He laughs. "No, I just have a brush." He thinks he could help Crowley with his grooming, if Crowley would let him.
And then, he looks, slightly distractedly, at the fringe.
"What does that mean?" he asks, basically petting Crowley's hip. "When the red part of your tail waves?" He noticed that it had a few times now. At first he thought it was a warning sign: danger, you're about to die.
But now that he thinks about it, it's more like a blush, or -- "Is it... Is it like what you thought when I first put on this swimming costume?"
He's about to answer about the brush when-- oh, called out. He looks away bashfully, but it's a bit of a show at this point. "You're very enchanting, you know. Happens, what with being a... a charming, resplendent, clever merman."
He places one hand flat on Crowley's chest and he can feel himself pouring all his hopes and dreams, distilling them into a hydrodynamic shape with a glorious cloud of red hair.
After a pause, he tucks this moment away into his heart like a photograph carefully placed into a picture album. "Shall we head back, then? Cake should be cooled, and I've worked up an appetite."
Crowley grins, flicking his tail and playfully flashing the red fringe. Nuzzling up against Aziraphale's neck.
"Speak for yourself, you brilliant, vibrant, and utterly terrific human."
Settling again, he contemplates the merits of leaving their cozy spot before finally deciding that yes, a swim back will be enough for today. He doesn't want to overwhelm Aziraphale.
Crowley disentangles himself, slithering back into the water, arms outstretched to help Aziraphale in.
"Right then, remember what I said about treading water...?"
Aziraphale blushes furiously at the compliments and looks away. He still can't believe it. Crowley is the most beautiful thing inside and out that he's ever witnessed. How could little old Aziraphale compare?
He nods and reaches for Crowley's arms, letting himself slide into the water without fear.
Still holding on, he starts to move back, but his muscles are already screaming from their use earlier to get to the rock. He's tired, but he thinks he can make it back. Then he'll have to beg Crowley to give his arms a little massaging. And his poor, tired calves.
"Will you stay with me? Tonight?" he asks. The alternative being that Crowley goes home and they spend their nights alone. Aziraphale thinks he never wants to wake up alone again.
"Alright," he acquiesces, as he holds onto Crowley's neck and shoulders, and starts to kick. It's much easier, not having to use his arms, and he also likes how tightly he has to hold onto Crowley who is very slippery.
He does stop a little before they get to shore to catch his breath, mostly because he knows they'll be walking back and he'll be guiding Crowley.
When they finally make it, Aziraphale sits on the sand for a moment, heart beating fast, sweat dripping from his brow.
Crowley is so supportive that Aziraphale can't help but to turn his face to offer a kiss, lay fingers appreciatively on the flat of his chest, and smile against his mouth. "It's only because you're a good instructor."
He wraps his arms around Crowley again like a greedy child with a coveted toy.
"Could I put the pendant on for you?" he requests, hungry for touch, for how intimate it is.
Crowley is quite happy like this, tangled up with Aziraphale as the waves lap over them. Merfolk are covetous by nature, and Crowley is glad Aziraphale wants him just as much.
Wordlessly, he hands the pendant over, clasping his love's hand as he does so.
Happily, Aziraphale takes the pendant and swims behind Crowley to place it on him, draping it over his nape and clasping it tightly on so it doesn't fall off.
He's there to catch Crowley for when he transforms, in case his legs give out from underneath him.
Crowley leans back a bit against Aziraphale, taking a deep breath. Aside from some mild cramping in the legs afterwards, the transformation doesn't so much hurt as it feels very peculiar, like a full-body sneeze.
There is a faint glow, and Crowley's body tenses, his tail shrinking down and splitting into a pair of long, scaly legs.
He sets his feet down on the sandy floor of the sea, finding it easier to stand while buoyed by the lapping waves, and then turns to wrap his arms around him and press kiss after kiss against Aziraphale's mouth.
"Yes," comes the reply, slightly breathless as he watches Crowley's body change. It's such an odd thing to witness, beautiful and strange, and he forgets to breathe.
Aziraphale places an arm around Crowley's waist and hoists him up a tad to levy most of the weight.
"First thing you've gotta do is learn how to balance on your feet. Might be a little difficult, since we're on sand. But I'm here." He's solid and soft, and ready to catch any falls.
Yes, excellent first step. Holding on to Aziraphale feels like a very good idea and he never wants to let go.
Slowly he lets Aziraphale guide him along. There is the occasional stumble, but he seems to be taking to walking as quickly as Aziraphale is taking to swimming.
Unfortunately, Crowley does seem to overcompensate with his narrow hips, swinging them to and fro as he would with his tail.
Aziraphale notices this and gently guides his hip, telling him, "it might help to move with your shoulders instead." But of course, Crowley's always had the most swishy of hips. It is a shame to try and fix his gait.
He won't let go, even when they reach the cabin. He won't let Crowley fall on his face ever again. No. He'd rather move his entire house right onto the water, build his foundation on stilts.
