smk_ooc | Character Meet and Greet

The light splatter of rain bounced off Azriaphale's feathers, sheeting across their outer surface, but leaving the pair hidden beneath them entirely dry and cozy. Crowley's eyes practically sparkled as he caught the angel's. This was how they had met all those centuries ago, with a rain storm, and a umbrella of feathers shielding him even then.

"Weeeellll..."

He drew the word out as there was something else that had been mentioned to him but it had seemed too silly to bring up. If however Azriaphale was wiling to learn how to sword properly, for him, he could be a little ridiculous.

"After the weapon choosing thing was a bust they did say something about my possibly being more elementally aligned. No need for a wand or a sword then. They said finding a spark of imagination might trigger my new powers. I told them demons don't have imagination but they were very insistent about it. 'You wouldn't have been brought here if you had no imagination at all'," He mocked their tone with a silly voice. "Feels far-fetched if you ask me, but..."

He leaned in, looking into Azriaphale's bright blue eyes, deep as he could, and clicked the last syllable of what he was about to say with his tongue.

"Help me find my spark?"

Edited (typos) 2019-06-24 23:01 (UTC)

Oh don't give him that look. That is a horrible look because it is a beautiful look, and it reminds him of so long ago when everything had seemed so bright and hopeful. When Crowley had seemed bright and hopeful, regardless of being demonic.

He didn't trust that well, however. It sounded so casual but he knew better. He had the mental fortitude not to fall for it. He was, after all, used to temptation from Crowley. He had resisted for six thousand years.

He rubbed his knee a little frowning at the words. He was setting himself up to resist and then-- that lean in... So close he could feel the heat of his breath and the way it danced over his skin... Aziraphale took an unconscious breath... and at the last word his feathers bristled all over.

"Oh, that is diabolical. You foul thing." Because he wanted to help! More than anything. Even as the insinuations danced like embers in between them. He wasn't even sure what Crowley was insinuating would work! But then he couldn't be sure it wouldn't either.

With a snort and a very hard look to say he knew just what the demon was doing, then cupped his jaw, leaned in and planted a very soft kiss on his mouth; closing his eyes. Even just tasting his breath was heavenly and the temptation licked over his skin like flames.

It was absolutely horrible.

Remembering to breathe again, he pulled away a bit.

"Did that help?"

His chin captured, his lips embraced, for that one moment they were like the lovers one passed by on the lane in the park sharing a tender moment hidden beneath an umbrella. He was melting, he was fairly certain, from all that raw divinity coursing through a body that hadn't known it for eons. And yet he wanted more, to reach out and touch Azriaphale's face, to lace his fingers through that white hair, or even to draw the angel back for a second kiss once he moved away.

The effort to resist inflamed the senses. Feeling more like a man ready to breath fire than one ready to stand down, he managed to sit back on the bench and attempted to look cool...

"Yeeaahh."

Which he failed utterly at as he looked more like a deer who had just seen God in the headlights of an approaching car rather than a super slick demon.

"Couldn't be better, very motivating..."

He spoke quickly, each word nearly running over the one before it. He was geeking out. Realizing that he made an effort to settle his rapidly beating heart and turn this back around.

"You know I was expecting one of those divinely inspired angelic speeches. A little pep talk about inner strength or discovering who you really are."

He absolutely beamed, the happiest demon in the entire Kingdom.

"That was much better!"

Well! That was unexpected! He was beyond pleased to see Crowley so happy. If his abilities were working properly, he knew he'd feel it too, and long to in a way. It must feel wonderful, like a summer's day or the tortes at that little shop in Shrewsbury.

And for just a kiss! Imagine that! Though he'd rather expected to have to do another one. Or perhaps a few. And he somewhat longed to lick his lower lip briefly, just to see what taste remained, if any. Most of him wanted to do it again.

And well if it properly motivated Crowley, more was the better, wasn't it? In fact he was practically obligated!

