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.
Aziraphale can't help but chuckle as he says, "it's alright Crowley, there's plenty of the cake to eat." He gives him a quick peck on the cheek and takes another bite of cake. It's good. The cake itself is moist and fluffy and airy, the jam nice and tart, the cream lovely and thick.
"I'm glad you like it," he adds, smiling as he's so proud of himself.
"It'll be good for a few days if we keep it cold, but absolute rubbish in the water." There's so much they can only enjoy on dry land. He wonders what is the other half of the equation he's missing.
"It'd probably dissolve to bits," he says, licking cream from his lips. "But there's other things I can bring you, when you go swimming. Fresh fish, and oysters. Seal meat is good if we head north - it's fatty and warming and it keeps well. Sharks are tasty too, but I wouldn't bother with the big ones unless we're in a group - it'd just go to waste otherwise."
He explains this through the occasional mouthful of cake, along with all the properties of seaweed. Food under the ocean seemed to be comprised a lot of meat, algae, and seaweed. Not a lot of fruit beyond whatever fell in from the land.
Oh yes, those are the things that he's missing in his life. It sounds divine, this life they've created, and he has barely started on it. He seems so excited though, to hear Crowley talk about all of it, and listens with rapt attention on bated breath, eyes wide with wonder.
"I'd love to come with you," he says. "To come see all of it." He takes another bite.
"Of course. We'll do all these things together, since we're going to be a pair. Um. Married. Practically the same thing."
He brings Aziraphale's hand to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to his knuckles.
"We'll travel on your ships, or under the waves, and I'll keep you warm and safe and loved. And you can show me the places on land, all the things like cakes and Denmarks and trees."
The idea of countries was probably not a thing in Crowley's head yet. But he looks very eager to learn.
He thinks it's kind of endearing, actually. "Yes, dear, all the Denmarks when we're married." He pecks a kiss to his crown, though his smile grows wider still at every single one given to his knuckles.
Afterwards, he pulls Crowley in for an embrace, soft hair on the underside of Crowley's chin, just filling up his arms with angelic softness, wanting to immerse himself in Crowley's very presence.
Two days in, and he already knows he's met the love of his life.
Crowley makes that low, deep contented sound again. He could, quite happily, stay like this forever, with his arms full of Aziraphale, just floating in time. He holds him, nuzzling into his hair and breathing his sweet scent. He's never smelled flowers before, but he imagines those bright patches of colour he'd seen in the painting would smell just like Aziraphale.
He would love to see a field of flowers, bask among them with Aziraphale under a warm summer sun. He could sing him songs from the sea and Aziraphale could tell him stories from land, and they would kiss and hold each other and talk about their days to come.
Crowley sets the cake safely aside on the bedside table, and spoons Aziraphale into his arms. Warm, safe, loved. His promise to this wonderful human, this person who Crowley felt some inexplicable connection to. He knew for merfolk these things happen very suddenly, but he'd never known why until he'd met Aziraphale.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale had never been a believer in love at first sight. People always had to work towards something, right? What was the point of a love that wasn't built, that wasn't weathered? Like falling in love with a book for its cover.
But now that he's read the first few pages of Crowley, he's hooked, line and sinker. He knows he will remember this for the rest of his life.
"Dear me," he says. "All that swimming and exercise and all we've had to eat is cake. I'll go fetch us some fish that you brought yesterday," he says, extricating himself to do so. Crowley is so lithe, and so graceful a swimmer. He must need to consume a lot to keep up his form.
Crowley looks a bit puzzled by this. He has no real concept of a diverse meal - you eat what you catch until it's either gone or spoiled, which, in the latter case, you use it as bait to catch fresh prey.
"Is cake not enough for a meal?" He asks, getting up to follow, in case Aziraphale needed any help.
Crowley claps his hands over his mouth as if to prevent his teeth from immediately falling out.
"What? Why would you eat something so dangerous? You need your teeth!"
He fusses, wanting to check Aziraphale's mouth, wanting to make sure the deceptively sweet and fluffy cake hadn't done any damage to him, but Aziraphale is rather preoccupied with the leftover fish.
"No, no, only if you only eat cake and nothing else! And then not brush your teeth." He assumes that Crowley doesn't brush his teeth, so he'll have to introduce him to that.
"What happens to your teeth?" he asks, from over where he's preparing the fish. He doesn't know that the modern diet has essentially ruined human teeth.
"Your teeth'd fall out if you ate only one thing and nothing else anyway," he says a bit relieved.
But he looks rather puzzled by the question.
