logsinthenight | if i give my heart to you //closed

Entry tags:

if i give my heart to you //closed

characters: Aziraphale and Crowley
location: Home
date/time: Nov 15th
content: Crowley's finally getting his cast off, and honestly we just wanted a log to backtag into during the event
warnings:You came for spoop and received schmoop

After the last coat of paint had dried on the docks, Aziraphale had spent some time putting together a script for A Christmas Carol. One draft later, he was a hundred percent sure he'd gotten all the right lines, and sent it off to Eliot. So now, of course, he is feeling rather restless.

He parks his new bike outside on the street and comes inside with a small armful of groceries from the store which he deposits on the counter. He goes to wash an apple, and starts to cut it into pieces as he pokes around. "Crowley?" he asks. "Are you home?"

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Crowley stares at the sign he's been working on. This is so, extremely stupid. He can't believe this is actually what he has to do in order to get the supplies he wants. The sign is on a bit of board he found at the general store, written over in black ink:

Good Deeds, One Per Person

He only needs to do about a dozen, right? That can't be too hard, right?

He hisses in annoyance and tosses the sign to the side. This is so ridiculous, and so against absolutely everything he is. He hears Aziraphale and stands up, heading for the stairs.

"Yeah, angel, coming, give me a mo'."

"Take your time, dear!" he yells back upstairs, as he arranges the apple slices in a bowl.

He has no idea about Crowley's plan to do good deeds, but it's just as well, since he'd try to help. Instead, he goes about the kitchen picking up odd bits and pieces, putting them back where they belong.

He really needs something to do.

He wonders if there's enough wood left over to start building a foundation for Jason's temple.

Crowley heads over to the stairs and looks down them for a long moment, takes a breath, and does his very best saunter down. His leg is still sore, no doubt, but it's far from broken. And the splint is off. At fucking last.

"How's the dock coming? Ready for the next round of prisoners to arrive?" he asks, leaning on the stairwell as he makes it to the bottom."

"Oh, it's done!" he answers, excitedly, doing that thing where he starts to yammer away. "Not sure yet if it'll take the full load of the boat, but it's as sturdy as it'll ever be, I think. But hopefully you won't be testing that out-- Oh, Crowley!"

He's finally looked up.

"You've taken the splint off." He beams. "You know what this means. Plenty of short walks around to build up your lost muscle."

"Oh, just what I was looking forward to, long walks in the dark in a spooky town I can't escape from," Crowley says, managing (if possible) to lounge even harder against the stairs in protest. "Honestly, though, all the healing's kept the muscle up, I'm fine."

Bit sore, bit weak. Even he knows a few walks would do it good, but he's not about to tell Aziraphale that any time soon.

"What have I said about your gait?" He complains, handing him a slice of apple and pushing it into his hand to make sure that he actually eats it.

"I want you to get better, dear." He leans up and kisses Crowley gently on the cheek to properly greet him.

Crowley takes the slice of apple and takes a bite of it. Apples are a food he's always liked, actually. For the symbolism, if nothing else.

"I am better," he says, wiggling his leg out. "See, all better. You made me better. Well, you and Lunafreya made me better."

"Ah, I suppose we have," he comments, looking so proudly at Crowley's leg. He places the plate down and then throws his arms around Crowley, pulling him into a tight embrace with his head tucked up under Crowley's chin.

"It sure took long enough," he admonishes a second later, gently smacking Crowley on the chest.

"I healed a month and a half early," Crowley says, looking a little put out. "Half the time it should've taken. I think I did all right, thank you very much."

This, despite the fact that he was constantly ignoring advice to stay off his leg. He needed to move around, after all.

"Considering how terrible you are at taking care of yourself, yes, you have." He offers a kiss to remove Crowley's frown.

"--Did you take your splint off yourself?"

Aziraphale kisses him, and Crowley smiles against his lips.

"Yeah," he says, glancing down at his leg. "Wasn't too hard, just gave it a wave and off it went. Figured you'd just fuss over it if I asked."

