Aziraphale is rapidly approaching what must be his limit for how much he can tolerate within the span of a day; which may or may not have been already frayed to excess from the stress of having to see his oldest friend (now something else, not quite just a friend) get ripped straight out of time and space. There were so many vibrant and loud emotions tangled within that, none of which actually left him so much as settled within the pit of his stomach like dull embers that were just waiting to get stoked back to life. This too, this moment right now, also encourages strong feelings within him because every little thing that Crowley does seems to provoke some sort of reaction out of him.
The hands placed on his hips make him feel like his heart is caught in his throat, fluttering and desperate to escape, and the hand on his face. . . Well, it's too much. That's what it is. He feels so overwhelmed and hopelessly charmed at the same time and he wasn't really expecting it. He's not prepared for it. It had happened so fast—
—And all of this in itself is so fast.
He lets out a soft exhale to help steady himself, trying with all of the strength that he still has to keep most of his feelings under wrap. He just doesn't want to look as out of sorts as he feels. He'd just like that one small mercy. His own hand raises, lifts up to curl around Crowley's to cradle it gently against his face. He lingers there for a moment, then moves to pull the hand away.
"Yes. Alright," he agrees, honestly appreciative of what Crowley seems to be suggesting. It sounds wonderful and like a relief. Just sitting together, enjoying one another's company, and maybe having a little time to unwind. A distraction. Anything to quell the mess of emotions plaguing him.
Carefully, as if not to spook, he places one more kiss to the edge of Crowley's knuckle. There's something to be said about that, something quiet and low, but Aziraphale cannot yet give voice to it so he hopes that this much will do. He releases Crowley's hand soon afterwards, separating the two of them so that he might move to sit on the edge of the bed.
no subject
The hands placed on his hips make him feel like his heart is caught in his throat, fluttering and desperate to escape, and the hand on his face. . . Well, it's too much. That's what it is. He feels so overwhelmed and hopelessly charmed at the same time and he wasn't really expecting it. He's not prepared for it. It had happened so fast—
—And all of this in itself is so fast.
He lets out a soft exhale to help steady himself, trying with all of the strength that he still has to keep most of his feelings under wrap. He just doesn't want to look as out of sorts as he feels. He'd just like that one small mercy. His own hand raises, lifts up to curl around Crowley's to cradle it gently against his face. He lingers there for a moment, then moves to pull the hand away.
"Yes. Alright," he agrees, honestly appreciative of what Crowley seems to be suggesting. It sounds wonderful and like a relief. Just sitting together, enjoying one another's company, and maybe having a little time to unwind. A distraction. Anything to quell the mess of emotions plaguing him.
Carefully, as if not to spook, he places one more kiss to the edge of Crowley's knuckle. There's something to be said about that, something quiet and low, but Aziraphale cannot yet give voice to it so he hopes that this much will do. He releases Crowley's hand soon afterwards, separating the two of them so that he might move to sit on the edge of the bed.