Crowley's eyes seem to be burning into him. There are no key emotions crossing his face that someone could pick up on--but he knows what it means. He's known Crowley long enough to know what it means. With or without glasses, it's not the first time he's been stared at as if he's the only being in existence. It's not the first time he's seen that kind of hunger.
It makes him flush slightly, but he meets the demon's eyes mildly as if he doesn't fully understand the weight of it. As if he doesn't know. The truly embarrassing part of it is that a part of him revels in the attention. Wants to be resplendent. Shining. Perhaps even overwhelming. But he squashes that part down and tucks it neatly away. At the same time he doesn't deny the attention either, and makes certain that no part of him moves or flinches away from it as if he's changing his mind or means it any less.
Still he waits until Crowley's back is to him before closing his eyes. It was good. It was a good thing to say. He feels the rightness of it in the lining of his gut. But it was a horrible thing to say. He knows how Crowley feels, even if he doesn't know why. Even if it doesn't make much sense in the grand scheme of things. There are certain people he can see Crowley with in that sense, but he was nowhere near that area. In fact he was on the other side of town having lunch in a fussy little cafe.
The point is, there are certain lines he will not cross. Will not allow himself to. Friendship, yes, perhaps, in the oblique way that they have. Caring for one another here, certainly. But no more than that. And it's not fair to engender those kinds of feelings or that kind of hope.
He will just have to make sure to keep a certain distance, that's all. To not--
Wait, what?
"You want to learn it?" He laughs a bit at the mental image, opening his eyes and is startled a bit as the world seems new; catches the sight of white bubbles clinging to black feathers and has a flurry of complicated emotions which he buries just as rapidly. and taps the stem of the empty wine glass against Crowley's shoulder, asking for more.
"We'll you'll certainly be popular if you end up naked for all to see. But...well.. you'll want your clothes back..."
His are gone. His beloved coat. His vest. Everything. Just vanished. He'll have to wear something new and stiff. Perhaps even a t-shirt.
Well he will have to anyway, and right now he's taking a bath so who has time to worry about it? He thinks with some desperation and tries to bury those feelings with the others though there is a slight rumbling in the metaphorical ground of his mind.
"I've got a better idea..." He leans forward a bit. "Pardon me." He brushes aside some of the smaller feathers near the base of his wing to see the state of the jacket. Thankfully there was a hole in it already, though too snug to get all of it out.
"We will have to cut along the seam here..." He traces it with a finger. "And then you will be able to get out on your own. If, by the grace of the Almighty, we can find a somewhat decent tailor... well... perhaps they can add buttons? Or a zipper? I don't really know. We certainly can't have your coat flapping about.
He looks up then and finds himself incredibly close to the back of Crowley's neck, nose to nose with his collar. What if he hooks a finger on the back of his collar and pulls it down. What if he leans forward and--
"How was that bouillabaisse? Any good?" He says, leaning back and listing away, looking very hard at his own pale knees poking above the suds. "I am absolutely famished."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-07-22 03:07 am (UTC)It makes him flush slightly, but he meets the demon's eyes mildly as if he doesn't fully understand the weight of it. As if he doesn't know. The truly embarrassing part of it is that a part of him revels in the attention. Wants to be resplendent. Shining. Perhaps even overwhelming. But he squashes that part down and tucks it neatly away. At the same time he doesn't deny the attention either, and makes certain that no part of him moves or flinches away from it as if he's changing his mind or means it any less.
Still he waits until Crowley's back is to him before closing his eyes. It was good. It was a good thing to say. He feels the rightness of it in the lining of his gut. But it was a horrible thing to say. He knows how Crowley feels, even if he doesn't know why. Even if it doesn't make much sense in the grand scheme of things. There are certain people he can see Crowley with in that sense, but he was nowhere near that area. In fact he was on the other side of town having lunch in a fussy little cafe.
The point is, there are certain lines he will not cross. Will not allow himself to. Friendship, yes, perhaps, in the oblique way that they have. Caring for one another here, certainly. But no more than that. And it's not fair to engender those kinds of feelings or that kind of hope.
He will just have to make sure to keep a certain distance, that's all. To not--
Wait, what?
"You want to learn it?" He laughs a bit at the mental image, opening his eyes and is startled a bit as the world seems new; catches the sight of white bubbles clinging to black feathers and has a flurry of complicated emotions which he buries just as rapidly. and taps the stem of the empty wine glass against Crowley's shoulder, asking for more.
"We'll you'll certainly be popular if you end up naked for all to see. But...well.. you'll want your clothes back..."
His are gone. His beloved coat. His vest. Everything. Just vanished. He'll have to wear something new and stiff. Perhaps even a t-shirt.
Well he will have to anyway, and right now he's taking a bath so who has time to worry about it? He thinks with some desperation and tries to bury those feelings with the others though there is a slight rumbling in the metaphorical ground of his mind.
"I've got a better idea..." He leans forward a bit. "Pardon me." He brushes aside some of the smaller feathers near the base of his wing to see the state of the jacket. Thankfully there was a hole in it already, though too snug to get all of it out.
"We will have to cut along the seam here..." He traces it with a finger. "And then you will be able to get out on your own. If, by the grace of the Almighty, we can find a somewhat decent tailor... well... perhaps they can add buttons? Or a zipper? I don't really know. We certainly can't have your coat flapping about.
He looks up then and finds himself incredibly close to the back of Crowley's neck, nose to nose with his collar. What if he hooks a finger on the back of his collar and pulls it down. What if he leans forward and--
"How was that bouillabaisse? Any good?" He says, leaning back and listing away, looking very hard at his own pale knees poking above the suds. "I am absolutely famished."