(closed) i'm complaining, i'm complaining.

[benedicus]

Who: Crowley and Aziraphale
When: Maiuril 26th, night.
Where: Their home.
What: Underneath the red eclipse, things are a little different.
Warnings: Language and some exciting adventures of furrydom.

This part never seems to get any easier. For all this time, Aziraphale has held onto a thin sliver of hope that this might become a less arduous affair with some time. Or, at the very least, something that he could find a way to sleep through. That would be ideal, wouldn't it?

To curl up and sleep away these difficult nights until he could wake with a stronger sense of self. To, essentially, press the "fast forward" button and skip past all the unpleasantness.

Unfortunately, such a thing continues to be impossible.

The best he can manage is to lock himself away in a room and wait for it to pass. The purpose, of course, is to ensure that Crowley is safe or otherwise doesn't have to be the object of his attention while he's in a less than composed state. For a bit, this did work out rather swimmingly. Crowley would keep himself by the door, talking or otherwise reading aloud to make sure Aziraphale knew he was there and available. It always managed to help put Aziraphale at ease.

However, Crowley can only follow instructions for so long before he decides to toss them out the window. Rather than remain at the door, where it is safe, he takes to venturing inside to try to soothe Aziraphale with more than just the sound of his voice.

It's been fine so far—Aziraphale's desire to keep Crowley safe far outweighing his other urges.

Tonight has proven to be much more difficult. He's always had a tenuous sense of control on the evening of a full moon, but it feels worse than it has been in several months. His thoughts feel hazy and disjointed, scattered underneath base desire.

Crowley is beside him, half-sitting on the bed, and saying things that Aziraphale is starting to not recognise.

Aziraphale lets out a huff and presses his face against Crowley's side.

Comments

[sparkofgoodness]

The full moons are always a trial, but this one is worse than usual. Or at least, seems like it is -- little hard to tell when Aziraphale isn't saying a lot.

Still, he doesn't need to. That's fine.

Crowley shifts to hold Aziraphale in place as he presses his face into his side, gently smoothing fingers through his hair.

"I'm here, angel," he soothes gently. "I got you. We'll get through this."

After all, they've gotten through it on previous nights. What's so different?

Carefully, Crowley slips one of his hands to grip Aziraphale's -- slowly rubs at the pads on his large paws in firm, massaging motions.

[benedicus]

I'm here, Crowley says as he has said many times before. Aziraphale often thinks that he ought not to be, ought to be anywhere but cosied up to the large beast of a thing that he becomes underneath the moonlight, but he thinks so especially now.

He feels far too aware of Crowley's presence, of the heat of his body, and the gentleness of his fingers as he reaches for one of his oversized paws. How small his hands feel in comparison when Aziraphale's body has taken on this shape—how small he seems to be in general.

It's a little novel, he thinks.

Or tries to think. His true feelings on the matter are far less dignified.

"It feels. . . much worse than usual," he remarks, spreading out the digits of his paw to welcome Crowley to touch.

"I am not sure if it's best for you to be here."

[sparkofgoodness]

Worse than usual isn't a... brilliant thing for Aziraphale to say. Crowley tucks Aziraphale closer into his body, as much as he can. Aziraphale has become so much bigger than him now that it's much more difficult to play the role of comforter.

He shifts to toe off his house shoes and climb onto the bed properly, pulling Aziraphale against himself.

"Nowhere else for me to be, angel. I want to be with you."

He's said this before, in different ways, but it always bears repeating. Crowley might, in theory, be safer somewhere else. He might be better off staying in another room away from Aziraphale until this all passes.

He doesn't want to do that.

He drops his face, instead, to press into a warm patch of Aziraphale's mane and holds him a little tighter.

"Besides, you're keeping me nice and warm like this."

Snakes like heat. Crowley does hate to be cold, even if it isn't particularly cold today. It's a good excuse.

