shipping | psl

"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.

Crowley gentles him in his arms and hums.

"Aziraphale, you are enough. I barely knew what a wedding was before today. I can take or leave whatever ceremony you like - but if we have one, I just don't want to muck it up."

He seeks out Aziraphale's hand, covering it with his own.

"If you need more time, there's no rush."

He shakes his head. "I don't know if I'd like a ceremony," he answers, truthfully. It would just remind him of how unwelcome they are in his society.

"I could learn to swim," he offers. "We could go back to your home."

"You could. We can," Crowley agrees, quite readily. He can't imagine anything better than swimming the currents with Aziraphale.

"I can tell you all about what lives under the sea, for your research. There are so many beautiful places too, like the reefs and kelp forests. And you would like my den, it's safe and very cozy."

"I do like cozy," he responds, snuggling into Crowley. He's satisfied with this answer, and kisses him on the side of his lips. "We'll have a beautiful pairing ceremony."

"We will," Crowley agrees softly. "We'll feast to our hearts content, and -"

Crowley is cut off by the kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he sighs happily, keeping the blanket wrapped around his lover snuggled so nicely in his nap.

"You'll love it underwater. And when you miss land, we'll come back, together."

He does want to feast to his heart's content. And he does want to feast to his body's content. He pulls Crowley in closer, snuggles into him, and sighs fondly thinking about it.

"I'll love it underwater because you're there."

His heart overflows with with affection when Aziraphale tells him that. Crowley cradles Aziraphale in his arms, stroking the angel's hair, and then further down along the nape of his neck. He's never been this aroused for so long, and there is the faint worry that Aziraphale snuggling so comfortably in his lap may push his cock free from its confines, but Crowley doesn't dwell on it too long. Aziraphale is warm, and safe, and it feels right to hold him.

"Funny, that's just where I want to be. With you."

His tone is light and teasing, yet the way he tilts Aziraphale's chin so he can claim a kiss is anything but.

He might be teasing, but Aziraphale doesn't mind if it means more kissing. Gosh, he's good at that. Always leaves him weak in the knees, so it's good that they keep wanting to be seated.

Once the kiss ends, he keeps peppering them all over Crowley's face, happily offering them to him like little blessings.

Once upon a time, Crowley had been a priest, and yet nothing in his life had ever felt so truly divine. Each kiss leaves his skin tingling and his heart aching.

Crowley cradles him close, questing fingers traveling along his side, pausing inquisitively at the hem of his shirt.

And at that, Aziraphale jolts as if back to this plane, and quickly scurries a little away, pressing at Crowley's hand. "Ahh -- we're in public, dear."

And not married yet. He's got to remind himself.

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