He would have definitely fussed over Crowley's leg, but he would've been gentle with him, and they could've taken a nice rest.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day, then?"

"Haven't got a single thing on," he says. "You?"

He reaches out a hand, tracing it down Aziraphale's arm.

"Well, dock's done. Food's eaten. House is clean. I practiced the ocarina today..."

He's obviously had too much time to himself today.

But he leans into Crowley's touch and his eyes flutter close, as if he were a cat.

"What, that little thing you tried to communicate to the monsters with?" Crowley asks. Contrary to his words, he slides his hand up Aziraphale's arm to his shoulder, a gentle touch.

"Any luck having them tell us how to get out of this place?"

"No," he says. "I'm lucky if I can communicate to them not to eat all the cookies at once."

He leans against Crowley again, happy to soak in his warmth and all his affections. "They're not very good with English."

"Cookies?" Crowley says, tilting his head. "What are you giving them anything for, anyway? They're just here to act as our wardens, I'm sure of it."

For all that Crowley would like to argue about this more, he loves having Aziraphale lean against him. He runs a hand up the angel's back, pulling him a little closer.

"They're there to-- help," he says, with a little hitch as Crowley pulls him close. "And they have sweet tooths," he adds as if this would explain everything.

He intertwines fingers with Crowley's. "And honestly, they'll eat my failed bakes."

"I have a feeling one of these days I'm going to have to save you from all the trusting you're doing," Crowley says. He curls his hand with Aziraphale's. "Remember, we have no idea what they were before all the light went out in this place."

Or what they are now, really. Crowley doesn't trust anyone who isn't a prisoner here, like the rest of them.

"No, we don't, but I hardly think they want us here or even want to be here themselves."

He has a thought. "Why don't we go to the grocery store? And we'll get nice ingredients and make a nice dinner."

His answer to almost everything is just be domestic.

"Nah, I'm not hungry," he says. "Unless you are, then we can whip something up. I'd rather just stay in, since we're here and all."

"No, just thought it'd be nice to stock up." He nuzzles his way against Crowley's neck as he says, "but staying in sounds quite amenable, as well."

Crowley sighs at the way Aziraphale nuzzles against his neck, and he slides his hands up his back.

"This being coy thing work with all of your human lovers in the past, did it?" Crowley teases.

"'M'not trying to be coy, dear," he answers, breathing in Crowley's scent. "But I'm not trying to rush you out of your sickbed either. I want you to be healthy." He presses a kiss to the underside of Crowley's jaw. "And you are the worst at taking responsibility for yourself."

"I'll have you know, I take excellent care of myself," Crowley says, sighing at the feel of Aziraphale's lips on his jaw. "I, for one, actually preen my wings, unlike a certain angel I know."

He slides his hands to Aziraphale's waist and then up his coat, touching him through the waistcoat and shirt.

Aziraphale lets his wings slip out from space to show that they're extremely well-kempt, possibly because they're still in order from the last time Crowley touched them.

"See?" he says, proudly.

"They are in excellent order."

Crowley gives him a skeptical look, and reaches out a hand, running his fingers over the feathers, then up to touch the muscle above. His touches careful, curious.

"I'll be the judge of that," he says.

Aziraphale shivers. "Is this your attempt at being coy, dear?" He flutters his wings a bit under Crowley's touch.

"I don't do coy, angel," he says. "I was going for gently flirtatious, maybe a touch sensual..."

He slides a few fingers down his primary feathers as he speaks.

"But I can be very, very direct if that's what you'd prefer."

"My dear, if you're not well enough to take a walk around the neighborhood, we'll have to put a raincheck on anything beyond kissing."

But he seems much more amenable to the idea than he had last month.

"But I'd be happy to kiss you better."

"I didn't say I couldn't walk around the neighborhood, I said I didn't want to," Crowley corrects him. "Completely different."

If Aziraphale is playing hard to get, it's working. It's slowly driving Crowley completely insane.

He leans down and presses his mouth to the angel's.

