shipping | psl

Crowley hoists himself up onto the dock, and wraps his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders so he can more easily lift him.

"Don't worry about the tail dragging a bit. It's pretty long."

He did hope Aziraphale didn't mind getting his clothes wet - there was little chance of staying dry with an armful of sopping wet merman.

Well, he was already a little wet from earlier, so he wraps Crowley around him as best he can and carries him off, bridal style. He is quite heavy, but it's mostly because his tail is so unwieldy and slippery, that it takes extra effort to hold him still.

Yet, they make it back to the cabin, it's a very short distance, and Aziraphale manages to get the door open. It's a small, one-room space, and he gently deposits Crowley onto his bed, leaning over him only a moment before letting him go in order to go fetch one of what takes up the most room in his tiny little home: a book.

"Yes, here we go, Denmark." He opens up an Atlas, and shows Crowley a map. "This is the map of the world, and we're right here," he says, pointing to their little town. It's not even labeled, just a little piece of line next to the only labeled city on their island: London.

"And here's Denmark. It's a country where-- ah yes, here we are, Copenhagen. I'll be there for a day or two, and come right on home." He draws an invisible line over where the sea is, marked only by waves. "That's the ocean in between the two lands, do you see?"

Oh - he isn't expecting Aziraphale to be so nice and warm. Like a tropical current made solid. He may cling just a little closer than is truly necessary.

The bed is also a marvel; Crowley squirms around, cuddling into the covers and nuzzling into Aziraphale's pillow. Everything smells like the human and is just as warm and soft. As far as Crowley's concerned, this might as well be a palace in Denmark.

The map, however, is fascinating.

"It's like an inverse of our maps. Where all you got is waves and sea monsters, we got our cities, towns, territories and stuff. The land bits are pretty much blank except around the shores."

"Yes," he says. "That's just like the opposite of ours. That's fascinating!" he exclaims. He smiles at Crowley and then goes to get a pen. "Will you write down where your cities are? I'd like a full picture, if possible!" he says.

But maybe Crowley could get him a map, and he could study the material and get him a map of the land in return.

"I did say I'd get you some tea," he says. "Let me go put it on. Are you comfortable? Not too dry? I don't really have a tub, but I have a barrel bottom if you'd like. It'll be a little tight, but it'll hopefully do in a pinch, and the ocean's right there. Oh, are you cold?" he asks, looking over at Crowley and then procuring a jumper from his wardrobe, and offering it to the merman.

"Not - well, not off the top of my head. But I could bring you my maps. You'll have to wait 'till night to read them though - made for low light."

He shifts, rolling onto his side while his tail flicks to and fro. He wishes he could get up, explore around the cabin, poke at Aziraphale's books and knickknacks.

"And I'm alright for now. Can stay out the water for hours so long as I'm not in the sun," he brags. "What's tea, though? And why would I be cold? Your nest is lovely and warm."

He wriggles more into the covers, grinning his most salacious grin.

"You're very warm too, did you know?"

Crowley looks at Aziraphale quite indecently, and it makes him feel just a little bit colored in the cheek. Why Crowley finds him so appetizing, he might never know. Sure, he was very pale-skinned, a sure sign of nobility, and he had very delicate wrists and the bluest eyes, but surely there were other very good-looking mermen and maids more worthy of Crowley's attentions.

Or worse, perhaps he was just some conquest. And, truth be told, he was rather interested in the idea of getting to bed a merfolk, particularly one he would find himself attracted to if he were a full human - and, yes, he did sometimes have eyes for men sometimes, but only the very sensitive and artistic sort. And Crowley certainly looked like a muse, long red hair and pillowy lower lip, gorgeous lines of muscle from his strong swimming, and very, very shiny scales.

Oh, he's staring.

"Yes, well, I do suppose it's quite cold under the sea. Tea is a warm drink, it's very good for you. And am I?" he smiles, curtly, at the compliment. He's clearly unable to take one such as this from a creature who expresses interest in him where anyone else that might has steered clear once getting into conversation with him.

"Perhaps you just need a little warming up, is all. Ah-- have you ever seen a fire?"

Aziraphale is staring and Crowley can't be more pleased with himself, puffing up his narrow chest and flaring his red fringe. It might be a very impressive display underwater, where he could flit about and show off his prowess, but it rather lost something with him laid up in bed.

"Seen it a couple times, yeah. You get liquid fire coming up very far below, water boiling around it. Can't even think about getting close without some serious enchantments. Then I saw a ship go up once, all loud blasts. One of your progeny fell overboard, all burned on her arm. Got her to shore but - "

He shrugs.

"Dunno what happened from there. She was still breathing when the humans found her. I reckon I like your warm better than fire."

"You helped save a girl? I think I heard about her, 'twas a miracle she survived. They did tell me the seas here were mystical. Oh, Crowley." He sets two cups of tea down on a tray by the bed, and takes a seat by him. "You're really too kind."

"You know, if you... like it here, you could stay the night. I've got some fish you could eat, and plenty of bread. I don't know if you like bread, do you like bread? You just look so comfortable lying there." He looks at Crowley with such a soft gaze.

And he'd like for Crowley to stay all night so they can talk about the differences between their worlds, and so he can gaze into those hypnotic golden eyes a little longer. He yearns to be in this moment with him for the most he can get away with, fresh and new and wonderful.

Crowley's gone quite red in the cheeks, and looks away almost sheepishly.

"S'good to know, even if it may not be the same girl," he murmurs softly, quite a bit less puffed up now.

"Dunno if I like bread. Could try though."

He sniffs the tea, though it's much too hot for him to even think about trying. Maybe he and Aziraphale have very different standards for 'warm'.

"Dunno if I can stay through the night though. I'd like to, very much."

He knows, though, if he can get his hands on one of those pendants for the Chosen, he could stay with Aziraphale as much as the human wants.

"I'll stay as long as I can. Tell you anything you want to know. So..."

Crowley reaches up to touch a soft, pink cheek and grins.

"...Tell me about yourself, too?"

He gets up to cut some chunky pieces of bread, and butters up both of the slices. He then gets out a jar of homemade gooseberry jam, and gives a generous smear on them, before presenting a plate to Crowley for him to have with his tea.

His soft pink cheek turns a lovely rose red, and he stammers just a little bit before continuing.

"Well, I'm a researcher. But I grew up not too far from here, though I'd always been landlocked. There's... hm..."

He gets up again, to unearth a small pastel drawing, one of a meadow on a bright spring day. "This one was gifted to me by my mother. It's just outside where we used to live. The grass grows so tall there, and the wildflowers are so lovely, and there's always the sound of birdcalls and buzzing. I'll have to take you sometime, in person."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley and he's compelled to reach out to him, to lay the flat of his hand on that narrow chest, and try to feel his heartbeat.

Crowley is about to point out the logistics of getting him inland when he's presented with a plate of buttered bread and jam. And lovely pictures in colours they never used in the vast, dark green murals of the temples. There were beautiful things in the deeps, but once the sunlight was completely gone - well. It was just gloomy.

His heart is aching when Aziraphale rests his hand on his chest, fluttering and pounding against his ribcage. Please, he thinks, please come back into your nest with me.

"I'll take you to the reefs then. Show you how to swim, and write underwater, and you can study anything you like."

"Oh! That would be lovely," he says, as he moves closer to Crowley, so close that he might breathe the air that he does. "But... I can't hold my breath longer than two minutes," he confesses.

How is he meant to go visit underwater? He would love to, but it just seemed unlikely, not as much as Crowley visiting him here.

And... despite how warm Crowley thought he was, now that he's dried off a bit, he's plenty warm himself. And he smells of salt and the briny depth, but a little bit of warm spice and something warm underneath, begging for Aziraphale to take a closer gander.

His heart beats the same as a human's, if quite a bit quicker. And his skin is just as soft, just as rouged underneath the warm daylight.

He likes Aziraphale this close. The human's hand feels so soft and warm, and he has such a foreign and yet familiar scent, Crowley can't help but feel comfortable in this place. He's at the human's mercy, in a sense, and yet there's no worry in him that Aziraphale won't help back to the water when he needs to go.