But he did know how to pace himself. after all. So he just smiled, absently running his fingers in slow circles against a spot on the inside of Crowley's leg.

"Mm well if one kiss does all that, I suppose I won't have to give you very many at all."

Up was down and down was up... and here he was sitting as still as a picture trying to behave while an angel tempted him with honeyed words and a roving finger. And what a temptation! Crowley rolled his head over to look at Azriaphale wondering if the angel had the slightest idea what sorts of imaginative thoughts that was provoking!

"I've found that to truly inspire people these sorts of messages do need to be repeated."

He was not a dove, therefore he did not coo. Though people might have been forgiving for thinking so at the pleased little thoughtful noise he made.

"I see..."

Crowley was so still, like a waiting snake unsure if he should go forward or back. He couldn't help but enjoy it immensely for reasons that were...well...frankly ineffable.

"And how do you propose to inspire in me..." He glanced over at him, met his eyes and let it slide down his form before meeting his eyes once more. "... a spark?" And he smiled, the perfect picture of angelic innocence.

The coiled and waiting snake metaphor was a very apt one as it turned out. Everything demon in him was screaming, HELL YEAH, strike and have yourself a delicious dove meal! But, everything good left in him, that he often denied existed, held back carefully watching and waiting so the little bird didn't frighten and fly away.

Crowley opened his mouth hoping there would be some sort of flash of brilliance and a witty remark would usher forth about the best way to inspire a spark in a angel... instead he gaped quite openly that Azriaphale had just run his eyes over him.

Opposite day continued.

"I... uh..."

Brilliant.

That is completely adorable. But clearly he's having some sort of mental breakdown of this whole thing so Aziraphale pats his cheek, dismissing it and rises.

"Well I suppose I had better figure this out then." He looks at the sword with a bit of distaste. "I do hate fighting. But... one does as one must..."

There was only so much one could do with a spark after all, and if he had to keep Crowley from having to-- well-- go snake, then he would have to... work hard-- with this distasteful thing.

"I will need a bath when this is done," he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders. "More like a thousand..."

Crowley deflated like a balloon, kicking himself all the while for hesitating when Azriaphale was so there! So willing! Stupid nice side! Why did he have to wait!? Just to make sure...? What do you need a flashing road sign??

Outwardly however there was only the pout showing any indication of disappointment, that and he seemed to take up even more of the bench than he had previously.

"Pointy end goes into the bad guy."

Crowley offered helpfully.

The little experiment hadn't gone so poorly on his end really. He thought back on it as he sulked and watched the angel flail about with that sword hoping he didn't catch a wing. That was, when you thought of it, their first kiss... That wasn't so bad. Not for a first kiss! They hadn't bumped noses or gotten anything tangled together or any of those other little horrors that he had seen time and again happen to hapless humans on TV. Nah, s'alright!

Actually it was more than alright. It was pretty brilliant! Maybe this place held some potential after all!

"They do have a day spa, perfect for working out the kinks in a swordsman's arm."

"Yes, thank you. Ever so helpful." He was having negative amount of fun with this, and then Crowley had to speak again dashing even that to pieces.

"Swordsman's arm? Really?" It was horror imagining it! Something big and bulky and grotesque and so against everything he was that he couldn't help but shudder. "No, I can't do this. There has to be some other weapon. Some other way. I will do something, Crowley, I promise. I don't want you to worry. But this? I'm not... not...Cabron the Barbarian! I never asked for this in the first place, you know. I was just there looking at the place and God said unto me, woulds't thou like a job and I might have said yes because Eden looked so lovely but I didn't expect to be put on guard duty. I used to be in accounts!" He waggles the sword in Crowley's direction.

"Do you have any idea how long it takes to log in every grain of sand? You don't because you weren't there and it was horrid and I just wanted to see something beautiful, that was all." And look where it got him.

"Conan!"

He corrected a little more forcefully than he intended, after all Conan had books written about him. There was no reason not to know the name.