"I think you're getting the hang of this," he says, though only because he thinks if Crowley stood still he might not fall over immediately.
Crowley doesn't seem to mind failure. A tumble down into soft sand and his love's arms are certainly not the sort of things that would demotivate him. So he lets himself fail - figure out what's wrong as he works out what's right. He stumbles and fumbles until they're only a little ways from the cabin where he's less swinging his hips and more swishing them, leading with his shoulders as Aziraphale instructed.
He could, at this point, probably walk on his own with minimal incident (aside from his gyrating hips causing a scandal). But he wants to hold on to Aziraphale for more than just support; he's just so wonderfully warm, even wet as he is from their swim.
"Well," he says. "You are walking." He admits it's not like any human he's ever seen, possibly because Mick Jagger hasn't been born, but he smiles pridefully. "You're such a good learner, my dear."
He rewards Crowley with a quick nip and opens the door to the cabin, letting them back in and settling Crowley back down on the bed.
"Now. A real treat. One second."
He busies himself getting more bowls, to whip up a soft cream for their cake.
Crowley is thinking that Aziraphale is more a treat than anything, tasty and sweet, and so the merman watches with intense interest as Aziraphale works. The cake certainly smells delicious, Crowley thinks as he sprawls out on the bed, propped up on one arm with his chin rested in his palm.
"Mm," he starts, placing a bit of it on his finger and offering it to Crowley to eat.
Afterward, he cuts the cake in half and spreads a generous layer of jam he'd made previously, then dollops fat portions of cream. Finally, he sprinkles a little bit of powdered sugar on top.
If this were modern times, they'd need to take a photo for instagram.
As it is not, he smiles and presents it to Crowley. "We share these by cutting slices. Would you like to do the honors?"
Crowley sucks on the proffered finger like it's the tastiest thing Aziraphale could offer. He is interested in the cream, but even more interest in thoroughly licking the pad of the digit.
Once Aziraphale is ready, Crowley takes the knife and cuts lengthwise along the side, cutting thin slices as though he were cutting strips of meat from a freshly hunted kill.
"Like this?" he asks, before cutting too much. It doesn't seem quit right, the way they sag and droop like that.
Aziraphale is so caught up in how Crowley takes his finger in his mouth that honestly he forgets for a second that they're supposed to be eating cake.
Oh, drats.
He is most definitely aroused.
"Mm--" he starts, and then immediately pitches his voice down from its crack. "Yes, I mean--! No, no. Let me show you." He takes the knife and starts making slices like normal cake. "Like this. In wedges."
Aziraphale tries to shift his legs to hide his tenting when he notices Crowley looking, but honestly somehow that makes it worse as he draws more attention to it and it peeks up in interest after being summarily ignored for the last thirty-some years and then very ignored as of recent.
"Yes, of course," he says instead, nervously as he takes a forkful and helps himself to some cake. It's delicious.
But somehow not quite as exciting as Crowley licking cream off of his fingers.
Still, he offers Crowley the next bite off of his fork.
Crowley gladly takes a bite to distract himself from both their arousals. He can, at least, keep his own well-hidden. It would take some rummaging around to get more than the tip to show, but apparently Aziraphale doesn't have that luxury. No wonder humans wore so many clothes.
The cake is sweet and fluffy and Crowley has never had anything quite like it. His mouth lingers on the fork as he tries valiantly to tongue away every dollop of cream, lick every last crumb from the utensil.
He wonders what Aziraphale would taste like, covered in cream.
With this thought, Crowley's eyes flutter closed, and he makes a low, contented sound of approval.
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inlovewithmycar
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"Good for grooming," he murmurs into Aziraphale's neck. "Clean all the dead skin while I have a good rest, you know? Saves me doing all of it myself."
He gazes adoringly at Aziraphale, brushing damp curls from his cheek.
"Do you get the birds or something to do that for you?"
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And then, he looks, slightly distractedly, at the fringe.
"What does that mean?" he asks, basically petting Crowley's hip. "When the red part of your tail waves?" He noticed that it had a few times now. At first he thought it was a warning sign: danger, you're about to die.
But now that he thinks about it, it's more like a blush, or -- "Is it... Is it like what you thought when I first put on this swimming costume?"
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"Mm, just like the stripes. Can't seem to help showing off a bit with you."
His hand comes to rest upon Aziraphale's on his hip, thumbing the knuckle.
"Looks like it's doing the trick."
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He places one hand flat on Crowley's chest and he can feel himself pouring all his hopes and dreams, distilling them into a hydrodynamic shape with a glorious cloud of red hair.
After a pause, he tucks this moment away into his heart like a photograph carefully placed into a picture album. "Shall we head back, then? Cake should be cooled, and I've worked up an appetite."
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Crowley grins, flicking his tail and playfully flashing the red fringe. Nuzzling up against Aziraphale's neck.
"Speak for yourself, you brilliant, vibrant, and utterly terrific human."