It does make him feel a touch reckless.

Crowley bites his own finger, hard enough to just break the skin, then holds it up in offering to Aziraphale.

"Two drops and you can stay under for hours. I won't let you drown. And you'll get to see all sorts of things you never would from your dingle."

Aziraphale laughs then. "Dinghy," he corrects, but then he takes Crowley's finger into his mouth and licks it, and then sucks the digit, trying to stem the flow of the blood as quickly as he can. It would be annoying, everytime they want to do this, but if it's only the once, he's perfectly ready for adventure.

As soon as he drinks the blood in, he takes a deep breath and it's like there's almost too much oxygen in the air, he feels so free, so energized. He's never felt this euphoric, like his lungs somehow can't contain all that he has. His pupils dilate, and then they too, become slit, to proper navigate the oceans with. In fact, his vision above the water is now blurry, though it adjusts with enough blinking.

"Oh, my," he says. And then, there's something incredibly... animal about the brine that comes from Crowley's skin, something altogether exciting. He reaches for Crowley's side, and slides so they sit with their hips touching. "Shall we, then?"

Crowley's breathing quickens, the sting of the tiny little wound already an afterthought at the sensation of that warm tongue. The change that overcomes the human is, well it's interesting to watch. A bit of him in Aziraphale, keeping him safe so he can do his research. Perhaps come back to Crowley's den, and do a little more research. Or here.

Dagon's teeth, he has never wanted so badly. He'd chalk it up to isolation, but there had been other humans in the past he'd contentedly observed from a distance.

He scoots close to Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around his neck. He doesn't know what the human intends, but he wants it. Even if it's just swimming together and checking out kelp specimens, he wants.

"Yes, whatever you like."

Aziraphale cradles Crowley in his arms and picks him up, feeling so much stronger than he had been earlier, and takes him out again to the water. He steps into it, lowering Crowley into it once they're further than waist-deep, and then diving in himself.

Everything is so clear, bright and beautiful, and he can breathe as he does normally, though not with his mouth. He looks at Crowley, who glows even brighter than he did before, and whose hair is a slow-moving fire underneath the water.

Aziraphale longs to reach out and breathe into him, to show him how he feels, but instead, he swims forth.

And.

Floats.

He's not terribly good at this swimming thing.

Crowley feels a laugh escape him as he circles Aziraphale, inspecting his form. It's probably a lot easier to do swimming lessons without the fear of choking on water, and he comes to hold the human by his torso.

"Relax a bit in your back, and keep your legs straight as you kick. Fingers together, and push from your breastbone outwards, like your pushing the water aside."

He stays by Aziraphale's side, guiding him slowly through the basics of underwater swimming. Between gently encouragements, he'll correct Aziraphale's pose, keeping him close to the shallows so he doesn't suddenly panic.

Because it's never good to panic in the ocean, even if you can breathe underwater.

Aziraphale feels so carefree as he swims around, laughing with Crowley, even though he's quite terrible at swimming still. He tries, but he has no talent for it, and truth be told, he's growing quite accustomed to Crowley guiding him. He likes it.

He tells Crowley so, swimming right past him, trying to tease him in his mirth, but ending up needing to grab his shoulders for balance.

Even though it's quite scary to be underwater like this, he finds it quite exhilarating, and he finds Crowley to be incredible, the one who introduced him to this, who's taken away his fear of the water for the moment.

"Oh, Crowley!" he exclaims, watching the bubbles that he breathes out. He encircles a hand around Crowley's neck, and clings onto him, looking at him quite invitingly, though his interest hides behind a bashful nature.

Crowley is more than happy to hold Aziraphale, pirouetting them along the gentle waves with ease. Mostly it's to show off, an almost instinctual need to impress this lovely, wise, clever human, but he also wants him to get a feel for the ebb and flow of the sea. Those currents can be very strong, and how one understands them can often be the difference between life and death.

"You're doing marvelous, Aziraphale," he praises, affectionately bumping their foreheads together, much more shameless with his displays than the human. "We'll make a swimmer of you yet."

