shipping | psl

His face goes through a myriad of emotions from shock to awe, wondering how on Earth he was supposed to get over the fact that Crowley had been a priest. Of course, that comes and goes, but he'll come back to that later. He hadn't wanted to interrupt.

"No, I haven't. No one. There'd been... others, I considered. But I was always just so slow, and then, they all got married before I got the chance to pluck up the courage. Naturally, there were a few above my station, and though at least one of them would've considered me, it wouldn't have been for long."

Then he circles back. "You are a priest?" he asks. "This is rather unpriestly, don't you think? I hadn't realized you were allowed to court anyone." He doesn't want to get in between Crowley and his God.

"You're not giving up anything for me, are you?" he inquires, worried.

"Was a priest. Was! Got kicked out about, oh, ten years back. Been living out here since. Don't see many, maybe the occasional traveler needs a place to stay, but never - you know. Pursued someone. Got pursued a bit, nothing took."

He smiles, nuzzling into Aziraphale's neck. He can smell his sweet, comforting scent under the salt of the ocean spray that still clung to him.

"Even if I was, I'd turn in my little crown and trident, tell Cthulhu where he can stick his tentacles, and save all my songs for you."

Crowley gives Aziraphale's hand a gentle squeeze.

"...Sorry the ones you fancied didn't wait for you, though. That's... I'm sure it's painful."

Of course he'd been pursued, thinks Aziraphale. Look at him; he's so lovely, it's hard to imagine anyone would see him and not wonder if he had any attachments. Moreover, he was charming, and sweet, and strong...

He holds Crowley as the merman nuzzles into his neck, gathers him up like fruits of a bountiful harvest, smiling into those long locks of red hair.

"It was a long time ago. And I do enjoy being by myself. I'd rather thought I would be, forever, until you came along." He hadn't thought Crowley such a serious suitor before, but something had changed. Perhaps it was dreaming of him, or perhaps it was all these gifts, or the idea that if he had been a dream, then Aziraphale would rather return to the dream than go on living in reality.

"Could I hear one?" he asks. "Of your songs. Or do we need an occasion?"

Crowley loves to be held like this, ever so close and warm against Aziraphale.

"It'll just sound like a bunch of screeching up here. When we go swimming together again, I'll sing for you. I'll sing you all the beautiful songs I know, and I'll write many more about you."

He smiles softly, content in the crook of Aziraphale's neck.

"And when you get a bit more comfortable with the water, I'll show you my den, and all sorts of secret places under the waves."

"That sounds incredible," he says, thinking about it. It would surely be a wondrous discovery, perhaps one of the most important ones in this century. And they'd started making railway cars, and motor engines. All sorts of neat inventions.

Then he remembers that he owes Crowley a massage, and starts to rub his shoulders, pressing his thumb into the overworked muscles, careful to stay away from any wounds as he works into his skin.

"I should like to hear your beautiful songs, and your beautiful language. And see where you live, and be welcomed into your home." And maybe they could lay on Crowley's bed like this, and Aziraphale could nuzzle against Crowley's well-firmed chest.

Crowley is so taken with the sudden rush of sensation up his spine, he stumbles out of his chair into Aziraphale's arms, holding on for dear life.

"That feels - oh - !"

Crowley has no words for how it feels, beyond wonderful and marvelous and no one has ever touched him like this, in a way that leaves him tense with anticipation and then quite relaxed at the same time.

"Whatever you're doing, please don't stop."

"No intention of stopping, dear," he responds, continuing the massaging. He works out some of the knots by Crowley's neck, feeling the hard muscle underneath his fingers. He doesn't employ too much strength, not unless Crowley asks for it.

"Though, I think it's usually done with me sitting behind you, or with you laying down on the bed," he says. "If you'd like a proper massage, I mean. It's very relaxing, even hours later. Good for tired, sore muscles," he adds. "And your muscles must be so sore. Defending your territory. Getting all these things for me. My darling, you must be exhausted."

His goal for the evening is to get Crowley to feel safe and pass out cocooned in a warm bed, and wake up to find a soft breathing pillow, and never want to leave again.

Well, except to take him on wild adventures into the sea.

"Bed," he agrees dizzily. "Yes. That's what humans sleep in. Very good."

Crowley has no objections to cuddling up with Aziraphale in that soft nest of pillows and blankets. Once he can form a coherent thought, he nuzzles Aziraphale forward.

"Might need to lean on you a bit. Still haven't got the hang of these yet."

He lifts one leg, and staggers, quickly planting his foot back on the floor.

"S'a balance issue."

"Oh, yes," he says. "Here, let me help you lie down, then." He takes Crowley's legs, lifting them onto the bed, and finds himself in a very compromising position with Crowley, particularly as they're quite heavy and he tumbles forward, now between his legs.

His hand goes out to maintain his own balance, and lands by Crowley's head.

