He let the silence last as long as it needed to, let Crowley cling to him as much as he wanted as the emotionally raw moment passed him by and left him too exhausted to argue. Even that, in and of itself, was something of a worry. Crowley never stopped talking, he always had something to say, some argument to make, some questions to ask, and it was one of the reasons Aziraphale enjoyed his company so much. His wit, while often vexing for the angel, was also always amusing.
He rocked them gently as the seconds dragged on, soothing as he held tightly to him and rubbed his hands up and down his back, pressed his hands against the ephemeral place where his wings would have been and stroked his thumbs across his shoulder blades reassuringly. No, he wasn't often this physically expressive with the demon, but it wasn't that it was against his own nature. In some ways, it was quite the opposite, but had been another aspect of his self that had been quashed underneath the harsh, rigid need to conform to Heaven's ideals for so very long. And if any time were a good time to kick off that cruel social stigma, now seemed to certainly be it.
And then, finally, Crowley was asking to be taken home - at least to one of their homes, and he would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't noticed how comfortable he had always seemed to be in Aziraphale's bookshop, how he had always seemed to turn up there when he needed a friend, even if he couldn't admit to it - and Aziraphale gave a sigh, some of his own tension melting away as he nodded and pulled away just enough to broadcast that he was about to act.
"Very well, dear boy. Just a quick miracle now and we'll be home, safe and sound."
There was a snap of fingers behind Crowley's back, and in an instant, they were in the small nook behind the register in the shop, the old, beaten-up settee just behind Crowley's legs where he could settle into his favorite place once they shifted apart. The fireplace in the corner roared to life as Aziraphale moved, looking around the building at their surroundings as if wanting to make sure there was nothing out of place, and with a thought, the deadbolt was bolted, the kettle in the kitchenette was set to boil, and an old afghan appeared in his hands before he wrapped it around Crowley's shoulders and bundled him up against the cold.
The snake hated the cold, always seemed most comfortable and content when the bookshop was kept nice and warm, and at that very moment, the best thing Aziraphale could think of was to make sure the place was in exactly the condition that would make him feel most safe and secure and relaxed.
"There we are, nice and cozy. No one will be able to reach us here, I promise. Now just make yourself at home, while I get you something to drink, alright?"
At the very least, maybe a bit of that scotch he had squared away for a rainy day would help settle both of their nerves, while Aziraphale considered what his next course of action would be.
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rosecarmine
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Date: 2020-05-29 07:35 pm (UTC)He rocked them gently as the seconds dragged on, soothing as he held tightly to him and rubbed his hands up and down his back, pressed his hands against the ephemeral place where his wings would have been and stroked his thumbs across his shoulder blades reassuringly. No, he wasn't often this physically expressive with the demon, but it wasn't that it was against his own nature. In some ways, it was quite the opposite, but had been another aspect of his self that had been quashed underneath the harsh, rigid need to conform to Heaven's ideals for so very long. And if any time were a good time to kick off that cruel social stigma, now seemed to certainly be it.
And then, finally, Crowley was asking to be taken home - at least to one of their homes, and he would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't noticed how comfortable he had always seemed to be in Aziraphale's bookshop, how he had always seemed to turn up there when he needed a friend, even if he couldn't admit to it - and Aziraphale gave a sigh, some of his own tension melting away as he nodded and pulled away just enough to broadcast that he was about to act.
"Very well, dear boy. Just a quick miracle now and we'll be home, safe and sound."
There was a snap of fingers behind Crowley's back, and in an instant, they were in the small nook behind the register in the shop, the old, beaten-up settee just behind Crowley's legs where he could settle into his favorite place once they shifted apart. The fireplace in the corner roared to life as Aziraphale moved, looking around the building at their surroundings as if wanting to make sure there was nothing out of place, and with a thought, the deadbolt was bolted, the kettle in the kitchenette was set to boil, and an old afghan appeared in his hands before he wrapped it around Crowley's shoulders and bundled him up against the cold.
The snake hated the cold, always seemed most comfortable and content when the bookshop was kept nice and warm, and at that very moment, the best thing Aziraphale could think of was to make sure the place was in exactly the condition that would make him feel most safe and secure and relaxed.
"There we are, nice and cozy. No one will be able to reach us here, I promise. Now just make yourself at home, while I get you something to drink, alright?"
At the very least, maybe a bit of that scotch he had squared away for a rainy day would help settle both of their nerves, while Aziraphale considered what his next course of action would be.