[benedicus]

For the sake of keeping Crowley safe, Aziraphale should really argue this a lot further. He should make himself more clear, more firm, and certainly phrase it like less of a suggestion. The problem, as it were, is that he would rather have Crowley stay. He would prefer for him to be right here, to be nearby, despite the risks of it.

It's a nasty, selfish thing. For him to know and to feel so strongly that Crowley should be somewhere away from him, but still desire it nonetheless. What sort of danger would this leave him open to? What might Aziraphale slip and do by accident?

Hopefully and ideally, nothing.

Aziraphale lets out a huff through his nose, deciding not to push any further about it. At worst, he could always pick Crowley up and put him outside himself.

"At least all this fur is good for something," he remarks. It's hardly cold enough for Crowley to need him to keep warm, but he is polite enough to not throw away a decent excuse when provided to him.

Slowly, as if not to alarm, Aziraphale warms a fuzzy arm around Crowley's waist in a loose embrace.

[sparkofgoodness]

Crowley allows it, settling himself closer easily as Aziraphale draws him in.

"Quite nice really," he admits, "Like a fluffy blanket."

He squirms to sink himself deeper into the fluffy-blanket-like fur, sliding an arm around Aziraphale in turn to hold them together.

"Anyway," he murmurs more softly, "thought being closer helped?"

That proximity was calming. Wasn't that what they worked out before? That when Crowley was close it all felt better? So this should be fine. He still believes, quite firmly, that Aziraphale would not intentionally do him any harm. That it's other people who might be in danger, if he decides to get all protective. Accidents, though, could happen. He's quite strong now.

Teeth quite sharp.

Claws quite powerful.

Hopefully they don't have to test just how sharp and powerful those are any time soon. He doesn't want to give this up. Stubbornly, he won't. Not now they have this chance to be together finally.

[benedicus]

"It does," Aziraphale admits quite easily. There is hardly anything that makes him feel more at ease than having Crowley nearby. Although, he isn't quite sure if that has anything to do with the bond, his current state, or simply if that's just the way he has always felt.

He would like to think that it's the way he has felt for a rather long time now, but it does seem like other factors are at play when it comes to the intensity of it. He would think that normally, the manner in which they are laying now would be enough, but it isn't. He would like to be closer, to hold Crowley a bit more than this.

Instead of acting on it, he tries to say something distracting.

"What do you imagine you might have been if it were the other way around? If you weren't a witch?" he asks. "A fae, do you think?"

That seemed like it would suit Crowley, judging from all the run-ins he had with them.

[sparkofgoodness]

Luckily for everyone involved, Crowley is very easily distracted.

"You think fae?"

That makes him scrunch up his face, thinking about that. He doesn't really know if there's a logic to why certain people become certain creatures. Is there a reason Aziraphale ended up this type of Turnskin? Was it random? Was the lion thing something to do with pride? Was it just some sort of glitch? You could spend an eternity guessing, but so far he hasn't seen anything concrete that really proves the matter.

"Surprised you didn't say naga," he admits, "too obvious?"

Maybe it is. He wouldn't want to be a naga, anyway. Legs are so much more practical, if you can have them.

[benedicus]

There is most definitely not any particular sort of logic to why individuals become what they do here—or at least insofar as Aziraphale has been able to find. He's asked around plenty and attempted to make some judgement calls based on the other beastfolk that he knows, but he still comes up short.

Nevertheless, it is a thought that he likes to entertain. That there must be some grand underlying reason behind it.

He worms his face closer, trying to find his way to Crowley's lap like some oversized housecat.

"Naga would far too unimaginative," he remarks, almost haughty about it.

"I would think, if there were any process behind it, that is, that it would speak to a person's nature."

That and he thinks that the bright, colourful wings would be an entirely enjoyable sight on Crowley.

[sparkofgoodness]

"And you think my nature speaks to sparkly little winged creatures?"

Crowley, who has a strong sense of self, prefers to imagine he might be a striking and dangerous creature. Something people naturally fear on sight.

