The way Aziraphale's ears flicker and flatten, however, isn't. Crowley's brief feeling of pleasure fades, his interest in Aziraphale's reaction to the history book he bought fades, and all at once he's trying to analyse what he did wrong.
"Angel?" he prompts gently, trying to guess at exactly what he's done wrong. Obviously something -- he really cannot guess what, though. Isn't gift giving all part of the experience? Was the kissing part wrong, somehow? Aziraphale had seemed to enjoy it, though, he's always been a little self-conscious but he'd seemed to like it.
Aziraphale's resolve to not say anything for the sake of keeping things pleasant turns out to be paper thin. He wants to say something about it, has already thought about exactly what he would say if given the chance, and the slight questioning from Crowley is certainly a good enough opportunity to do so.
After all, if he is asking, then why should he not tell him? Was that not in its own way also a manner of keeping things pleasant?
"You didn't have to only kiss my hand."
The answer comes out a little more haughty than he had intended, almost sounding offended. It's true and he is, but he didn't wish to sound that way. He didn't want to be too obvious that he is a bit offended that Crowley would shy away from the chance of a little more affection where it is freely offered. He presses his palm against the half unwrapped book, almost as if saving his place in the process of unwrapping, but he doesn't look over to Crowley.
The confusion is immediately obvious in Crowley's expression.
Didn't... have to only kiss... Aziraphale's hand?
Well, yes, he knows he didn't.
"Err," he manages, nose scrunching a little in thought. "No?"
Perhaps if he leads Aziraphale into talking a little more, he might understand exactly what the problem is. He... wants him to do something else to his hands? Or, wants him to kiss something else that isn't his hands? Crowley is pretty open to both, in all honesty, he thought they might just... finish... the capitalism bit first? Is that wrong?
As far as Aziraphale is concerned, the capitalism aspect is far less important than physical intimacy. Gifts could be opened at any time, any time at all, but the mood wouldn't always be right. That's the more important and more fragile aspect here!
One of his ears flicks again despite its flattened state. He thought himself to be fairly clear about it, but obviously Crowley didn't understand him. Or he did understand him and hadn't wanted to, which is definitely worse.
"What do you mean 'no'?" he asks, turning then to look at Crowley.
Crowley has the slow, sinking sensation that he's falling into some kind of verbal trap. The problem is, he's not entirely sure the right way out of it.
"I didn't... have to?" he repeats, just to be clear. That was what he said, yes? 'You didn't have to'? Which no, he didn't?
It's going to be the wrong thing to say, he's sure of it, but at least he'll have tried.
There were a lot of things that could have been said, a lot of things that Aziraphale would have likely accepted as well, but this? Not quite. Actually, it's a rather annoying answer.
"I see," he says, very stiffly. He taps his fingers against the cover of the book, almost thoughtfully.
Definitely the wrong thing to say, then. Crowley's face scrunches again, trying to process this. On balance, he's quite certain that he has no idea what he should be saying to correct it -- so probably the only way out is through. May as well.
"Sorry, but are you actually angry with me for kissing your hand?"
Just to be clear, which part is the problem? Because Crowley has no idea. He thought they were having a nice time! Maybe they'd finish exchanging gifts, have another glass of wine, curl up together and enjoy the seasonal ambience! Somehow, it's all gone completely off the rails.
Admittedly, that isn't uncommon for them but it's still frustrating.
The question gets Aziraphale to pause, nearly snapping him out of his mood as he's forced to consider what sort of impression that Crowley might have from his end. Was that what it looked like? Did he think that was the issue?
"What?" he asks, ears immediately perking up and alert as if that might help him hear anything said better. Then, he shakes his head. "No, no, no. Of course not! Don't be daft."
That was never the problem at all. Not even slightly.
"I wanted a proper kiss as well!" he blurts out, answering a little too quickly and gracelessly.
Crowley scrunches up his face, confused as he processes this confession. Incredulousness wars with a mild sort of exasperation. Did Aziraphale think he just wasn't going to? That the hand kissing part was the end of it?
"Well I was going to get to that!" he protests, "I thought we'd just... you know, finish with these first and have another drink or something."
Then they had the whole rest of the night to just kiss all he wanted, without anything else on the to do list! Which Crowley is very amenable to, although now slightly less in the mood than he was.
Aziraphale did, in fact, think that the hand kissing part was going to be the end of it. It felt like the logical direction and he was-slash-is very opposed to that sort of thing. He didn't want to appear pushy or overeager or some equally unfortunate third option, but now that physical intimacy is on the table, Aziraphale found that he would like to regularly partake.
He's just also wary of it because he has never forgotten the body he has at current.
"You see—" Aziraphale starts once he realises he's been quiet for a little too long. Of course, the issue now is that he barely knows what to say. How could he explain this?
He clears his throat.
"Well, I don't mean to sound impatient or, or, or brutish about it. I just—"
Somehow, for Crowley, the apology makes it more awkward.
He's very rarely on this side of them, for one thing. Usually Crowley is the one doing something wrong, or awkward, or off script in some way and then having to apologise for it. Or, if not apologise directly, make up for it later in some way or other. He scrunches up his face again, trying to process this. The awkwardness is increasing by the second. It's becoming palpable. Soon it's going to be significant enough to have to register itself to vote and begin paying taxes.
"Err," he manages, "right."
Potentially, he should change the topic and leave this alone. Very probably, Aziraphale wants him to change the topic and leave this alone.
Very unfortunately, Crowley finds he cannot leave this alone.
"Did you think I didn't want to?"
Why would Aziraphale think that? What has he ever done that would give Aziraphale that impression?
For both of their sakes, it would have been a better and more kinder option for Crowley to let the conversation drop there. Did they truly need to discuss it further? What else was there to know? Apparently, as per the question asked, whether or not Aziraphale thought Crowley might not want to kiss him.
That should, in theory, have a simple answer. It should, but it doesn't. It isn't that Aziraphale thinks that Crowley doesn't want to kiss him as a whole, more like he feels that his current. . . situation complicates things. It complicates many things for Aziraphale, so he assumes that it presents some manner of a problem for Crowley as well.
"Yes?" he answers, sounding a little unsure.
Then, he makes a loose twirling gesture with his hand as if to stop Crowley from interjecting before he finishes what he has to say. He really doesn't want him to misunderstand on this point.
"I believe that would be reasonable. Seeing as how I am partial beast on a good day and a full one on a bad."
It would surely be a more enjoyable affair if he weren't.
Crowley opens his mouth to interject, closes it again on command and frowns as he listens.
Reasonable? Reasonable?
"I've been a snake plenty of times, angel, and as far as I know you've not held it against me."
Okay, yes, admittedly he isn't one right now but still -- not the point!
"Anyway, you're not a beast partial or not -- you're Aziraphale. That's all that matters!"
The shape thing isn't wildly important. More of a suggestion for them even when it was in their control, so why really did it matter now anyway? They both know what their true forms looks like, and current predicaments don't change that. Crowley might, admittedly, even enjoy some things about it. Last he checked he was banned from even admiring it, though, so maybe better to leave the compliments aside.
The shape isn't exactly the problem. Appearances were such meaningless and fleeting things, particularly when they are something that the both of them have long since had control over. Bodies were just vessels to house them while on Earth, hardly anything like their actual, honest appearances. Except now, Aziraphale is rather firmly tethered to his body in a way that he has not been before and that previous sense of control has largely slipped away.
"That's hardly the same! It isn't even comparable," he protests. It is a bit like comparing apples and oranges, he thinks. It's in the same general area, but completely different.
"I may be me still, but I do now possess a body that I don't always have full control over. At times when you were a snake, it was your choice and I don't imagine it had a profound effect on how you felt or, or, or reacted."
