Aziraphale was careful not to react when Crowley spoke up, except for letting his hand slip away from Crowley's cheek when he sat up, and met his gaze, watching him sober himself a little. He was determined not to foul this up, not while Crowley was so clearly in need of him to...understand, to show him that it was all right. If he'd misread the signals, if Crowley didn't want to be praised, then he'd stop, but he wouldn't cease holding him, reassuring him--he saw no need to cease doing that. Yet that didn't seem to be what was on Crowley's mind. Aziraphale folded his hand gently around the demon’s when he took it, and smiled; it would have been impossible not to be touched by the earnestness in his voice or the way he spoke as though desperate to convince Aziraphale that he was kind, and good, and true...the theological question of the kindness of angels was one up for debate, but Aziraphale knew it was his nature to try to spread kindness where he could. It was more astonishing, in his opinion, that a demon would do the same in his own backhanded way, though of course he’d never been allowed to say this to Crowley before.
Aziraphale put his other hand over Crowley’s too, squeezing his hand reassuringly between both of his. “Thank you, Crowley. I don’t mean to say that any of that is untrue. I meant I won’t ever lie to you out of kindness.” He watched Crowley gravely, wanting him to understand this. His head tilted quizzically when Crowley said a demon shouldn’t want to be good. He supposed that was true if one considered only the host of Hell; but one could also argue that demons had once been angels, too. He wondered if there were others who remembered it the way Crowley did, who so clearly perceived humanity’s suffering, all their creative ways of inflicting pain on one another, and didn’t like what they saw. Aziraphale didn’t think there were any others like him, but then he himself wasn’t much like other angels either. They’d both outgrown their respective sides too much.
“I know. I know why you couldn’t let me say it, Crowley.” Aziraphale lifted one of his hands to the demon’s wet cheek, brushing at the track of a tear with his thumb, and then slid it back into his hair again and drew Crowley’s head down to his shoulder. His grip tightened fiercely: he wouldn’t let Crowley stay in pain if he could help it. “But you have nothing to feel ashamed of. What does it matter if you don’t want what other demons want? Haven’t you been telling me, we’re on our own side? Surely we get to decide now.”
He pressed his lips to Crowley’s temple, following new and urgent impulses, giving in to the ways he wanted to touch him. They could do whatever they wanted now. “You can be good, if you’d like,” Aziraphale said in a low murmur. “You can be kind. You can be gentle. You’ll still be Crowley.”
Hearing Aziraphale say that he understood managed to calm something within Crowley, but only for a moment before he was overwhelmed with a million other sensations and started crying and blabbering on in a very undignified nature. He felt like a dam opening, releasing the flood of regrets and fears he'd been stoically housing for years. It was embarassing, but in the face of almost being wiped from existence, of losing each other for eternity, it seemed almost stupid to hide it all, now. Especially when his angel wiped away his tears like this was something he had done for him a million times before.
When Aziraphale didn't pull away, when he pulled him in even closer, Crowley released a stuttering breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Blinking away the tears as best he could, his body fell back into a natural rhythm of breathing, relaxing, finally allowing himself to trust that Aziraphale wasn't going to let go. That this wasn't a formality, or a kindness. That maybe... rendering the Arrangement unnecessary didn't mean he would lose Aziraphale for good.
And then Aziraphale kissed his forehead, and it felt like a benediction. Crowley was always so, so cold, but something in that kiss expanded inside of him, warming him from the inside out.
"You'll still be Crowley."
Crowley was on the edge of a precipice here and he knew it. This could be the end of it. He could sit up, smooth his hair back and find some excuse to go home, and they'd never have to talk about this again. It would be painful, but the other option was much more terrifying. It's one thing to yearn for something impossible and accept as many crumbs as you could get from it. It was another to have your existence's desire right above you, holding you tight. He trembled as he held onto the lapels of Aziraphale's coat, but as a few more moments passed, something resolute settled in his chest.
"We get to decide." Echoing Aziraphale's words, he tilted his head back and willed himself to reach out cup the angel's face with his own hand, gentle and reverent. He was a coward, always had been. But just being near Aziraphale helped him be brave. So, even though he trembled like a leaf in a storm and barely raised his voice above a whisper, he met blue eyes and didn't look away as he said:
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Aziraphale put his other hand over Crowley’s too, squeezing his hand reassuringly between both of his. “Thank you, Crowley. I don’t mean to say that any of that is untrue. I meant I won’t ever lie to you out of kindness.” He watched Crowley gravely, wanting him to understand this. His head tilted quizzically when Crowley said a demon shouldn’t want to be good. He supposed that was true if one considered only the host of Hell; but one could also argue that demons had once been angels, too. He wondered if there were others who remembered it the way Crowley did, who so clearly perceived humanity’s suffering, all their creative ways of inflicting pain on one another, and didn’t like what they saw. Aziraphale didn’t think there were any others like him, but then he himself wasn’t much like other angels either. They’d both outgrown their respective sides too much.
“I know. I know why you couldn’t let me say it, Crowley.” Aziraphale lifted one of his hands to the demon’s wet cheek, brushing at the track of a tear with his thumb, and then slid it back into his hair again and drew Crowley’s head down to his shoulder. His grip tightened fiercely: he wouldn’t let Crowley stay in pain if he could help it. “But you have nothing to feel ashamed of. What does it matter if you don’t want what other demons want? Haven’t you been telling me, we’re on our own side? Surely we get to decide now.”
He pressed his lips to Crowley’s temple, following new and urgent impulses, giving in to the ways he wanted to touch him. They could do whatever they wanted now. “You can be good, if you’d like,” Aziraphale said in a low murmur. “You can be kind. You can be gentle. You’ll still be Crowley.”
no subject
When Aziraphale didn't pull away, when he pulled him in even closer, Crowley released a stuttering breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Blinking away the tears as best he could, his body fell back into a natural rhythm of breathing, relaxing, finally allowing himself to trust that Aziraphale wasn't going to let go. That this wasn't a formality, or a kindness. That maybe... rendering the Arrangement unnecessary didn't mean he would lose Aziraphale for good.
And then Aziraphale kissed his forehead, and it felt like a benediction. Crowley was always so, so cold, but something in that kiss expanded inside of him, warming him from the inside out.
"You'll still be Crowley."
Crowley was on the edge of a precipice here and he knew it. This could be the end of it. He could sit up, smooth his hair back and find some excuse to go home, and they'd never have to talk about this again. It would be painful, but the other option was much more terrifying. It's one thing to yearn for something impossible and accept as many crumbs as you could get from it. It was another to have your existence's desire right above you, holding you tight. He trembled as he held onto the lapels of Aziraphale's coat, but as a few more moments passed, something resolute settled in his chest.
"We get to decide." Echoing Aziraphale's words, he tilted his head back and willed himself to reach out cup the angel's face with his own hand, gentle and reverent. He was a coward, always had been. But just being near Aziraphale helped him be brave. So, even though he trembled like a leaf in a storm and barely raised his voice above a whisper, he met blue eyes and didn't look away as he said:
"Aziraphale. I love you. I always have."