Aziraphale gladly offers him a sweet kiss, hands gently rubbing up his back. He's not trying to play hard-to-get, but he is trying to ensure that Crowley is all better, and doesn't want to delay his healing.

He takes Crowley's hands and draws them around his waist.

Crowley willingly moves his hands around Aziraphale's waist, pulling him closer until their bodies are flush against each other. If only the angel could just not worry so much about his health, just for a few minutes, so that Crowley could properly tempt him, that would be fantastic.

Then again, for all that Crowley would like to be the tempter in this situation, Aziraphale's sweet kiss quickly melts Crowley on the spot. There's nothing that isn't sweet and lovely about Aziraphale, and that is so incredibly wonderful.

Aziraphale pulls Crowley down towards him as their bodies arc together, and he deepens the kiss even as he gasps into Crowley's mouth, sounds turning to little moans, hands digging into Crowley's hair as he starts to lose himself everywhere they're connected.

That? That little moan? Yes, Crowley would like to hear that noise again and again. He would stop time and focus entirely on hearing it over and over and never once think about going home if he didn't have to. Just time with Aziraphale, like this.

He takes a step backwards, so his own back is against the railing of the stairs and Aziraphale can lean against him as they kiss.

Aziraphale basically falls into him entirely, the full of his weight against Crowley as they continue kissing, and he's suddenly aware of and glad of the fact that he doesn't actually need to breathe.

But then he realizes that he's leaning against Crowley's leg, so he jerks away abruptly. "Crowley, honestly!"

Crowley lets out a disappointed noise as Aziraphale jerks away from him. "Awwww, come on, angel. It's fine. I promise you. It's all better. 100%. Your healing did it wonders."

He takes a step forward, back into Aziraphale's space. "Six thousand years we've been dancing around each other, don't you think we should stop, now that we can?"

Aziraphale frowns. "You've only just removed your splint. It's barely healed. And I'm not exactly-- light, dear."

No, as far as corporations go, he is not. And he glows a bit red on the cheeks. "Could you-- kindly stop tempting me while you're on the mend?"

"Is that your way of saying you'd like to be on top?" Crowley asks, raising an eyebrow. He leans down, pressing a gentle, barely-there kiss to Aziraphale's neck.

"Crowley, seriously!" he complains, though his eyes flutter shut as Crowley kisses his neck. His body is the worst traitor.

He presses his hand to Crowley's leg, trying to see how he responds.

Crowley's leg is still tender, still repairing. It'll probably be a few more weeks until he's up for properly running around again without any pain. But his mind is far too preoccupied to react to Aziraphale's touch on his leg, far too focused on the angel in his arms.

He pulls back, but doesn't step away from him. "I'll always give you as much time as you need, though," he says, his voice suddenly serious. "If you don't want this----?"

Aziraphale squeezes his leg gently, and looks at Crowley with sad eyes. "Never doubt that I do," he explains. "I want you," he answers confidently. "So terribly."

He reaches for Crowley's cheek. "We can be careful," he says. "We could... try. At least. If it'll make you happy."

"Angel, I'd be absolutely ecstatic," Crowley says, leaning into his touch. "You really don't need to handle me with soft gloves. I can take it."

He'd rather demonstrate to the angel exactly how he'd like to be handled, but that's another matter.

Aziraphale levels him with a look.

"If I so much as remotely think you are in any sort of pain, we're stopping," he says, looking very serious. "No further questions. Understood?"

Is this what they needed a safeword for?

Crowley fixes him with a serious look that is probably mostly true. Well, partially. "Promise I'll tell you," he says. It's up to Aziraphale if he believes him or not.

Aziraphale believes Crowley, because he always had and would continue to do so despite evidence and advice to the contrary. "Well then," he says, clearing his throat and adjusting his bowtie. "Shall we move this upstairs, dear?"

He gestures for Crowley to go up first, mostly to keep an eagle eye out on his leg.

Continued here.

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if i give my heart to you //closed

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