There's nothing about him, particularly, that supports this suggestion but his ego wants it to be true. He's a demon, after all. Demons are meant to be dangerous, cunning, spreaders of evil and... general discontent. Do little sparkly flying creatures really match that description?

"Don't fae kidnap children?" he adds, turning over the though. Wasn't that a thing fae did? He supposes maybe not here, specifically, but in general. That was a fae trait, he's quite sure.

[benedicus]

The question about the kidnapping of children goes completely unheard. It's a good question and surely Aziraphale would have something to say about it, but he's rather taken with the description of "sparkly" being used in reference to something he was comparing Crowley to. He hadn't thought of fae wings as sparkly, not yet, but now he is. Such a thing wouldn't suit Crowley at all, but it would certainly amuse Aziraphale to see it.

Well, that, and Aziraphale's thoughts are starting to get a little more hazy.

"Are they sparkly?" he asks, a little distracted.

His arms tighten around Crowley as he gives it a little more thought.

Then he adds, "It's a Fae's nature to beguile and trick others. From little to small things. And they do have a certain style about them."

Also, they are very imaginative creatures.

[sparkofgoodness]

Beguile and trick!

Admittedly, that isn't entirely far off. Still, Crowley feels as if he should protest. He makes a low sound of discontent, squirming against Aziraphale's more firm grip.

"Style is one thing, angel, but those little pixie things stole a piece of pie from me!"

Admittedly, they did not steal it directly. He stole it first, then Geralt stole it and gave it to them. Still. It was the fault of the pixie! Are pixies and fae related? Must be, surely. Both small magical winged things. It would be weird if they weren't! He'll keep them all under the same blanket, regardless. Small, winged menaces.

[benedicus]

Aziraphale makes a soft noise, a quiet whuff of breath, that is meant to be a laugh. It never sounds quite the same in this form, just a near mimicry. While Crowley might be trying to dissuade him away from his initial opinion, his apparent pie grudge only serves to do the opposite.

Sounds like something a fae would get riled up about.

"A piece of pie?" he asks quietly. His arms slowly unwind from around Crowley, fearful that he might be making him uncomfortable.

"Don't the fae get rather vengeful over stolen food?"

[sparkofgoodness]

Aziraphale's grip loosens, and Crowley promptly continues his squirming with more direction: trying to find a way to tangle properly with Aziraphale that means he won't get fur in his mouth.

"Wouldn't know," Crowley says with deliberate absentness. "Given I'm not a fae."

Nothing like one! Nothing at all! Couldn't name a single similarity! He cannot imagine why anyone would think such a thing!

Squirming again he rests his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder, enveloping himself in his warmth.

It feels nice. Like heated blanket or something. Is Aziraphale always this warm? He's not entirely sure, maybe it's just been a warmer day. Either way, if holding him calms him down it's really a win-win situation given how nice it is.

[benedicus]

It's not bad—the shift in position. A small, or large if he were to be honest, thought that Crowley might try to apply some distance between them if he was getting a little grabby. He knows that he should be much more mindful about it, but right now, he can only feel the urge to keep him close pulsing through his veins.

"Tell me then," he starts, shifting his own face to rub his whiskers gently against Crowley's face. He's close enough for his words to be felt just as clearly as they are heard. "What would you imagine yourself to be?"

He did never answer, after all.

[sparkofgoodness]

"Oh, I think Arachne," Crowley says, with all the confidence of someone decided on their baseless argument already. Aziraphale's face rubs against him and he sighs in contentment, relaxing a little more into the contact. "You know, monstrous visage, tricking people, trapping them, hated for the spider association even though there's nothing strictly wrong with spiders, it's all there."

He lifts a hand absently, begins to slowly stroke fingers through Aziraphale's mane. The fur is soft, the rumble of Aziraphale's voice feels almost hypnotic this close. He can feel it starting down in his chest, vibrating through him and puffing against his skin.

That's fine. It's all completely fine.

"Anyway, not a little fairy thing that's for sure."

The main point. He'd be a much more dignified and frightening monster.