#azrphl

"I didn't know if you'd actually show up." // @azrphl

it’s unfamiliar, the energy that settles just underneath their skin. in all the years they’d roamed the earth, in all the years they’d come to stand by his side, they hadn’t felt this way. some eye rolls, as much as a snake can get away with. frustration. second hand embarrassment that could make even a cold blooded demon blush. but they’d never felt like this.

disappointment. it’s what they’d thought it was after they’d finished a few weeks long— months long? bender. they’d lost their best friend. no, they’d lost aziraphale and that was so much worse. and yet they still stood. using a small demonic miracle to send a hand full of lousy thugs into an uncomfortable slumber. would they wake up from the worst nightmares of their lives wishing for death itself to come? well, they’d never admit that.

       ❝     think you’d know better, oooh all knowing archangel aziraphale.     ❞        it’s laced with a venom that even the snake of eden couldn’t produce without reason. harsh enough to burn their own tongue, or maybe it was the holiness of the others new title that did it.

even after it all, they’d always come to his rescue. they couldn’t help it. the angel could break their heart a thousand times over and they’d still come running to protect him.       ❝     now, mm— that’s sorted. “ a pause, an awkwardness that hurt like a knife. that same heartbreak heavy in their chest.

the one where crowley goes back to hell // @azrphl

heaven had been the ones to organize a kidnapping in broad daylight. not hell. but with shax at the helm it seemed that they weren't above just following in the angel's footsteps. crowley walking stumbling back to the bently along a street, two demons grabbing them by the arms and dragging them into a elevator.

and in hell they stayed. nearly begging for whatever could stop the pain the experienced there for -- days? months? years? they weren't sure. but once they complied, signed their lack of a soul back to hell?

they were spit back out on the street in front of their flat. bently parked outside, dirty and uncared for. crowley frowning at the sight of it.

it was months before they met face to face again. crowley commiting sins that would repulse them prior. human blood wasn't something they liked to see, smell -- nor did they like to cause that kind of suffering. but that wasn't who they were anymore.

you're evil.

it wasn't so easy to forget, even over the words and threats of hell that left their yellow eyes lifeless. scales showing across their cheeks, fingernails dirty as if they'd just clawed themselves out of hell. nothing like the clean demon they'd been over the years.

            ❝      what are you doing here, archangel?      ❞             they hiss, back turned as they feel the sudden warmth in the air of the angel appearing behind them. it's as much of a warning as they can give, unkept wings flapping once before disappearing completely.

it’s nearly the end of the day (for crowley, that is — aziraphale’s closed up shop hours ago) && he’s bored, hungry, && anxious to wind down for the day. he’s put jessie to bed with muriel watching her, so now he makes his way across the road to crowley’s shop. there’s a customer in there, but aziraphale pays them no mind, letting himself behind the counter && slipping an arm around crowley’s waist in greeting. “almost ready to go, dear?” the angel asks, his eyes locked on them with a little smirk. he doesn’t move or let them go as the customer approaches the counter to check out. “i was rather hoping we could be on our way, soon.” // @azrphl

the problem with being a florist in soho, near mrs. sandwich's shop that was just how many guilty men seemed to burst in the door demanding some sort of elaborate bouqet. like they'd assumed they'd be caught red handed come morning. open at the same time, no earlier. you're gonna have to come by around noon. nope. i don't take bribes. blah, blah, blah -- maybe you should think of these things before cheating on your wife - girlfriend. partner. whoever.

maybe it was something about them being a demon that attracted these folks. maybe it was mrs. sandwhich's attempt to get them more buisness. whatever it was they were glaring daggers behind their sunglasses at this man who couldn't tell the difference between daises and roses. let alone whatever they meant if you gave them to a woman who was already pissed at you for being gone all horus of the night.

'least guilt meant that mrs. sandwhich's girls got paid better. as long as times haven't changed too much since the last time crowley'd dwelled in that scene more often.

they don't notice aziraphale until he's come behind the counter, staring a bit dumbfounded at the angel. a light blush dusting across freckle covered cheeks. oh, they were in a trouble of their own, weren't they. pen taps against the order sheet, sighing and turning it to the man, ordering that he put something down and crowley'd just make it work. pick up was at noon. no exceptions.

               ❝           sorry, angel. you know how the night crowd is.      ❞    they say, taking the sheet back from the man. forcing a smile and saluting him, and as he walked off into the night the door closed and locked magically behind him. crowley turning in aziraphale's arms to lean back against the counter.

[ SHY ]:  sender  covers  their  face  and  receiver  moves  their  hands  away. // @azrphl

there’s a nervousness that hums under their skin as the work slowly, gently. after all crowley knows that aziraphale cherishes earthly possessions greatly. books, food, clothing. so they work with shaking hands to unloop buttons from his vest. worn from years of fidgeting, from years of wear alone, but soft and warm under their fingers. they do the same with his shirt, leaning down to press kisses to the exposed skin as it’s revealed to them.

they’d waited thousands of years for this, they’d worship him like g-d herself if they were given the chance. they’re careful to un bottom his trousers, sinking to their knees before him as he sat in his desk chair. looking up with fully blown snake eyes, dark with something aziraphale may not know where to place.

that is until their running their tongue across the underside of him. longer than a human tongue probably should be but they’ve found over the years that it’s a bit more fun that way. but as their eyes flicker upwards they see the angel, beautiful being that he is, covering his face with his hand. Crowley immediately moving, half crouched in front of him as they slowly pull his hand away. careful to be gentle.

