[After feeling like he was living on borrowed time since Ligur handed over a basket full of Antichrist, centuries seem like plenty long, to Crowley.
But that's back home; they're here now, for whatever it's worth. They're here, where Aziraphale just keeps touching him, and he's almost forgotten about the perfume, distracted by how nice it is, how long he's been thinking about this.
He's still nervous about what will come next for them here, and he's worried about all the various things he'll have to explain eventually (his sort of friendship with Lilith, the whole thing with Martin) but he can tell they're both on edge, and they'll end up a feedback loop of anxiety if they get too into it right now.]
Oh, for someone's sake, I'm not that much of an idiot. Obviously I mean proper dancing.
[If it wasn't already clear how in love he is, the fact that he doesn't fuss about the phrase disky sort of dancing makes it quite apparent. That whole love this is what makes him bold enough to smooth his hands down Aziraphale's chest, fingers skimming over that bloody faded velvet waistcoat that he's dreamt about touching for decades, until they can settle on the angel's waist.]
I — is this alright?
[Even sort of forgetting about the effects of the perfume, physical affection is still new for them. He doesn't want to overstep.]
no subject
But that's back home; they're here now, for whatever it's worth. They're here, where Aziraphale just keeps touching him, and he's almost forgotten about the perfume, distracted by how nice it is, how long he's been thinking about this.
He's still nervous about what will come next for them here, and he's worried about all the various things he'll have to explain eventually (his sort of friendship with Lilith, the whole thing with Martin) but he can tell they're both on edge, and they'll end up a feedback loop of anxiety if they get too into it right now.]
Oh, for someone's sake, I'm not that much of an idiot. Obviously I mean proper dancing.
[If it wasn't already clear how in love he is, the fact that he doesn't fuss about the phrase disky sort of dancing makes it quite apparent. That whole love this is what makes him bold enough to smooth his hands down Aziraphale's chest, fingers skimming over that bloody faded velvet waistcoat that he's dreamt about touching for decades, until they can settle on the angel's waist.]
I — is this alright?
[Even sort of forgetting about the effects of the perfume, physical affection is still new for them. He doesn't want to overstep.]