He makes a wide twirling gesture with his hand, clearly trying to articulate something he isn't actually saying in terms of how his body reacts to things now. He also understands that Crowley doesn't share his opinion here, judging by his haste to speak, but Aziraphale feels it to be important for him to understand the thought process behind the assumption.
Crowley hesitates, considering that for a long moment.
"Technically," he says, "I now also possess a body I don't always have full control over."
Just to clarify that. His might not be growing fur or claws, but it is capable of strange forms of magic he's having to learn from scratch. That and, apparently, the magic can be explosive. He's not done anything explosive yet, but in all honesty he hasn't been hugely interested in potentially explosive magic -- only in utility. Changing his appearance, cleaning things on command, opening and closing doors and windows -- that sort of thing. He didn't have any interested in generating ruddy great fireballs or whatever else it was people were doing.
There is a moment of silence as Aziraphale turns that over in his head, trying to think of a proper way to address it. He doesn't mean to make light of Crowley's situation by mentioning his own like this. He isn't ignorant of the fact that being a witch presents many of its own difficulties, but he does want to argue that it isn't entirely the same.
"Yes," he agrees, "that is quite true."
His gaze flicks over Crowley. Perhaps, it would be best not to make any assumptions and simply ask him. Unfortunately, it just hardly feels easy to outright ask! What if he misunderstood what he meant or required too much clarification? Oh, how horrifying.
Aziraphale takes a breath.
"Do you find yourself in a similar situation? With it affecting how you feel?"
"Yes!" Crowley insists, because that's his gut feeling. Everything is -- different! His magic isn't as instinctual as it once was, his control over his body isn't as fine tuned. It just does things and feels things all on its own! He has to concentrate on formal spells to be able to change his shape. His hair all grows of its own accord without his permission! He can't just sober up on a whim!
Not to mention, his connection to Aziraphale -- does things. It makes him... feel things.
Crowley does, however, have the grace to realise there is a... difference. He hesitates, some of his fire dying down into uncertainty.
"I mean -- it's maybe not as visually dramatic but..."
Aziraphale feels, for the most part, that he understands what sort of situation Crowley is in. He is now crammed into a fully mortal vessel, unable to tap into the abilities that they have both always known, and has been forced to live a life at the whims of his body. Constant maintenance and upkeep, cycling through a list of bodily needs. He understands that, he does. It is certainly no different from him. He also understands that the magic presents its own unique challenges.
However.
Part of Aziraphale isn't sure that Crowley understands his end of it. At least, not very well.
"It's not—" he tries, but stops to take a breath. He clears his throat before trying again. "I believe it's a bit more intensive than that. Then the appearance or the effects of having a more mortal form."
How does he put this? Is there truly a concise way to explain it? To confess to Crowley that he's developed some rather complicated feelings that he barely knows how to deal with? He can't help but find himself a little embarrassed by the situation.
"It's. . ." he says, stopping once again as he tries to figure out how to articulate himself.
Frowning, he turns his gaze away from Crowley to focus on the table in front of him. Perhaps it will be easier to address if he is not looking directly at him.
"Well, I am not sure how to say it. There are certain bestial changes inwardly as well," he eventually continues.
He hesitates. Bestial changes inwardly. There's a certain unspoken implication to bestial changes, one that reminds Crowley of the teeth that had latched onto him. One that reminds him of how persistently concerned Aziraphale has been that he might hurt him.
They've been over this, he thinks, but the fear hasn't gone. He doesn't know, in truth, of anything he can say will actually dim that fear entirely. Aziraphale will still be losing control of his body potentially more and more. They don't know, either of them, where it's going to end.
"Do you think I should be afraid?" Crowley prompts, curious. "I'm not."
That's a lie, on some level. He has felt flashes of fear, now and then. Overall, though, the majority of the time he's not afraid. That's what's important. He picks up Aziraphale's hand again, turns it over this time and gently rubs his thumbs against the pads of it.
"See, bestial instincts are one thing angel -- but the way I see it that's more dangerous for everyone else. Animals protect their homes and families."
Crowley isn't an enemy, so far as he knows he's firmly in the category of people Aziraphale would protect.
While this is not exactly the direction that Aziraphale had been trying to lead the conversation towards, it is not an unwelcome one. No, no, not in the least. A sense of elation blooms in his chest as Crowley admits to not only understanding that Aziraphale would do his best to protect him, but that he would be seen as a part of his family or home.
Yes, the two of them do make a fine family, don't they?
"Oh, Crowley, I—"
He can barely say it. His fingers curl around Crowley's fingers, holding them appreciatively. He gives him a small squeeze before lifting them up to his lips to press a kiss against one of Crowley's knuckles.
"That isn't quite what I mean," he explains. The hard part, of course, is explaining what he does mean. Were there even any appropriate words for this? An easy to digest explanation? Something that might make sense?
"I do hate to be so forthright about it, " he continues on. "However, what I am trying to say is that I have developed particular wants as of late. In regards to you. From . . . well, I suppose marking might be the most apt term to, err, a somewhat overwhelming wish for certain attentions from you. Or, perhaps, I should say 'closeness'. . .?"
The moment understanding dawns on Crowley is so entirely obvious as to be borderline comical. He listens, attentively, as Aziraphale explains himself. Curious, at first, when he says that isn't quite what he means. Head cocking slightly at the idea of Aziraphale struggling to be forthright about it. Eyes narrowing at the mention of wants, mild confusion at marking, then a slow widening of eyes as certain attentions and closeness sink in and take root in his mind.
"You mean like..."
Crowley trails off, hesitating as he fumbles for the right words.
"...intimacy?" he tries. Is that right? That's probably right. Temptations of the flesh, his brain supplies, but that's probably just the right way to derail this whole conversation and even he can see it's been a struggle to get it this far on track. Put that thought aside, Anthony J Crowley, and focus.
"Er, well, yes," Aziraphale answers. He lets out a quiet, but unmistakably nervous laugh. This is not the easiest conversation for him to have and he's starting to feel a little too warm underneath his clothes. He's also starting to feel a twinge of regret, but he is determined to attempt to continue trying to get himself across.
For the most part, intimacy would be the correct assessment.
It isn't quite the most accurate definition for what he is trying to convey to Crowley in regards to how he feels, but it's still a serviceable conclusion. Intimacy does play a large role in what he desires, but it's certainly more complex than just that. There were plenty of unusual feelings also involved along with it.
Feelings that he could hardly explain in reasonable and logical manner.
Crowley looks down at his hand, wrapped in Aziraphale's larger one, and tries to exude an air of casual calm.
His pulse is racing.
"That's not a problem," he manages, with remarkable steadiness. He wets his lips nervously, lifts his eyes again. Aziraphale is, in fact, still there. He hasn't spontaneously vanished to save Crowley having to wade his way through this conversation. "I'd, err, like that."
Intimacy.
Bestial instinct fuelled intimacy, at that. The thought makes his heart beat a little more heavily. He's not quite sure exactly what he's signing up for, but in the grand scheme of things if it's some form of intimacy involving Aziraphale then he's firmly in the 'yes, please' department.
Vivid imagery starts to develop in Crowley's enthusiastically overactive imagination and, briefly, he feels glad he's already sitting down.
Aziraphale's gaze flicks over Crowley's face, studying his expression carefully.
Did Crowley truly mean that? Is he genuinely amenable to what Aziraphale is proposing to him? Did he understand what he means here? It feels doubtful and Aziraphale hesitates to say anything further on the matter. There is little he wants less than to push the point or to make Crowley any more nervous than he already is.
He lets out a quiet breath.
"Oh?" he asks, hoping to encourage him to say more about it on his own.
Although, he quickly realises he might sound like he doesn't believe Crowley. He doesn't, of course, but he didn't want to sound that way.
"Yeah," Crowley manages, and wonders what happens next.
Aziraphale still hasn't finished unwrapping the book he bought him. Some small part of him protests that he hasn't, while another partly vigorously counters that in the long run they can open it any time and right now temptations of the flesh are on the table so it'd be a great time to do some tempting. Who cares about books? Beyond Aziraphale, who cares about them very much actually yes alright fine apart from him.
It's a shame Crowley was never exactly an expert on this specific type of tempting.
He fidgets with his wine, which all of a sudden feels difficult to hold. Holding things is harder than he remembers, and he's worried he might drop it. His fingers feel clumsy, too long just like all his limbs are. He's going to drop wine all over himself and ruin the moment, along with his clothing and the sofa.
Instead he leans forward to set the glass down, trying to make the action look casual.
"Err," he continues, "were you thinking... now?"
Just, right now? Here? He might need more wine to handle this. He shouldn't have put the glass down.
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no subject
The way Aziraphale's ears flicker and flatten, however, isn't. Crowley's brief feeling of pleasure fades, his interest in Aziraphale's reaction to the history book he bought fades, and all at once he's trying to analyse what he did wrong.
"Angel?" he prompts gently, trying to guess at exactly what he's done wrong. Obviously something -- he really cannot guess what, though. Isn't gift giving all part of the experience? Was the kissing part wrong, somehow? Aziraphale had seemed to enjoy it, though, he's always been a little self-conscious but he'd seemed to like it.
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After all, if he is asking, then why should he not tell him? Was that not in its own way also a manner of keeping things pleasant?
"You didn't have to only kiss my hand."
The answer comes out a little more haughty than he had intended, almost sounding offended. It's true and he is, but he didn't wish to sound that way. He didn't want to be too obvious that he is a bit offended that Crowley would shy away from the chance of a little more affection where it is freely offered. He presses his palm against the half unwrapped book, almost as if saving his place in the process of unwrapping, but he doesn't look over to Crowley.
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Didn't... have to only kiss... Aziraphale's hand?
Well, yes, he knows he didn't.
"Err," he manages, nose scrunching a little in thought. "No?"
Perhaps if he leads Aziraphale into talking a little more, he might understand exactly what the problem is. He... wants him to do something else to his hands? Or, wants him to kiss something else that isn't his hands? Crowley is pretty open to both, in all honesty, he thought they might just... finish... the capitalism bit first? Is that wrong?
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One of his ears flicks again despite its flattened state. He thought himself to be fairly clear about it, but obviously Crowley didn't understand him. Or he did understand him and hadn't wanted to, which is definitely worse.
"What do you mean 'no'?" he asks, turning then to look at Crowley.
Which is it?
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"I didn't... have to?" he repeats, just to be clear. That was what he said, yes? 'You didn't have to'? Which no, he didn't?
It's going to be the wrong thing to say, he's sure of it, but at least he'll have tried.
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There were a lot of things that could have been said, a lot of things that Aziraphale would have likely accepted as well, but this? Not quite. Actually, it's a rather annoying answer.
"I see," he says, very stiffly. He taps his fingers against the cover of the book, almost thoughtfully.
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"Sorry, but are you actually angry with me for kissing your hand?"
Just to be clear, which part is the problem? Because Crowley has no idea. He thought they were having a nice time! Maybe they'd finish exchanging gifts, have another glass of wine, curl up together and enjoy the seasonal ambience! Somehow, it's all gone completely off the rails.
Admittedly, that isn't uncommon for them but it's still frustrating.
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"What?" he asks, ears immediately perking up and alert as if that might help him hear anything said better. Then, he shakes his head. "No, no, no. Of course not! Don't be daft."
That was never the problem at all. Not even slightly.
"I wanted a proper kiss as well!" he blurts out, answering a little too quickly and gracelessly.
He could have worded that better, surely.
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What?
Crowley scrunches up his face, confused as he processes this confession. Incredulousness wars with a mild sort of exasperation. Did Aziraphale think he just wasn't going to? That the hand kissing part was the end of it?
"Well I was going to get to that!" he protests, "I thought we'd just... you know, finish with these first and have another drink or something."
Then they had the whole rest of the night to just kiss all he wanted, without anything else on the to do list! Which Crowley is very amenable to, although now slightly less in the mood than he was.
no subject
How awkward.
Aziraphale did, in fact, think that the hand kissing part was going to be the end of it. It felt like the logical direction and he was-slash-is very opposed to that sort of thing. He didn't want to appear pushy or overeager or some equally unfortunate third option, but now that physical intimacy is on the table, Aziraphale found that he would like to regularly partake.
He's just also wary of it because he has never forgotten the body he has at current.
"You see—" Aziraphale starts once he realises he's been quiet for a little too long. Of course, the issue now is that he barely knows what to say. How could he explain this?
He clears his throat.
"Well, I don't mean to sound impatient or, or, or brutish about it. I just—"
No, no, he can't say that. That's far too much.
"I'm sorry."
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He's very rarely on this side of them, for one thing. Usually Crowley is the one doing something wrong, or awkward, or off script in some way and then having to apologise for it. Or, if not apologise directly, make up for it later in some way or other. He scrunches up his face again, trying to process this. The awkwardness is increasing by the second. It's becoming palpable. Soon it's going to be significant enough to have to register itself to vote and begin paying taxes.
"Err," he manages, "right."
Potentially, he should change the topic and leave this alone. Very probably, Aziraphale wants him to change the topic and leave this alone.
Very unfortunately, Crowley finds he cannot leave this alone.
"Did you think I didn't want to?"
Why would Aziraphale think that? What has he ever done that would give Aziraphale that impression?
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That should, in theory, have a simple answer. It should, but it doesn't. It isn't that Aziraphale thinks that Crowley doesn't want to kiss him as a whole, more like he feels that his current. . . situation complicates things. It complicates many things for Aziraphale, so he assumes that it presents some manner of a problem for Crowley as well.
"Yes?" he answers, sounding a little unsure.
Then, he makes a loose twirling gesture with his hand as if to stop Crowley from interjecting before he finishes what he has to say. He really doesn't want him to misunderstand on this point.
"I believe that would be reasonable. Seeing as how I am partial beast on a good day and a full one on a bad."
It would surely be a more enjoyable affair if he weren't.
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Reasonable? Reasonable?
"I've been a snake plenty of times, angel, and as far as I know you've not held it against me."
Okay, yes, admittedly he isn't one right now but still -- not the point!
"Anyway, you're not a beast partial or not -- you're Aziraphale. That's all that matters!"
The shape thing isn't wildly important. More of a suggestion for them even when it was in their control, so why really did it matter now anyway? They both know what their true forms looks like, and current predicaments don't change that. Crowley might, admittedly, even enjoy some things about it. Last he checked he was banned from even admiring it, though, so maybe better to leave the compliments aside.
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"That's hardly the same! It isn't even comparable," he protests. It is a bit like comparing apples and oranges, he thinks. It's in the same general area, but completely different.
"I may be me still, but I do now possess a body that I don't always have full control over. At times when you were a snake, it was your choice and I don't imagine it had a profound effect on how you felt or, or, or reacted."
He makes a wide twirling gesture with his hand, clearly trying to articulate something he isn't actually saying in terms of how his body reacts to things now. He also understands that Crowley doesn't share his opinion here, judging by his haste to speak, but Aziraphale feels it to be important for him to understand the thought process behind the assumption.
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"Technically," he says, "I now also possess a body I don't always have full control over."
