shipping | psl

Oh, Aziraphale is a goner for sure. "I certainly am not. I will prove it."

But his pulse quickens, racing underneath Crowley's tongue, and his breath staggers and struggles in his lungs.

"Why don't we make it a bet?"

Crowley considers this for a moment.

"Alright," he affirms, lips brushing gently over the nape of Aziraphale's neck. "What'll we wager?"

Crowley's lips hover just beside the rim of Aziraphale's ear, his breath warm as he awaits his answer.

"If you think sheep are softer, I'll get an hour teaching you how to read. And if you think I am softer, we can spend an hour figuring out how to swim."

Honestly it's a win/win, there's no losing here, except for Aziraphale who feels like he is losing every time Crowley is so near and so seductive and he does nothing about it.

There's a low, soft chuckle from Crowley as he ceases his teasing kisses and settles his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. It's not only a win-win situation, it's all things they intend to do anyway.

"I like this wager. Alright then, I accept."

His eyes droop a bit as he watches the last fading rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves.

"It's so peaceful on land," he drawls lazily. "S'a nice change of pace, not having to worry if something big is going to spring out the muck."

"Mm. It wasn't always, but we built houses. And cities. And now mostly... it's quite peaceful. There are wars, of course, but generally..."

Generally it is idyllic, isn't it? Out here on the seaside, just working day to day, getting to come home.

"We built cities too," Crowley says, eyes now shut, and his body going slack. "S'not like this though. Always something trying to make you into dinner."

As if to emphasize his point, he gives Aziraphale's ear a little nibble.

He laughs a little and leans into it. "Are you going to eat me?" he asks, perhaps a little flirtatiously. He bares his neck, making it look good enough to nibble as well. After all, Crowley might be a little bit uninterested in the food he's packed for their picnic.

Crowley has never been a big eater. Not that he doesn't like food - he is, in fact, quite delighted by human delicacies thus far - but Aziraphale is far more pleasing to nibble on.

He takes the bared neck as an invitation to plant tender little kisses down his throat, though he keeps them relatively chaste.

"Oh definitely," he murmurs, arms around Aziraphale giving him a squeeze, "whenever you feel ready for that. There's no rush - just a little taste of you is divine."

He feels a blush creep up onto his face. "Ah... my dear," he says, now feeling it furiously. "I do love the way you talk."

He's never really been desired before, and this is all very new for him. He finds he quite likes it, particularly since he finds Crowley so very desirable himself. He doesn't know how to articulate such a thing, so instead he leans his head against Crowley's shoulder and hopes he gets the message.

He does, indeed, get the picture, adjusting his position so Aziraphale is encircled by his arms and nestled between his legs, the merman lavishing kisses into the nest of curls.

"I love when your cheeks go all pink, like coral," he says, reaching up to brush his knuckles over said cheeks. "And your eyes, sparkling like stars - ! Full of wit and wisdom, my clever and brave love."

"When my cheeks go all read, it means... the blood is rushing towards them, making them hot." He lifts one of Crowley's hands, to rest it on one said cheek.

"It means my heart is beating fast," he adds, moving Crowley's hand to his chest.

Crowley's fingers press gently into the soft flesh, feeling the thrum of Aziraphale's heart through the palm of his hand. It's a wonderful feeling, filling him with warmth and even more affection for this wonderful man.

As the first stars of the evening wink into existence, Crowley shower's Aziraphale with more kisses.

"You do feel very warm," Crowley agrees, and tugs a bit at the collar of his lover's shirt, teasing lightly. "Might be all these layers and it's not even chilly out."

But then, that is rather subjective. Crowley has spent nearly the entirety of his life swimming the cool depths of the ocean. The air on the surface is positively balmy.

"S'a funny feeling though, isn't it? My heart feels like it's trying to do backflips, but I don't feel anxious or worried at all."

Aziraphale is struck by Crowley's words, and melts so sweetly; he hadn't even known how it was to be like this, and Crowley likely hadn't even intended to play his heartstrings like a fiddle.

In the middle of the woods, seated on Crowley's lap, where anyone could find them, he leans in to claim his lips in a kiss, and feels like he's been embraced by the ocean.