         ❝     angel … hey. if this is too much —   ❞     they’re panicking, really. too fast, always too fast for him you bloody bastard. now look what you’ve done.

‘  i can give you your wings back  &  i can show you to fly once more,  if you only believe in me.  ’ // @azrphl

they're speechless. rage bubbling up deep inside them that makes their hands clench into fists. nails biting into their palms. teeth grit hard as they stare at the angel. no, no, no, no, no. he could not have come all this way to do this. again.

they'd wanted to see him again. they'd wanted things to be the same as they'd been before and they'd foolishly let their imagination run wild. breaking their own heart in the process.

oh, crowley, your imagination always would be your own downfall, wouldn't it?

          ❝      no -- no. no.     ❞        it's stern, yet quiet.

a hiss seems to rattle from their chest without opening their mouth, already starting for the door because they could feel heat in their chest. not metaphorically, either. hell fire burning where blood should be and if they weren't careful they could quite literally explode with energy that actually could bring harm to the angel.

hand finds the door of the book shop and they barely pause, staring out the window as the doorknob turns red hot,

          ❝      don't -- don't ... reach out again, aziraphale.     ❞        

he’s got crowley’s head on his shoulder as he sits on the sofa reading a book, && every so often he’ll turn, looking down, to give them a small kiss. this time, his eyes linger a moment longer before going back to the page, && he notices ( for the first time? ) a smattering of freckles across their forehead. “crowley,” he says slowly, casually, “did you always have those?” he traces his fingers over the spot delicately ( he also knows for a face that the answer is no — you don’t know someone for six thousand years && not notice something like freckles ).

closing his book purposefully && setting it aside, aziraphale shifts slightly && slides his hand under crowley’s chin, using two fingers to lift their face to him. he studies them for a moment, eyes narrowed studiously behind small spectacles, && then leans in, pressing an experimental kiss first to their nose, then their cheek, then their other cheek, then their ear, && so on && so forth, pulling back every so often just to see the result of his handiwork as freckles appear all over crowley’s face like tiny stars forming a sprawling nebula across their skin.

“there,” he says, content, “gorgeous.” // @azrphl

          ❝      hm?      ❞        the demon asks, tiredly, eyes still closed. though when aziraphale's fingers run across their forehead they sort of understand. or at least, they wonder if that's what it's about.

eyes blink open when aziraphale shifts, smiling softly as their chin is tilted upwards. waiting patiently as he works through whatever it is going in his little angel head. they can be patient, for whatever it is that their angel is looking at it -- and they will. they'd wait for thousands of years if they must.

he's not in control of his actions, not fully, anyway. there's something far stronger, far more powerful compelling the archangel, as he looms over crowley the demon, wings spread threateningly, && —

ah, yes. the flaming sword. he's got that again. might be a different one, this one's smaller than he recalls, but he has it nonetheless.

presently, the tip hovers just above crowley's throat. his eyes, though glowing purple, seem empty behind the... heavenly blaze. his expression betrays something else entirely, anyway. concern. worry. fear? desperation?

his mouth opens, like he wants to say something, but the words don't come.

his hands remain steady. // @azrphl

they'd lost their footing when aziraphale had drawn his sword -- when did he get that back. he'd given it away. tripping and falling unceremoniously onto their back as aziraphale walked forward. wings outstretched as he loomed over him. shit, shit, shit, shit.

they can feel the heat against their throat, swallowing hard as their hands come up as if that's enough to block themselves from any oncoming attack.

no, no, no, no, no this wasn't aziraphale.

                         ❝     angel? angel. -- angel.     ❞       their voice cracks, a mixture of worry and fear and tears that all lay beneath the surface. eyes a wide, blown out yellow from fear.                          ❝     it's me, angel. please. this isn't you, .     ❞       

                                    » [cheerfully] ‘i am in trouble!’ // @azrphl

𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 -- 𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙. so this hadn't exactly been what they'd thought would happen when aziraphale returned from ehaven. in fact, they're almost positive that the being glowing so brightly in the dimmly lit alleyway behind the brothel actually was the tried and true real angel. meerly a blury hallucination that'd their lonley, whiskey soaked, mind had conjured up. it wouldn't be the first time, after all. certainly couldn't be the last. they blink, bleery eyes behind sunglasses that threatened to slip off their nose and crack (again) against the concret.                       ❝      'ssssssssss not nice, not nice,      ❞         they slur, mostly to themselves, as they wag an uncoordinante finger in the direction of the being standing before them. no purple eyes. no gray suit. just aziraphale with a ball of cloth swaddled in his arms for some blessed reaason that they couldn't put toegether for the life of them.                       ❝      'in trouble'. he wouldn't come to me anymore for that -- he's got ... he's got people. angelssss for that. loads of them. any of them could fix whatever messss he's gotten into. wouldn't need me anymore. doesssn't need me anymore.      ❞         the laugh that comes from them next is harsh, almost like a cough in the way it comes out too dry. too fast. sarcasm dripping like venom from lips and they crawl towards the 'angel'.

                      ❝      you --      ❞         they mumble, putting a hand out to touch his shin, fully expecting to pass through whatever drunken figment this was.

                      ❝      you are intterupting .. my very important passing out drunk time. ssssso -- shoo.      ❞         eyes go wide for a moment as they pat a very real, very solid leg. shifting up towards the angel's face too quickly and the world seems to slide sideways with him for a moment as they swallow, hard.                       ❝      angel?      ❞