Breathing heavily, he gazes downward, looking Crowley in the eyes. His hair fanned out behind him, he looks like a painting, inviting Aziraphale to come closer. He doesn't need to be a siren to tempt.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm... having a balance issue of my own."

Crowley is delighted by this turn of events, and promptly wraps his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders, nuzzling up into his chest.

Balance issues, indeed. Well, since they were both here, he was more than content to remain just so.

"You know, there's another part of courtship," he says, gliding his fingers down Aziraphale's back. "Resting together, keeping each other company. Getting to know each other."

He is well-aware of this part of the courtship, not by experience but by rumor. He isn't frightened by the prospect. No, he's excited. Crowley is good and healthy, and seems to like him very much.

And yet, something keeps him back. "Perhaps that's... just a little fast," he says. "The resting, the getting to know each other. Let's do that."

He says this, though his eyes are trained on Crowley's mouth, and he longs to give him another kiss.

"My dear," he starts, sounding a little bit nervous. It is a very serious discussion for the fact that they'd only started this yesterday. "If we might someday marry, will you promise to never stop courting me?" he asks.

"Marriage - that's pretty much the same as pairing. Bit more ceremony - seen a couple on your ships. All colourful."

He'd like something like that, especially for Aziraphale. Bright colours seem to suit the human.

Nestling into the covers, he keeps him close.

"And s'the whole point of courtship. Show that I can do these things for you, keep doing them for you. Make sure we're compatible before we do anything long-term, yeah?"

He's quite cozy here, watching Aziraphale watch his lips. He reaches up to thumb over Aziraphale's, his eager expression softening.

"...And keeping each other company means just that. Quiet times just spent together. Not gonna mate with you 'till you're ready."

"Oh?" he inquires. "Yes, I suppose. We will have to pair." He places a hand firmly on Crowley's chest, flat over his heart. "Because this land won't recognize a marriage such as ours," he says. They were, after all, not of the same species. It was unheard of.

"But... we can have a ceremony, someday. On a boat, as you said. Out at sea, with all your family, and mine." Should his choose to accept what he'd chosen to do, anyway.

He kisses Crowley's thumb and then moves to lay down beside him, curling up into his arms, reaching for his shoulder again as he finds that knot he was trying to smooth out earlier. "Humans promise to mate for life, you know. With only each other. At least, we do, here." Talking about either divorce or polygamy seems like a topic for another day.

Crowley relaxes, soothed by Aziraphale's clever fingers on his shoulders, feeling any lingering aches drain away.

"Mm. I know about that. S'because marriage is all about making offspring, yeah? Pairing isn't really about that specifically. Could be a factor, but progeny that reach their first cycle tend to just be raised by the whole community."

He strokes his fingers through Aziraphale's hair, marveling at how soft and fine those curls are.

"We'd be equals. No one's subservient to another the way it is with human marriage. And yes," he breathes, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale's nose. "It'd be lifelong. If you like."

Oh, Crowley always says the loveliest things. He'd be willing to make such a commitment to Aziraphale someday. He feels so loved, so treasured in this moment, and it makes his fingers more nimble as they work. They move further downward, to Crowley's back, making sure that his entire body is attended to.

"I see, then we will pair the way that your society does, when it's time." He kisses Crowley's temple, sweetly rubbing into the skin that's been softened by the salt water. "And maybe we can raise some of the community's young together."

Aziraphale happily allows Crowley to comb through his hair, making a sound similar to a purr as he does so. "But that's all in the future, my dear. Right now, I just want to make sure you heal up, now that we're warm and our bellies full, and you can be dry. I can play you some music, if you'd like. If it'd help you sleep."

Oh that's a good sound from Aziraphale. Crowley is a bit lost since the human has no scales to clean, or fins to maintain. But humans are awfully fussed about their hair, it seems a good place to start.

He wonders about raising young together - he'd never had the experience - the priesthood was a cloistered life, and then his self-imposed exile had kept him distant and isolated.

"You listen to music to sleep...?"

It seems a curious thing. Music had always been something one was wide awake for - either perform or listen.

"Soft music, yes. There's music for all sorts of things, but we have lullabies to sing each other to sleep sometimes." He hums as he rubs Crowley's back, moving down Crowley's shoulderblades and his lower back. It's a little tune that his mother used to sing for him all the time.

He only has so many hands, but he'd really like to be combing Crowley's hair for this. There are just so many curls, and it's so long. It's a miracle it doesn't tangle, and that it's so very soft, considering the damage the sea must do to it.

It seems that everything about Aziraphale is quite soft, from the things he chooses to surround himself with, his demeanor, his voice. And everything about Crowley is so very unexpected, so bright and curious like a flame.

He starts singing only to realize how disturbing the lyrics are, but he does assume that it's just as well, usually babes don't understand.