He draws Crowley into him, and feels such magic from him, sparks that fly in his heart, like being lifted on the soft foam of waves.

"When?" he asks, quietly, against Crowley's lips. "When can we be wed?"

Crowley holds him close, guarding him against the chill in the night air, warm lips sliding against Aziraphale's. He reaches up, cradling his lover's cheek, savouring the softness of his skin, and the wet heat of their locked lips.

"I'm ready," he says softly, "Whenever you are as well. That's when."

"Let's prepare," he responds, before holding onto Crowley as if he had a nice constricting tail and not the other way around.

"I'm ready."

He smiles so brightly, it might just shine through the night sky.

Aziraphale's smile is so warm, so sweet, Crowley is unable to look away. Oh, what a good partner he's found - quick witted, with a gentle heart, with just that spark of mischief. Crowley is quite head-over-heels as he wraps the blanket around them both, laying back so Aziraphale can use him as a cushion.

"Prepare. Yes. What do we need to prepare? Little hazy on the whole wedding thing. Do we need a boat?"

Crowley's limited experience with peeping on sailors and catching the occasional ship wedding was really not enough for him to know what to do beforehand. It all looked very formal and extravagant. By comparison, a pairing was much simpler.

"If we need a boat, we can do it when we sail to Denmark, yeah?"

He shakes his head. "We won't need a boat, and any boat that I could buy likely wouldn't take me to Denmark." He kisses Crowley's eyes and thinks.

"I suppose we'll just have to marry ourselves," he says. He doesn't think anyone else would do it. In fact, he might get arrested, or worse, they might get captured, and they might have questions for Crowley.

"What will we need for pairing?" he asks.

Crowley hums, combing his long fingers through Aziraphale's hair.

"Each other for starters," he says, tone light and teasing as he caresses Aziraphale's cheek.

"Gifts, perhaps. They don't have to be anything fancy - more like tokens. Something significant, usually practical. Maybe have close friends or family around for a meal. We'd need a nice, safe, cozy place to retreat to and a good supply of food since we'll - ah - be a bit too busy to hunt. But all of that's optional - we're a pair when we say we are."

He shifts to get a bit more comfortable, nuzzling into Aziraphale's cheek.

"How do we marry ourselves? Same thing...?"

"Well, it hasn't really been done before," he says. "So I don't know. But I'll figure it out with you." Maybe he could confide in Anathema, a local girl who everyone else also outcast for her affinity towards occult witchery.

He is confident that she wouldn't turn them in.

He doesn't really have family or friends to speak of, so they don't need to celebrate with anyone. "There will be cake. And alcohol." And a ring! He still had to purchase a ring.

"I'll have to go into town for some of it."

"And I'll catch us a feast," Crowley says, swelling with pride. "Will you tell me what else we do for a wedding, love? I haven't seen much, but it seems like a very important ceremony."

And Crowley wants to get it right. They both may live on the peripheries of their respective societies, but marriage sounds very important to Aziraphale, and Crowley refuses to mess it up for him.

If there's one thing he can do, it's not cock up his lover's special day.

He shakes his head. "The wedding is what we make of it." And he doesn't have a lot of resources or people willing to come make him a proper wedding. His parents have long since passed, and he doesn't have much to his name besides his books.

He looks a bit crestfallen, that he can't give Crowley a fairytale wedding.

Sensing the drop in Aziraphale's mood, Crowley gathers him close, and rests his chin atop his head.

"I know," he says softly, "I just don't want to - you know. Misstep. I want to help make it special for you."

"As long as you are my husband, that will be special enough." But then he has doubts. Crowley is doing so much for him. What does he have to offer?

He looks down and wonders if perhaps he should call off the engagement until Crowley can really have enough time to decide.

He's about to ask what a husband is when he notes that Aziraphale's mood isn't lifting. Gently stroking his fingers through his light blond curls, Crowley nuzzles up against his temple.

"What's troubling you, love?"

"Is this... is all of this enough for you?" he asks, quietly. "You hardly know me, and... I don't know. I can't even offer you a proper wedding!"

Crowley deserves more than this. And Aziraphale won't lie and say that this is just how humans do things.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject