BORED IN THE HOUSE AND IM IN THE HOUSE BORED

patricianandclerk:

“To the world,” Crowley murmured, giving Aziraphale a little smile. 

He watched, his heart aching it felt so full - and a demon’s heart was never meant to hold this much, not ever, not ever, and maybe it would burst - as Aziraphale smiled. It was one of his beautiful smiles, soft and uniquely tender, his eyes crinkling up at their edges.

“To the world,” he whispered, and clinked their glasses together. They both sipped at their champagne, and Crowley couldn’t tear his gaze away from the angel as he set his glass down, daubing at his mouth before he leaned closer. He started talking, and Crowley didn’t really listen to it, exactly - it was about some new restaurant someone at his gentlemen’s club had mentioned, that he wanted to go to, but the specifics faded into the background.

He listened not to the words, but to Aziraphale’s voice, eager and earnest and so full of joy and warmth and love, his hands shifting. Had he ever seen Aziraphale so relaxed? He didn’t know. Perhaps not. 

“You look beautiful,” he wanted to say. “I love you,” he wanted to say. “I could never have gone without you,” he wanted to say.

You go too fast for me, Crowley. It echoed in his head.

He glanced down at Aziraphale’s hand. The back of it, knuckles spread, rested on the table cloth, and his other hand was gesticulating as he talked about some sort of stuffed thing - mushrooms, peppers, meatballs, something. It was tantalising, seeing his hand like that. A temptation.

Crowley didn’t breathe as he leaned in closer, brushing their fingers against one another. He didn’t grab Aziraphale’s hand, didn’t reach to hold it, just let their hands touch.

“… and they use this cheese from Italy, I don’t remember the name but we’ve had it before and I know we have because you broke into that farm in Naples, and…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off for a moment as he looked down at Crowley’s fingers, touching his. Crowley watched his expression, frozen, watched the bob of Aziraphale’s throat as he swallowed.

Crowley felt cold. Moved to take his hand back–

But Aziraphale’s hand enclosed his, tangling their fingers together so that their palms rested against the table, and Aziraphale’s thumb stroked a very gentle, shy line over the side of Crowley’s. Aziraphale coughed, his voice slightly thickened with emotion, as he went on, “… and I really liked that cheese, Crowley. I’d like to try it again.”

“Alright,” Crowley murmured. “We’ll go together.”

Aziraphale beamed. It took Crowley’s breath away.

“Yes,” he said softly, eyes shining. “Together.”

It all washed over Crowley, after that. Aziraphale talking, gesticulating, joking, telling stories, eating… And their hands stayed just like that, resting together on the table, Aziraphale’s hand warm and soft in his own.

Together.