He stirs a bit when the door opens, then relaxes when he realizes it's just Crowley and with wine no less. His stomach literally growls for it even if, he glances at the vintage as it's presented, it's not the best. In fact it's barely even peeking up over mediocre. But he's just about ready to drink vinegar in a cup provided it had some alcohol in it.
"Oh, bless you. Or curse you. Or... or whatever you prefer. I'm so out of sorts, I can barely keep my head on straight." He can't help but admire Crowley's ridiculous and ridiculously beautiful wings as he sits, all angles and black and looking very theatric. Aziraphale finds himself wanting to nuzzle the small of his back or grace a hand along his thigh. But it's not the first temptation of the type he's had or even the hundredth, so he's well practiced in keeping his hands to himself.
He takes the glass and gave Crowley a wry look.
"If we must." He touches his glass against the Demon's, loving the faint shivery chime and then takes a drink, moaning in faint relief at the taste. It's not the best, but it's so familiar that he can't help but melt a little from it.
"Though really we can't drink to anything. It's a bit like going from being a zoo keeper to living in the monkey cage and having to deal with the fleas and the flinging of...regrettable objects." He makes a face. "On Earth it was different, you know. There but apart. Our own spaces. Our own identities. And not stuck having to listening to monkeys shriek at us all day. Do you know, I'm supposed to be a Prince. I mean--" He flushes slightly. "--the Class or whatever it was. I didn't choose it. That's what he told me. I'm meant to inspire. I thought it was wonderful at the time... Not for being in charge, of course, but I mean it's something I know how to do. But I'm not entirely sure I'm right for the job.
And it is just another job..." He sighs, finishes his wine and holds up his glass. He drinks from it deeply when its refilled and rests his head against the back of the tub, eyeing a row of slender dark feathers.
"And if I must work, I'd rather it be with someone I know who can help me pick off the fleas..." He is sorely tempted to reach out and stroke a feather, but keeps his hands on his glass. "It's part of our pact, isn't it?"
He hopes Crowley understands what he's getting at. That he'd prefer him to stay. That if he must be with anyone, Crowley is the only one he wants to be with. They would share this space wonderfully, he's sure. At least until a time they moved on.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-07-21 05:22 pm (UTC)"Oh, bless you. Or curse you. Or... or whatever you prefer. I'm so out of sorts, I can barely keep my head on straight." He can't help but admire Crowley's ridiculous and ridiculously beautiful wings as he sits, all angles and black and looking very theatric. Aziraphale finds himself wanting to nuzzle the small of his back or grace a hand along his thigh. But it's not the first temptation of the type he's had or even the hundredth, so he's well practiced in keeping his hands to himself.
He takes the glass and gave Crowley a wry look.
"If we must." He touches his glass against the Demon's, loving the faint shivery chime and then takes a drink, moaning in faint relief at the taste. It's not the best, but it's so familiar that he can't help but melt a little from it.
"Though really we can't drink to anything. It's a bit like going from being a zoo keeper to living in the monkey cage and having to deal with the fleas and the flinging of...regrettable objects." He makes a face. "On Earth it was different, you know. There but apart. Our own spaces. Our own identities. And not stuck having to listening to monkeys shriek at us all day. Do you know, I'm supposed to be a Prince. I mean--" He flushes slightly. "--the Class or whatever it was. I didn't choose it. That's what he told me. I'm meant to inspire. I thought it was wonderful at the time... Not for being in charge, of course, but I mean it's something I know how to do. But I'm not entirely sure I'm right for the job.
And it is just another job..." He sighs, finishes his wine and holds up his glass. He drinks from it deeply when its refilled and rests his head against the back of the tub, eyeing a row of slender dark feathers.
"And if I must work, I'd rather it be with someone I know who can help me pick off the fleas..." He is sorely tempted to reach out and stroke a feather, but keeps his hands on his glass. "It's part of our pact, isn't it?"
He hopes Crowley understands what he's getting at. That he'd prefer him to stay. That if he must be with anyone, Crowley is the only one he wants to be with. They would share this space wonderfully, he's sure. At least until a time they moved on.