He leans in again, perhaps to bump foreheads, perhaps to kiss Aziraphale, when he stops abruptly. His whole body goes tense, and he's scouring the waters, hands covering Aziraphale's ears.

Aziraphale is having the time of his life, galavanting around with Crowley, watching as the light hits his tail and it shimmers so profusely, glimmering like starlight in the night sky. It's a sight to behold, the red fringe like fire under water, a candle flame following a smoky wick.

He's mesmerizing, and he's coming close as if to kiss Aziraphale, and he feels his eyes slide closed and he knows that he won't fight it, will gladly let the merman take him on another sort of journey tonight, and.

And the kiss doesn't come, and his eyes shoot open, confused, wondering what he sees. He tries to turn but Crowley is stopping him; he gets the sense that right now it won't be wise to move.

He mouths, "what is it?" at him. He mouths, "Are you alright?"

Crowley holds him tight and darts into the safety of the kelp, fringe flattened to his spine so that his tail now appears entirely black. He doesn't uncover Aziraphale's ears, but he could probably pick up a faint melody reverberating around them. Even muffled as it is, it promises Aziraphale knowledge and secrets, and is difficult to resist.

Crowley has practically wound himself completely around Aziraphale, making it nigh impossible to move from the powerful coil of his tail and his strong, wiry arms.

He watches as distant silhouettes of what appear to be mermaids swim past them, oblivious to their presence.

He wasn't aware that Crowley's tail could do that, and finds himself fascinated, which is just as well, because it's coiled around him again. It's remarkable how much he trusts Crowley, that he doesn't find anything odd about this at all, though he hears the muffled sound of a lovely melody. It sounds so nostalgic, so beautiful, even though he can hardly hear it.

It sounds like... knowledge, like sitting underneath a tree in the summer paging through books, like burning the midnight oil at University, being the last one out of the library at night. Like jumping on the green at Oxford only to fall through, into the cellar, bemoaning dirtying his favorite reads...

He pushes against Crowley, gently, wanting to go see what that was. Didn't Crowley want to go see it as well? Surely he could hear it, even better than Aziraphale could. There it was, an apple hanging from a tree, red and juicy, ready for the plucking. Doesn't Crowley want Aziraphale to take a bite?

If Crowley knew the apple metaphor, he'd argue it's poisoned. Or rotten at the core. No matter how sweet it might look.

But there's no reasoning with someone under a Siren's spell, and all he can do is hold Aziraphale fast until they've passed. The reverberating melody fades, but Crowley keeps a vice grip on him until he's sure he won't try to swim after them.

"Are you alright?" he asks, yellow eyes searching as he inspects Aziraphale for signs that they might still have their hooks in him. "Those were Sirens. Don't usually see them this close to shore."

It also seems like they weren't going to stick around - perhaps they were just following a particularly warm current to new hunting grounds on the open sea.

"Sirens," he responds, and then shakes his head. "Of course." He doesn't let go of Crowley, even though it's safe. "They sound beautiful." He seems wistful for a moment. "No, don't let me chase after them."

He takes Crowley by the cheek and looks him in the eyes. Yes, that's better. He doesn't need to chase after the promise of the sirens, when there's something just as alluring in front of him.

He wonders how he was so lucky, to have a friend such as Crowley.

And they are friends, aren't they?

He runs his hand down Crowley's arm. "Thank you," he says, and then presses their foreheads together again, seemingly a form of physical affection that Crowley appreciates.

"Yes, they're very good at sounding all sorts of things. If the song doesn't work for luring their prey, they're happy to mimic lost loved ones. It's all a trap though. Have you whack off over their eggs and then rip you apart."

His arms tighten protectively around Aziraphale as their foreheads touch, and some of the tension drains from Crowley's back.

He'd have to make sure they were just passing through - they couldn't have missed his territory markers, and while he isn't in the mood for a dispute, he'll gladly give them merry Hell if it means driving them far, far away from Aziraphale.

He nuzzles up against Aziraphale's temple.

"Won't let them hurt you."

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