Just to clarify that. His might not be growing fur or claws, but it is capable of strange forms of magic he's having to learn from scratch. That and, apparently, the magic can be explosive. He's not done anything explosive yet, but in all honesty he hasn't been hugely interested in potentially explosive magic -- only in utility. Changing his appearance, cleaning things on command, opening and closing doors and windows -- that sort of thing. He didn't have any interested in generating ruddy great fireballs or whatever else it was people were doing.
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There is a moment of silence as Aziraphale turns that over in his head, trying to think of a proper way to address it. He doesn't mean to make light of Crowley's situation by mentioning his own like this. He isn't ignorant of the fact that being a witch presents many of its own difficulties, but he does want to argue that it isn't entirely the same.
"Yes," he agrees, "that is quite true."
His gaze flicks over Crowley. Perhaps, it would be best not to make any assumptions and simply ask him. Unfortunately, it just hardly feels easy to outright ask! What if he misunderstood what he meant or required too much clarification? Oh, how horrifying.
Aziraphale takes a breath.
"Do you find yourself in a similar situation? With it affecting how you feel?"
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"Yes!" Crowley insists, because that's his gut feeling. Everything is -- different! His magic isn't as instinctual as it once was, his control over his body isn't as fine tuned. It just does things and feels things all on its own! He has to concentrate on formal spells to be able to change his shape. His hair all grows of its own accord without his permission! He can't just sober up on a whim!
Not to mention, his connection to Aziraphale -- does things. It makes him... feel things.
Crowley does, however, have the grace to realise there is a... difference. He hesitates, some of his fire dying down into uncertainty.
"I mean -- it's maybe not as visually dramatic but..."
Still. He isn't the person he was.
no subject
Aziraphale feels, for the most part, that he understands what sort of situation Crowley is in. He is now crammed into a fully mortal vessel, unable to tap into the abilities that they have both always known, and has been forced to live a life at the whims of his body. Constant maintenance and upkeep, cycling through a list of bodily needs. He understands that, he does. It is certainly no different from him. He also understands that the magic presents its own unique challenges.
However.
Part of Aziraphale isn't sure that Crowley understands his end of it. At least, not very well.
"It's not—" he tries, but stops to take a breath. He clears his throat before trying again. "I believe it's a bit more intensive than that. Then the appearance or the effects of having a more mortal form."
How does he put this? Is there truly a concise way to explain it? To confess to Crowley that he's developed some rather complicated feelings that he barely knows how to deal with? He can't help but find himself a little embarrassed by the situation.
"It's. . ." he says, stopping once again as he tries to figure out how to articulate himself.
Frowning, he turns his gaze away from Crowley to focus on the table in front of him. Perhaps it will be easier to address if he is not looking directly at him.
"Well, I am not sure how to say it. There are certain bestial changes inwardly as well," he eventually continues.
"I worry for who I am becoming."
no subject
He hesitates. Bestial changes inwardly. There's a certain unspoken implication to bestial changes, one that reminds Crowley of the teeth that had latched onto him. One that reminds him of how persistently concerned Aziraphale has been that he might hurt him.
They've been over this, he thinks, but the fear hasn't gone. He doesn't know, in truth, of anything he can say will actually dim that fear entirely. Aziraphale will still be losing control of his body potentially more and more. They don't know, either of them, where it's going to end.
"Do you think I should be afraid?" Crowley prompts, curious. "I'm not."
That's a lie, on some level. He has felt flashes of fear, now and then. Overall, though, the majority of the time he's not afraid. That's what's important. He picks up Aziraphale's hand again, turns it over this time and gently rubs his thumbs against the pads of it.
"See, bestial instincts are one thing angel -- but the way I see it that's more dangerous for everyone else. Animals protect their homes and families."
Crowley isn't an enemy, so far as he knows he's firmly in the category of people Aziraphale would protect.
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Yes, the two of them do make a fine family, don't they?
"Oh, Crowley, I—"
He can barely say it. His fingers curl around Crowley's fingers, holding them appreciatively. He gives him a small squeeze before lifting them up to his lips to press a kiss against one of Crowley's knuckles.
