The angel's words struck ineffectively against Crowley's pain. Of course Aziraphale wouldn't blame him. Of course he would try and shift the blame onto himself when none of this could ever be his fault.
Fortunately, he thought, telling Aziraphale about what happened, even though he should already know, helped him calm some and distance himself from his own pain if only for a moment. He felt numb again and it was a relief after letting all that out moments before.
He didn't feel Aziraphale move at first, so when the angel pulled into an all-enveloping embrace and radiant grace the demon tensed. It wasn't until he realized what was happening moments later that he sank into him, allowing the angel to move him however he wanted. It felt good to be held by the one being, however wrong he was, like this. He'd never touched Aziraphale this much, after all, never held him close. They'd had all the time in the world and somehow it wasn't enough time to even get beyond admitting they were friends. Out loud.
But his long solitude with himself had given him more than enough time to reflect on his feelings for the angel, feelings that had no possibility of being reciprocated considering. He realized long ago that he felt more for Aziraphale than he could ever let on. Since well before the arrangement, perhaps even as far back as Eden there were tiny embers of love that he had to keep hidden from both himself and the outside world. Demons didn't do love, after all. But he was once an angel and he remembered how it felt to be made of and surrounded by love. And secretly he missed it. All in all, though he was repeatedly decorated, he was a terrible demon. It wasn't that he wanted to be an angel again or anything like that, but he cared far, far too much. For Earth, for People, for Aziraphale...
And try as Antia might, it wasn't enough to get him to openly admit his feelings to the angel. His own stupid pride, fear of what heaven and hell would do to them, uncertainty of Aziraphale's own feelings, whatever it was something held him back from truly expressing himself. But what did any of that matter now? Aziraphale was both dead and yet also alive and well and rubbing his back as he held him, it seemed.
The rapid fire changes in his life were suddenly overwhelming. He clutched onto the angel holding him again, suddenly feeling very aware just how in public they were. It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night and Aziraphale was forcing humans to redirect their gaze from them. He wanted away, somewhere safe and private. "Angel, please... Take me back... Back to the bookshop." Because despite the fact that he never lived there, he felt the most safe there. "Now."
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rosecarmine
(no subject)
Date: 2020-04-14 10:11 pm (UTC)Fortunately, he thought, telling Aziraphale about what happened, even though he should already know, helped him calm some and distance himself from his own pain if only for a moment. He felt numb again and it was a relief after letting all that out moments before.
He didn't feel Aziraphale move at first, so when the angel pulled into an all-enveloping embrace and radiant grace the demon tensed. It wasn't until he realized what was happening moments later that he sank into him, allowing the angel to move him however he wanted. It felt good to be held by the one being, however wrong he was, like this. He'd never touched Aziraphale this much, after all, never held him close. They'd had all the time in the world and somehow it wasn't enough time to even get beyond admitting they were friends. Out loud.
But his long solitude with himself had given him more than enough time to reflect on his feelings for the angel, feelings that had no possibility of being reciprocated considering. He realized long ago that he felt more for Aziraphale than he could ever let on. Since well before the arrangement, perhaps even as far back as Eden there were tiny embers of love that he had to keep hidden from both himself and the outside world. Demons didn't do love, after all. But he was once an angel and he remembered how it felt to be made of and surrounded by love. And secretly he missed it. All in all, though he was repeatedly decorated, he was a terrible demon. It wasn't that he wanted to be an angel again or anything like that, but he cared far, far too much. For Earth, for People, for Aziraphale...
And try as Antia might, it wasn't enough to get him to openly admit his feelings to the angel. His own stupid pride, fear of what heaven and hell would do to them, uncertainty of Aziraphale's own feelings, whatever it was something held him back from truly expressing himself. But what did any of that matter now? Aziraphale was both dead and yet also alive and well and rubbing his back as he held him, it seemed.
The rapid fire changes in his life were suddenly overwhelming. He clutched onto the angel holding him again, suddenly feeling very aware just how in public they were. It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night and Aziraphale was forcing humans to redirect their gaze from them. He wanted away, somewhere safe and private. "Angel, please... Take me back... Back to the bookshop." Because despite the fact that he never lived there, he felt the most safe there. "Now."