bookshopped | IC Contact

[ Oh, there he goes, getting skittish again. Crowley reaches for him, taking those hands, stopping them from wringing with worry the way he so often does. Pulls him in for a soft kiss. ]

You can go around calling me whatever you want. I mean, it can't get much worse than lover, anyway.

[ Okay, so that's still half a joke, and he kisses him again. ]

What's it mean to you?

[His hands are taken and it does stop Aziraphale from the usual fretting spiral. The kiss is quite effective too, sweet and gentle as it is. His hands shift so he can wrap his fingers around Crowley's in turn.

There's a little start of a smile at the teasing.]

I'm sure it can'.

[Teasing right back because is that a challenge, Crowley? Would you like him to find a worse term than lover? HMM? He falls quiet for a moment at the question though.]

It... well, it has a sort of intention to it, doesn't it? Of being together, belonging to each other, choosing to stand side by side in the eyes of the world.

[He likes that, the choice, the commitment of it.] Maybe that's overly sentimental.

[ Oh boy, Aziraphale is only going to get worse about this now, isn't he?

...Oh well. There are worse things that could happen. All in all, Crowley thinks he comes out the winner. ]

I just brought you a dozen red roses, angel. For no reason. Being too sentimental isn't really on our radar right now.

[So much worse. He'll try out so many terrible options. It's only a matter of time, really.

For now though, he leans in to steal another kiss before glancing off at the roses in their vase.]

Yes, you did, didn't you? You ought to be careful. I might start to think you have a crush on me.

[ Crowley hums, sliding an arm around Aziraphale's middle to keep him close. ]

It's only been six thousand years and an averted apocalypse. Angel... I think I have a crush on you.

Goodness.

[Aziraphale feigns shock for a few seconds before his expression melts into a smile and he steps in all the closer, hand settling against Crowley's chest.]

I don't know what to say.

[His fingers curl into the fabric of the demon's shirt.]

[ Crowley tilts his head a little, studying the angel for a moment. ]

Say you feel the same.

[His hand lifts, touching along Crowley's cheek, tracing the fine angle of his cheekbone, up to touch absent-mindedly over the serpent tattoo.]

I feel the same. A crush of my own, a rather enormous one.

[ He’ll never get tired of the things Aziraphale says to him. He never thought he’d hear such things, from anyone, let alone the angel. ]

Guess we’re, uh. Married, then?

[ That’s how that works, right? ]

I think there's usually a ceremony, [He whispers quietly before adding,] And I don't see any cake.

[But teasing aside, he loops an arm around Crowley's shoulders, fingers running up the nape of his neck to toy with the hair at the back of his head.]

But I suppose we're close enough to it to count. After all, I love you with all my heart. It only seems appropriate.

[ Crowley laughs, leaning in for a kiss. ]

If you want cake, we’ll get a cake. If you want a party, we’ll throw a party. Whatever you like.

Well, as long as it doesn’t involve a church.

[A pause before he answers because there is a kiss to steal first.] ...yes. To cake. And to a party.

[He adds, hastily.] And an absolute no to church. Something more secular seems appropriate. [The Heaven and the Hell can cancel each other out and they can get married in a park.]

We can - hm. [ Kissing is nice. Kiss kiss kiss. ]

Have a garden party or something.

[Kissing is phenomenal. He could happily spend the rest of the afternoon just kissing him. Any fretting about saying the wrong thing or moving too fast seems to have faded away, momentarily.]

That sounds lovely.

[Friends and food and maybe an exchange of rings in addition to vows? And-- Oh.]

Would you... really want to?

[This may not be the usual marriage proposal, but they're not the usual couple.]

Mm, want to what? Have a party with some cake? Sure, why not?

[ Crowley slips a hand up under Aziraphale's waistcoat, his shirt, seeking his skin. ]

Or are you asking me to actually do some sort of human marriage ritual?

[The angel wonders if perhaps he's reaching too far in all this. Maybe Crowley is right. It is a human thing, and they are not and never have been human. And it's not as if he needs a ceremony to want to spend the rest of his existence with the demon.

But still.

A little flicker of a smile and he hesitates before laughing, still quite quiet.] Must not be. Most of the time the asking comes with some ritual of its own, after all.

What are you thinking, angel? You want to... [ He gives him a squeeze. ] Stand up in front of some people and make a speech? Is that what they do?

[ He’s not being dismissive, here. It’s obvious he wants to do something. And Crowley wants to do things that make Aziraphale happy. ]

I've never been very good with public speaking.

[He admits, but steps in closer, fingers hooking into the neckline of Crowley's shirt, tugging absentmindedly while he sorts out his thoughts.]

But yes, I think that's the general gist of how they go. I've been to a few, over the years. It's all quite lovely.

[The angel is quiet for a long moment.]

I intend to be yours forever, or at least as long as you'll have me. It's not as though I need to go through a ceremony for that to be true. But it might be nice for others to know it, too.

'm not good at it, either.

[ He studies Aziraphale for a moment, but then shrugs. ]

But if you want to do that, then we will. Make some kind of... speech, or something. In public.

But you're always so eloquent.

[Ngk.

Aziraphale can't quite help the teasing, but he'll grow a bit more serious at that.]

Really? [He looks so open and hopeful it's probably distressing. He can't help that either. His face just does things he isn't in charge of it all the time.] You'd marry me?

[ It is a little distressing, really. What on Earth - in Heaven or Hell - did Crowley ever do to deserve such adoration? To deserve such a look being directed at him, as if he gets to determine the angel's future happiness?

And when did he start wanting such things? He can't even remember. ]

Well, I'm not going to marry anyone else. Six thousand years! We're just getting started, right?

[ He drops the flippant tone. ]

I love you, angel. I'm never going to stop, I'm never going to leave you, so sure. Whatever you want.

[Aziraphale is the width of an eyelash away from actually visibly glowing like an angelic string of Christmas lights.]

Yes. Only just beginning.

[He curls his fingers into Crowley's collar and tugs him in closer to, well, kiss the Hell out of him. But not all the Hell; he likes that bit of Hellishness.

Then he's drawing back.] I love you too. So very much. [Married. Imagine that.] Then, that means we're betrothed. Affianced. [What's the term in favor these days? The angel leaves that subject to hop to the next because something has struck him.]

Oh! Though we've skipped the usual proposal etiquette. [He fiddles with the small gold ring on his little finger, slipping it off and reaching for the demon's hand. Not exactly traditional, but Aziraphale hopes that's all right.]

[ Perhaps that kiss has Crowley a little flabbergasted, or maybe he’s just so in love with the angel that he doesn’t even think to question or protest. He just lets Aziraphale take his hand, even put the ring on him, which of course miraculously fits perfectly. ]

S’pose it depends on which etiquette you prefer.

[Funny how that works isn't it? Tiny miracle tiny ring, and an angel who looks so extraordinarily pleased with himself. He takes that hand in his, thumb grazing over the little band of gold now on Crowley's finger. His demon. He moves to tangle their fingers together properly.]

Yes, well. That's true. ...you'll have to forgive the lack of one knee. I did just press these trousers. You understand.

[And really, they're making this up as they go along in any case, which seems appropriate for them.]

[ There it is. Crowley stops looking at the ring on his finger long enough to roll his eyes at the angel affectionately. ]

Heaven forbid you get wrinkled trousers.

Yet.

[ He smirks a bit. ]

IC Contact - MaskOrMenace

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