"How do you mean? ...Like how we clean them?" he asks, baring his teeth in case Aziraphale wants to have a look. They aren't terribly dissimilar to normal human teeth. The molars are exactly the same, though his incisors are slightly more pointed, and his canines just a bit longer than average.
Aziraphale does want to take a look, and he goes over to inspect. Oh. For some reason, they're sharper than he imagined, and that works for Crowley. In fact, he thinks they look rather nice with his features. Very cutting and sharp.
"Do you? Clean them, I mean. We do but... it used to be we just used them until they fell out in old age. And then of course... you know. We had to eat soft foods."
He is still staring, however, at Crowley's teeth, of all things. Eventually, he pecks a kiss to his cheek and returns to his cutting.
Pleased that his teeth seem to meet with Aziraphale's approval, Crowley closes his mouth and wraps his arms around Aziraphale's
"'Course we do. Got all sorts of stuff for cleaning them. Fish bones for picking, and things to polish off the gunk. Also you gotta file them down if they start getting too long."
It seems for merfolk, their teeth just kept on growing.
"What about humans? Do they fall out because they don't keep them clean?"
"Oh, yes. Well, we take care of them now. But we didn't always." Then of course, there were other diseases that were associated with the rich being able to eat a lot and not do any sort of labor.
Then Aziraphale comes over and smiles wide to show Crowley he has a straight pair of pearly whites and very much does take good care of his teeth.
Crowley tilts Aziraphale's chin up, peering curiously into his mouth. He feigns the sort of intense concentration as though he were inspecting his mouth like a dentist -
"Hmm, yes. I do see."
- and then he leans in to steal a kiss.
When he pulls back, he's grinning ear to ear.
"You have a very nice mouth, excellent for kissing."
Aziraphale somehow definitely knew that Crowley was going to kiss him, but is also somehow still surprised when the kiss comes.
He feels like it's ended too soon and he leans in to steal another one. He's much slower about it this time, sweetly tasting the sugar of Crowley's lips, past the salt still on them from the ocean.
Growing bolder, he pulls Crowley in close, and holds him fast.
Crowley leans into the kiss, arms circling his love's waist as he's pulled flush against Aziraphale. The feeling of Aziraphale's lips sliding against his, the sweet touch of their tongues as Crowley licks into his mouth.
Crowley doesn't think he can muster the need to move away, instead melting into Aziraphale's arms, gliding his fingers up and down his back. He can, quite frankly, stay like this forever.
Crowley could stay forever, if he wanted. Aziraphale would teach him how to walk, and they could visit town. He groans into the kiss and finds his knees go weak.
He looks up at Crowley with pleading eyes, once they break the kiss. But eventually he blinks and the look is gone, and he clears his throat and tries to extricate himself to continue with the cooking. Well. General meal prep.
Crowley gazes back, dazed and flushed and ever so fond. The moment, unfortunately, seems to end, or Aziraphale needs to pull himself away before it can escalate. A terrible shame, Crowley thinks, because he could take an entire eternity just exploring Aziraphale's mouth with his tongue.
"You cut well. Do you hunt as well? ...Do humans hunt for their food? Or are you gatherers?"
"Oh," he starts. "Neither, I suppose. Well. We were, once. Both. But now we are growers." He nods. "We keep plants and livestock on farms. I don't own one, but I do have a garden. And most farmers have so much extra, that I can trade them money for meat instead."
He wonders if that was too simple an explanation. "You are an excellent hunter." He comes back with essentially a plate of sashimi, offering some to Crowley. It is his kill, after all.
Crowley beams, flushed with pride as he tries to make himself look very impressive. It's hard, without his fringe, but he hopes his scales catch the light just so and make him very shiny and irresistible.
"I can show you how. Which fish are best to eat, and how to catch them with nets and spears."
Crowley does eat a bit, but he's constantly pushing the meat towards Aziraphale. It may have been his kill, but he caught it for his love, and he was already full of cake and cream.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inlovewithmycar
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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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"I'm glad you like it," he adds, smiling as he's so proud of himself.
"It'll be good for a few days if we keep it cold, but absolute rubbish in the water." There's so much they can only enjoy on dry land. He wonders what is the other half of the equation he's missing.
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"It'd probably dissolve to bits," he says, licking cream from his lips. "But there's other things I can bring you, when you go swimming. Fresh fish, and oysters. Seal meat is good if we head north - it's fatty and warming and it keeps well. Sharks are tasty too, but I wouldn't bother with the big ones unless we're in a group - it'd just go to waste otherwise."
He explains this through the occasional mouthful of cake, along with all the properties of seaweed. Food under the ocean seemed to be comprised a lot of meat, algae, and seaweed. Not a lot of fruit beyond whatever fell in from the land.
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"I'd love to come with you," he says. "To come see all of it." He takes another bite.
"I can't wait."
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"Of course. We'll do all these things together, since we're going to be a pair. Um. Married. Practically the same thing."
He brings Aziraphale's hand to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to his knuckles.
"We'll travel on your ships, or under the waves, and I'll keep you warm and safe and loved. And you can show me the places on land, all the things like cakes and Denmarks and trees."
The idea of countries was probably not a thing in Crowley's head yet. But he looks very eager to learn.
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Afterwards, he pulls Crowley in for an embrace, soft hair on the underside of Crowley's chin, just filling up his arms with angelic softness, wanting to immerse himself in Crowley's very presence.
Two days in, and he already knows he's met the love of his life.
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He would love to see a field of flowers, bask among them with Aziraphale under a warm summer sun. He could sing him songs from the sea and Aziraphale could tell him stories from land, and they would kiss and hold each other and talk about their days to come.
Crowley sets the cake safely aside on the bedside table, and spoons Aziraphale into his arms. Warm, safe, loved. His promise to this wonderful human, this person who Crowley felt some inexplicable connection to. He knew for merfolk these things happen very suddenly, but he'd never known why until he'd met Aziraphale.
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But now that he's read the first few pages of Crowley, he's hooked, line and sinker. He knows he will remember this for the rest of his life.
"Dear me," he says. "All that swimming and exercise and all we've had to eat is cake. I'll go fetch us some fish that you brought yesterday," he says, extricating himself to do so. Crowley is so lithe, and so graceful a swimmer. He must need to consume a lot to keep up his form.
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"Is cake not enough for a meal?" He asks, getting up to follow, in case Aziraphale needed any help.
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How many teeth do merfolk get, anyway? He wonders if they grow them back like sharks.
Anyway, he digs out some fish off of some ice, and tries to prepare it the way that he remembers watching Crowley do it.
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"What? Why would you eat something so dangerous? You need your teeth!"
He fusses, wanting to check Aziraphale's mouth, wanting to make sure the deceptively sweet and fluffy cake hadn't done any damage to him, but Aziraphale is rather preoccupied with the leftover fish.
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"What happens to your teeth?" he asks, from over where he's preparing the fish. He doesn't know that the modern diet has essentially ruined human teeth.
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But he looks rather puzzled by the question.
"How do you mean? ...Like how we clean them?" he asks, baring his teeth in case Aziraphale wants to have a look. They aren't terribly dissimilar to normal human teeth. The molars are exactly the same, though his incisors are slightly more pointed, and his canines just a bit longer than average.
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"Do you? Clean them, I mean. We do but... it used to be we just used them until they fell out in old age. And then of course... you know. We had to eat soft foods."
He is still staring, however, at Crowley's teeth, of all things. Eventually, he pecks a kiss to his cheek and returns to his cutting.
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"'Course we do. Got all sorts of stuff for cleaning them. Fish bones for picking, and things to polish off the gunk. Also you gotta file them down if they start getting too long."
It seems for merfolk, their teeth just kept on growing.
"What about humans? Do they fall out because they don't keep them clean?"
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Then Aziraphale comes over and smiles wide to show Crowley he has a straight pair of pearly whites and very much does take good care of his teeth.
"See?"
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"Hmm, yes. I do see."
- and then he leans in to steal a kiss.
When he pulls back, he's grinning ear to ear.
"You have a very nice mouth, excellent for kissing."
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He feels like it's ended too soon and he leans in to steal another one. He's much slower about it this time, sweetly tasting the sugar of Crowley's lips, past the salt still on them from the ocean.
Growing bolder, he pulls Crowley in close, and holds him fast.
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Crowley doesn't think he can muster the need to move away, instead melting into Aziraphale's arms, gliding his fingers up and down his back. He can, quite frankly, stay like this forever.
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He looks up at Crowley with pleading eyes, once they break the kiss. But eventually he blinks and the look is gone, and he clears his throat and tries to extricate himself to continue with the cooking. Well. General meal prep.
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"You cut well. Do you hunt as well? ...Do humans hunt for their food? Or are you gatherers?"
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He wonders if that was too simple an explanation. "You are an excellent hunter." He comes back with essentially a plate of sashimi, offering some to Crowley. It is his kill, after all.
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"I can show you how. Which fish are best to eat, and how to catch them with nets and spears."
Crowley does eat a bit, but he's constantly pushing the meat towards Aziraphale. It may have been his kill, but he caught it for his love, and he was already full of cake and cream.
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