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.
A quiet, anxious laugh escapes Aziraphale at that. He hadn't been prepared for that sort of question, although he supposes that perhaps he should have been. A natural place to go, isn't it? A reasonable question to ask?
He feels he should say something to better explain.
"Oh," he says instead, resting a hand against the half-unwrapped book.
Unfortunately, that isn't what he had intended, so he tries again.
"That wasn't quite what I had in mind," he explains. He would love to be able to pin down what exactly he did have in mind, but he hadn't entirely thought this through. He had more so. . . reacted. Wasn't there a term for this sort of thing? Thinking more with your heart and not your head? Something like that.
"Now is rather sudden and I would like to think some care should go into setting. . . the atmosphere?"
Right, right, the atmosphere. Gotta get the atmosphere right. Important, that, atmosphere. Big part of all those romantic films.
Atmosphere.
"'Course," Crowley says, "yeah, right, way too sudden."
How do you set a good atmosphere? Can't exactly break out the Barry White here, can he? His face scrunches up a little, trying to think about this. He's all off balance now. Wibbly-wobbly, out of sorts, off his game. It's a great game, usually. Crowley's brilliant at this stuff, at being smooth and charming and fun and all that. It's obviously Aziraphale's fault, doing things all out of order! Would have been fine, otherwise!
Probably. Maybe.
"Err," he hazards, "more wine?"
He's leaning forward to top up his own glass either way.
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no subject
"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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
He feels he should say something to better explain.
"Oh," he says instead, resting a hand against the half-unwrapped book.
Unfortunately, that isn't what he had intended, so he tries again.
"That wasn't quite what I had in mind," he explains. He would love to be able to pin down what exactly he did have in mind, but he hadn't entirely thought this through. He had more so. . . reacted. Wasn't there a term for this sort of thing? Thinking more with your heart and not your head? Something like that.
"Now is rather sudden and I would like to think some care should go into setting. . . the atmosphere?"
no subject
Atmosphere.
"'Course," Crowley says, "yeah, right, way too sudden."
How do you set a good atmosphere? Can't exactly break out the Barry White here, can he? His face scrunches up a little, trying to think about this. He's all off balance now. Wibbly-wobbly, out of sorts, off his game. It's a great game, usually. Crowley's brilliant at this stuff, at being smooth and charming and fun and all that. It's obviously Aziraphale's fault, doing things all out of order! Would have been fine, otherwise!
Probably. Maybe.
"Err," he hazards, "more wine?"
He's leaning forward to top up his own glass either way.