"That isn't quite what I mean," he explains. The hard part, of course, is explaining what he does mean. Were there even any appropriate words for this? An easy to digest explanation? Something that might make sense?
"I do hate to be so forthright about it, " he continues on. "However, what I am trying to say is that I have developed particular wants as of late. In regards to you. From . . . well, I suppose marking might be the most apt term to, err, a somewhat overwhelming wish for certain attentions from you. Or, perhaps, I should say 'closeness'. . .?"
This is horrifying.
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The moment understanding dawns on Crowley is so entirely obvious as to be borderline comical. He listens, attentively, as Aziraphale explains himself. Curious, at first, when he says that isn't quite what he means. Head cocking slightly at the idea of Aziraphale struggling to be forthright about it. Eyes narrowing at the mention of wants, mild confusion at marking, then a slow widening of eyes as certain attentions and closeness sink in and take root in his mind.
"You mean like..."
Crowley trails off, hesitating as he fumbles for the right words.
"...intimacy?" he tries. Is that right? That's probably right. Temptations of the flesh, his brain supplies, but that's probably just the right way to derail this whole conversation and even he can see it's been a struggle to get it this far on track. Put that thought aside, Anthony J Crowley, and focus.
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For the most part, intimacy would be the correct assessment.
It isn't quite the most accurate definition for what he is trying to convey to Crowley in regards to how he feels, but it's still a serviceable conclusion. Intimacy does play a large role in what he desires, but it's certainly more complex than just that. There were plenty of unusual feelings also involved along with it.
Feelings that he could hardly explain in reasonable and logical manner.
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Intimacy.
Yes.
Crowley looks down at his hand, wrapped in Aziraphale's larger one, and tries to exude an air of casual calm.
His pulse is racing.
"That's not a problem," he manages, with remarkable steadiness. He wets his lips nervously, lifts his eyes again. Aziraphale is, in fact, still there. He hasn't spontaneously vanished to save Crowley having to wade his way through this conversation. "I'd, err, like that."
Intimacy.
Bestial instinct fuelled intimacy, at that. The thought makes his heart beat a little more heavily. He's not quite sure exactly what he's signing up for, but in the grand scheme of things if it's some form of intimacy involving Aziraphale then he's firmly in the 'yes, please' department.
Vivid imagery starts to develop in Crowley's enthusiastically overactive imagination and, briefly, he feels glad he's already sitting down.
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Did Crowley truly mean that? Is he genuinely amenable to what Aziraphale is proposing to him? Did he understand what he means here? It feels doubtful and Aziraphale hesitates to say anything further on the matter. There is little he wants less than to push the point or to make Crowley any more nervous than he already is.
He lets out a quiet breath.
"Oh?" he asks, hoping to encourage him to say more about it on his own.
Although, he quickly realises he might sound like he doesn't believe Crowley. He doesn't, of course, but he didn't want to sound that way.
"Well-Well, I'm delighted to hear it," he adds.
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Aziraphale still hasn't finished unwrapping the book he bought him. Some small part of him protests that he hasn't, while another partly vigorously counters that in the long run they can open it any time and right now temptations of the flesh are on the table so it'd be a great time to do some tempting. Who cares about books? Beyond Aziraphale, who cares about them very much actually yes alright fine apart from him.
It's a shame Crowley was never exactly an expert on this specific type of tempting.
He fidgets with his wine, which all of a sudden feels difficult to hold. Holding things is harder than he remembers, and he's worried he might drop it. His fingers feel clumsy, too long just like all his limbs are. He's going to drop wine all over himself and ruin the moment, along with his clothing and the sofa.
Instead he leans forward to set the glass down, trying to make the action look casual.
"Err," he continues, "were you thinking... now?"
Just, right now? Here? He might need more wine to handle this. He shouldn't have put the glass down.
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