outings, which had never been anything like a formal date, but almost. . . possibly. He's not thought about it much, but it does feel that way. Almost dates.
Except—
"I must admit, I was also thinking that it might be nice to . . . well, hold your hand afterwards," he confesses. He tries not to sound a little awkward about it, but there's hardly any helping it. That's what would set them apart now, wouldn't it? Displays of romantic affection? Would Crowley even be comfortable with that outside of their home?
He continues on without waiting for a response.
"For the third, we have still yet to go to that izakaya bar. I should see if they serve sushi! I would be delighted to hear your opinion on it."
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"Yeah, that'd be nice."
The handholding and sushi bar both. Should he specify? Maybe he should specify.
Reaching out, Crowley slides one hand to run over the back of Aziraphale's wiggles his fingers to try and lace them together. See? Hand holding. They can do hand holding.
"Don't remember the last time I had sake."
Certainly not since their constitutions... changed. He has to remember he can't forcibly sober up now. Hangovers are decidedly unpleasant.
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He gives Crowley's hand a quick squeeze.
"You know," he says, tilting his head slightly as he considers. "I don't believe I recall either."
He barely remembers the last time that either of them had gotten drunk. It feels like a distant to him now. The pair of them had gotten drunk in the days after their arrival here and then they'd been hit by the cold face of reality and—
That had been it. It wasn't the same when they couldn't will away the annoyance of it once they were done with it. Became much easier to stop after just a little.
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Quite a lot, but that aside it's still a good idea. Crowley leans up just a little, reaches out for his abandoned glass of brandy with his free hand and takes a small sip. He shuffles to sit up a little more, squirming so he can be tucked into Aziraphale and hold his hand while still keeping hold of the bandy.
"Anyway," he says softly, "plenty more nights out to plan. Just the two of us."
Years and years of dates to go yet. They have time to get it right, somehow.