Then there was a sword in his face and for a moment, a very brief moment he worried the pointy end might end up in the bad guy. Carefully he reached out and with a single finger moved the blade aside.

"Look, maybe you just picked the wrong weapon for you? We could head back to the weapons shop and browse around."

He stood and stretched his wings before sauntering over to stand next to his poor formerly sand counting angel.

"Oh, thank you for suggesting that. You have no idea how relieved I am." He sets thes sword gingerly to the side as if it were a particularly nasty animal. "Yes, let's go. And they have an...adequate little ice cream stand near it. I believe they call it dots. You should try. Oh..."

He notices one of Crowley's feathers sitting a bit crooked and gently straightens it.

"There we are." And then beams at him. "Shall we?"

"Dots? I've seen Dots. They sell those at the theater all the time."

He stood still, smiling as the angel groomed his wings to make him presentable again. He thought about doing the same in return but Azriaphale always looked perfect to him, not a feather out of place that one.

Crowley bobbed his head in the direction of the store and walked a pace that would keep the angel by his side.

"Frozen bananas."

This seemingly out of place comment was later expanded on.

"Is that ice cream cart the same one that sells those frozen bananas?"

"I'd hardly call that place a theater. Movies aren't theater. Most movies aren't. Though Laurence Olivier-- be still my heart. That was cinema." He flicked a wing against Crowley's ever so slightly. "You should come watch with me sometime. You might like it you know."

He smiles at the thought of frozen bananas.

"Yes, I think so! Have you tried one? They're quite good. I enjoy a good banana now and again. There's just something about them that appeals to me." Do you get it? Do you? Isn't it clever?

Edited 2019-06-25 06:30 (UTC)

Crowley groaned which as it was him sounded more like a growl. Puns were nearly as bad as slight of hand.

"I'm sorry I brought the banana's up now."

Thankfully the weapons shop was near and he quickly reached forward to hold the door open. He waited just outside, holding the glass and metal door open and leaning slightly against it. After you angel.

"I've nothing against Laurence Olivier, but that is what they are called, Movie Theaters. They don't go around calling them 'Picture Shows' anymore."

He spoke again just as Azriaphale moved to walk past him and enter the shop.

"But, it's a date angel. First theater showing one of his movies."

Then the ringing of the overhead bell called out the sprightly owner, or temporarily owner's assistant... it was difficult to tell.

"Ah! Master Azriaphale... and Master Crowley! My, my, didn't expect to see you both back here so soon! The advice not work out for you? WELL! There are plenty more weapons here, plenty! Just close your eyes, hold out your hands and see what is drawn to them. It worked for me... after I got over the loss of the finger."

"Serves you right." But he was grinning. He still preferred cinema to either of those labels, but he supposed people had to call it what they must. Though he had to wonder at the word date.

No, really wonder.

Did Crowley mean it casually? Well he must, of course, because it certainly wasn't a date date. Just because he'd given him a little inspiration didn't make anything official. Nothing could be official. Could it? No, certainly not. And certainly Crowley would be completely against holding hands in the theater, which Aziraphale would too, of course, because he was not a complete ninny; nor entirely that needy. And there would be no charming afterwards lit by the marquee lights, leaning closer until... sparks flew once more.

That was just absurd.

He did not mean a date date because he could not mean a date date and even if he did mean a date date it was certainly not any sort of date date that Aziraphale would ever have in mind-- not that he generally thought about such things.

And oh, wait, the strange sad little man was talking to him.

"What? Oh yes. Terrible finger. Loss. I mean. I do hope you find it. Er... what kind of weapon were you looking for, dear?"

He may be a little distracted.

Words held power. As a demon Crowley understood that very well. The right word spoken at the right time could start wars, or end them... get you free pancakes at iHop... or send an angel into a harmless fit of fluttering. He was especially fond of that last one.

He sneered at the strange little man but the expression softened as Azriaphale tripped and tumbled over his own thoughts.

"You were looking for a new weapon, didn't like the sword."

The spoken of weapon was collected from the angel's hands, his demonic fingers quickly brushing over Azriaphale's, before it was left on the counter.

"I was the lost cause."

Even now surrounded by all these interesting and strange objects nothing spoke to him. Maybe the angel would have better luck than he did. Second time's the charm? He issued a warning before Azriaphale's search began.

"Mind your fingers."

"Right."

He still didn't get the fingers joke. The words swirled in his head-- his feathers do ruffle a bit at 'lost cause' and longs to say something to argue against that, but Crowley is a demon after all and lost cause is part of the overall...package.

So he should definitely not be dating him.

On the other hand, if they were to work together and in close proximity to one another for an unknown amount of time, they could no longer be what they were and had to, instead, become something new.

Only not that new.

The cast member clears his throat expressively and Aziraphale clicks his tongue. Weapons. Honestly. How gauche and he does not have time for this.

He snaps his fingers and a book comes rocketing from somewhere in the back,miraculously missing the cast member's head by mere centimeters. He catches it neatly, tucking it against his side.

"Thank you. We might be back later." Because Crowley might need something or might not. "Come along."

He takes Crowley by the wrist and hurries him from the shop, the thoughts in his head coalescing into a shining idea that he doesn't want to lose nor be interrupted in expressing it.

Once safely outside, he comes to stand in front of the demon, his wings flared.

"Listen. We are not-- this cannot be a date date. We are not dating. Not in any capacity." He took a breath and continued. "We are merely here to work together in official capacity for our respective sides-- for companionship and to provide inspiration for one another when needed-- for the sake of the world at large and certainly not for our own personal pleasure. Well, not for mine." He draws himself up. "I know you demons care less about that sort of thing."

Which is enviable in a way.

Or would be, were he not an angel and therefore above that sort of thing.

"Agreed?" He absently strokes a thumb over Crowley's wrist which he realizes he hasn't let go of and-- well, it's too late now, isn't it?

Edited 2019-06-25 16:38 (UTC)

Crowley's glasses slid sightly forward on his nose when that book came flying out of the back like it knew to and right over to the angel who had called for it. Book and angel, It was like they were made for each other! He thought to marvel at that or offer congratulations instead before even being able to smile he was collected and hurried out of the shop.

The 'talk' as it was briefly refereed to in his own mind consisted of the usual, I'm an angel you are a demon, arguments that he had been hearing from Azriaphale for... well since the beginning really. He didn't pay them the greatest amount of attention. Azriaphale always said no before he said yes.

"Did I say this was a date date? I never once said this was a date date!"

Of course he never said it wasn't a date date either. Which he decided for ill or well to point out in his trademark clever way.

"We're just an angel and a demon, looking to learn a new style of magic."

He nodded in the direction of the little ice cream cart on the curb.

"About to share a frozen banana."

His own fingers moved to lace with the one's holding his wrist.

"Holding hands."

He stepped closer, a hint of dry amusement slipping in between the words.

"Kissing in the park."

And closer still until his wingtips settled nicely against Azriaphale's divinely flared ones.

"How could anyone come away with the idea that this was a date date?"

His demon's smile appeared, soft and tender as he quoted something apropos of the moment and from a play near and dear to both of them as they had been there to see it. Hamlet Act 3, scene 2, 222–230.

"Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
How like you this play?"

The last line was altered to better fit the situation.

"The angel doth protest too much, methinks."

He relaxed a little when Crowley said it wasn't a date date, but the relief was short lived as the words continued. His feathers bristled a little as that hand slid against his, palm to palm, fingers entwining, a rush of feeling going through him and heating his face.

Furthermore, it wasn't kissing! He wanted to say. It was inspiration! But the more Crowley spoke the more it sounded like a Date in the most capital letter way possible. He was about to protest! He was all set up to protest! Acknowledging that this had all the trappings of a date so they couldn't possibly continue it.