Settling again, he contemplates the merits of leaving their cozy spot before finally deciding that yes, a swim back will be enough for today. He doesn't want to overwhelm Aziraphale.
Crowley disentangles himself, slithering back into the water, arms outstretched to help Aziraphale in.
"Right then, remember what I said about treading water...?"
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He nods and reaches for Crowley's arms, letting himself slide into the water without fear.
Still holding on, he starts to move back, but his muscles are already screaming from their use earlier to get to the rock. He's tired, but he thinks he can make it back. Then he'll have to beg Crowley to give his arms a little massaging. And his poor, tired calves.
"Will you stay with me? Tonight?" he asks. The alternative being that Crowley goes home and they spend their nights alone. Aziraphale thinks he never wants to wake up alone again.
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"You look a bit sore. Let's swim together, yeah? You kick us along and I'll use my tail. Nice and easy."
It would still give Aziraphale some practice, but Crowley didn't want him straining himself. It wouldn't do to be sore.
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He does stop a little before they get to shore to catch his breath, mostly because he knows they'll be walking back and he'll be guiding Crowley.
When they finally make it, Aziraphale sits on the sand for a moment, heart beating fast, sweat dripping from his brow.
"I'm going to have to practice a lot more."
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"Yes, but just look what you managed today. You couldn't swim at all yesterday and with only a little help, you made it from here to that rock."
He nuzzles up against his cheek, fingers gliding over his sides.
"You did so well, my love."
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He wraps his arms around Crowley again like a greedy child with a coveted toy.
"Could I put the pendant on for you?" he requests, hungry for touch, for how intimate it is.
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Wordlessly, he hands the pendant over, clasping his love's hand as he does so.
"Please," he finally says. "Please do."
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He's there to catch Crowley for when he transforms, in case his legs give out from underneath him.
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There is a faint glow, and Crowley's body tenses, his tail shrinking down and splitting into a pair of long, scaly legs.
He sets his feet down on the sandy floor of the sea, finding it easier to stand while buoyed by the lapping waves, and then turns to wrap his arms around him and press kiss after kiss against Aziraphale's mouth.
"My turn to learn then, yes?"
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Aziraphale places an arm around Crowley's waist and hoists him up a tad to levy most of the weight.
"First thing you've gotta do is learn how to balance on your feet. Might be a little difficult, since we're on sand. But I'm here." He's solid and soft, and ready to catch any falls.
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Slowly he lets Aziraphale guide him along. There is the occasional stumble, but he seems to be taking to walking as quickly as Aziraphale is taking to swimming.
Unfortunately, Crowley does seem to overcompensate with his narrow hips, swinging them to and fro as he would with his tail.
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He won't let go, even when they reach the cabin. He won't let Crowley fall on his face ever again. No. He'd rather move his entire house right onto the water, build his foundation on stilts.
"I think you're getting the hang of this," he says, though only because he thinks if Crowley stood still he might not fall over immediately.
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He could, at this point, probably walk on his own with minimal incident (aside from his gyrating hips causing a scandal). But he wants to hold on to Aziraphale for more than just support; he's just so wonderfully warm, even wet as he is from their swim.
"How's this, love? Am I walking like a human?"
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He rewards Crowley with a quick nip and opens the door to the cabin, letting them back in and settling Crowley back down on the bed.
"Now. A real treat. One second."
He busies himself getting more bowls, to whip up a soft cream for their cake.
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"What's the white stuff for...?"
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Afterward, he cuts the cake in half and spreads a generous layer of jam he'd made previously, then dollops fat portions of cream. Finally, he sprinkles a little bit of powdered sugar on top.
If this were modern times, they'd need to take a photo for instagram.
As it is not, he smiles and presents it to Crowley. "We share these by cutting slices. Would you like to do the honors?"
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Once Aziraphale is ready, Crowley takes the knife and cuts lengthwise along the side, cutting thin slices as though he were cutting strips of meat from a freshly hunted kill.
"Like this?" he asks, before cutting too much. It doesn't seem quit right, the way they sag and droop like that.
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Oh, drats.
He is most definitely aroused.
"Mm--" he starts, and then immediately pitches his voice down from its crack. "Yes, I mean--! No, no. Let me show you." He takes the knife and starts making slices like normal cake. "Like this. In wedges."
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A wedge, not strips. Right.
Taking the knife back, he cuts a rather large wedge, offering it to Aziraphale.
"It smells wonderful, love. Here, you prepared it, so you should eat."
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"Yes, of course," he says instead, nervously as he takes a forkful and helps himself to some cake. It's delicious.
But somehow not quite as exciting as Crowley licking cream off of his fingers.
Still, he offers Crowley the next bite off of his fork.
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The cake is sweet and fluffy and Crowley has never had anything quite like it. His mouth lingers on the fork as he tries valiantly to tongue away every dollop of cream, lick every last crumb from the utensil.
He wonders what Aziraphale would taste like, covered in cream.
With this thought, Crowley's eyes flutter closed, and he makes a low, contented sound of approval.
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