Aziraphale's voice certainly has a lulling quality. Crowley's tension is gone, and he's utterly boneless in his arms. His hand has gone from stroking Aziraphale's hair, to the fingertips just feebly rubbing at his scalp as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

Perhaps it's the song - he'll have to ask about the lyrics later, but he's sung much darker in praise of Dagon - or perhaps he's just much more tired than he initially thought.

He tangles his legs around Aziraphale's, and feels himself drift off in the warm safety of his love's arms.

Aziraphale feels Crowley go limp and breathe slowly, and gently places him underneath the covers, adjusting the both of them slightly as he finds a comfortable position to fall asleep in, himself.

He doesn't wake until morning, when sunlight filters in through his window, rousing him from his slumber. He moves to stretch without thinking, and nearly hits Crowley in the process. Oh, Crowley.

He takes the moment to brush his fingers through that lovely red hair, twirling a curl around his finger, looking at how lovely it glows in the light. Crowley looks so much at peace that it tugs at Aziraphale's heartstrings, and pulls him close to kiss his eye where it meets his brow.

Then he places his head on Crowley's shoulder, and nuzzles in, his hair tickling at the underside of Crowley's chin.

Crowley's first thought when he wakes is that, perhaps, he might have been out too long in the sun. He feels so profoundly warm that he's worried that, perhaps, he might have dried out and he'd be dealing with dried, cracked scales for weeks and what would Aziraphale think -

Aziraphale.

That's right.

Consciousness slowly returns and he can feel the warm weight of the human wrapped in his arms, curly head tucked under his chin. They fit together so nicely that Crowley can only take it as further evidence this is a good choice.

He runs his fingers down Aziraphale's arm, smiling as his eyes crack open.

"Good morning, love."

Love, he says. Oh. Aziraphale looks at him with those wide blue eyes of his, and then throws arms around his neck. "Good morning, love," he says directly into Crowley's neck, muffling the sound of his voice cracking.

This was the loveliest morning he'd ever had in his life, and it had barely begun.

"Can I get you some breakfast?" he asks, laying sweet kisses on his shoulder. "You must be hungry. Big day yesterday, hunting and fighting. Did you sleep well?" He can't keep his hands off of Crowley, continually moving his touch from his hair to his chest to his hips. He just can't believe it. Here's this dream come to life, lying in his bed, calling him things like love.

If it were less brash, less mad of a thought, he would've gotten down on a knee and proposed to him.

Crowley is pressing kisses into Aziraphale's hair, quite happy to greet him and this new day. It's so bright and warm and everything feels so soft, and while he's sure there are wonders out there for them to explore, right now he very much wants to be close to this dear man.

"Never slept better," he says, wriggling and tangling himself up more with Aziraphale. He's not quite ready to leave this warm bed.

"Can we do this every night...?"

Aziraphale is much too quick to respond, "Yes! Yes, we can." He is ready to get up and make breakfast, but it looks like his love is not, and so, he dilly dallies and delays getting extricated from his position. After all, breakfast could wait, and Crowley had some urgent business kissing his hair.

"I want to wake up with you every morning," he says. "But then, you'll have to be here every evening. I don't think I could stay underwater too long." And now he's got that pendant. "Does this work forever?" he asks, thumbing the shell.

He supposes he's asking how long Crowley could be here. They would have to pick somewhere to live once they were properly paired, after all. Of course he does still have plans to build that house over the sea, but he wasn't sure when he would tell Crowley about it.

Crowley nods, smoothing the wrinkles in Aziraphale's shirt with his hands. He didn't have any scales to preen and clean, and so Crowley would just have to make do with what was there.

"Should do, so long as I don't over-work it. So I stay on land mostly with you, except for excursions underwater, yeah?"

Crowley picks and preens at Aziraphale's clothes and hair, fluffing those lovely curls where they'd been flattened against the pillow. It seems the most logical thing to stay on land after all. With the pendant, Crowley can be there indefinitely, with no averse affects. And Aziraphale can only stay underwater for short spurts, dependent entirely on receiving Crowley's blood.

"I'll shift the better part of my stash to shore then, so no scavengers get any ideas."

Aziraphale did not, in fact, have any scales to preen but he did have plenty of body hair, and he finds it very sweet that Crowley is attempting to groom him. At least, that's what he assumes he's doing, because otherwise he is very confused.

"Well, alright dear, but we can't let them think it's alright to stake claim on your land. Is there anything we can do to guard it? Perhaps putting up a fence, or a... a charm?" he's not very good at magic, just having found out that it existed about twenty four hours ago, so Crowley will have to forgive any ignorant ideas about the subject.

Crowley seems to like where Aziraphale is soft and warm, so he gently unbuttons the lower part of his shirt and guides Crowley's hand underneath to the soft peach fuzz swell of his stomach.

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