But then that smile, so soft and gentle, rare as a gem, and he was lost. The Hamlet didn't help, said in those low tones of utter perfection, making his wings tremble slightly.Blessed things.

How could he fight against it? How could he deny it? How could he pull away? He would have to in the end when they went back but now--

"Oh, just shut up and inspire me." And grabbing his lapel he pulled him down and kissed him, the fire going through him once more. He realized dimly that he'd dropped the book, but that didn't matter. In this moment, only one thing did.

There was a thud, either from a book hitting the ground or from a thousand collective ethereal or diabolic heads exploding. But there was no rumbling crackle of thunder, no bolt from the blue or flames issuing from the ground to set right this imbalance between opposing forces.

Light and dark intermingled in the kiss, inspiring each other with that finally acknowledged spark that had always existed between them. The hand that held Azriaphale's tightened as if by doing that alone it could strength this growing bond and Crowley's feathers laced between the angel's making it more difficult to tell where good ended and evil began.

And the poor gaping ice cream vendor looked on, the sundea she held out to a young customer turning to melt in her hand.

Were there noises? Were there other people? No, everything was sensation, the tickle of feathers which traveled through his wings and shoulder blades, sending delicious little thrills down his spine-- the weight and pressure of Crowley's mouth and the heat of his breath-- such strange softness there. He ran his hand from Crowley's jacket to the more interesting place on the back of his neck, feeling the heated skin and the soft brush of hair against his fingers.

And, well, this was good! It was. It had to be. Whatever Crowley said, it was inspiration. Yes. It would have to be in moderation of course. No good getting too inspired. That could lead to awful things down the road. But it didn't seem right to have all this lovely inspiration and not take a little taste of it.

So he did, opening his mouth a little, he flicked out the barest bit of tongue to taste that tempting lower lip. He groaned deep in his throat. It was just flesh, but tasted like so much more, like fire and sin. Like whiskey only dreamed it could achieve. He pressed in without thinking, wanting more.

Angels didn't taste of fire and sin. Their light burned but in a much more holy way. The light of the sun so intense it seared away all the darkness around it. Crowley found himself momentarily lost in that light. Not caring that a sad child wailed as his promised ice cream landed on the ground instead of making it's way to his mouth or that an ice cream vendor fanned herself as she watched... but really as a demon he wouldn't have been bothered by that to begin with.

He snarled low and approvingly as Azriaphale moved against him, favoring the angel's lip with an impassioned nip of his own. His free hand searched down the angel's back to his hip, clawing at it in an effort to draw him closer. Dark wings began to tuck and fold, enveloping both of them in a cozy veil, selfishly trying to capture all of that light for himself. He wouldn't share, wouldn't regret, he reveled in this sin taking delight from every little noise, every little touch Azriaphale blessed him with.

And then suddenly there was glass, as demon pressed angel back against the large picture window of the weapon's shop. He hadn't realized they had still been so close to it, but even that didn't matter. On full display he spoke the name that was to become his new prayer between greedy kisses.

"Azriaphale."

The nip did things to him. Things he would rather ignore. Moreso the snarl. But ignoring too much was altogether impossible, and he couldn't stop. He lightly scratched the back of Crowley's neck in reply, sighing softly as darkness surrounded them, tasting his lip, ever so delicately his tongue. He made the most indecent noise as his name was whispered in that darkness and it was oh, all to easy to fall--

As soon as he thought it, the word shook him.

He lightly pushed at Crowley's chest, trying to get him to back up a little, trying to breathe.

"Yes, well, quite enough inspiration for one day, don't you think?" he said with a smile, feeling frazzled. He was not falling, he told himself, they were inspiring. In the middle of a street. With a child around who was being herded off. He would just have to remember to inspire less intensely in the future that was all.

"What were we doing? Oh! The book." He went to fetch it, making a great show of brushing it off as he tried to pretend he couldn't still taste Crowley on his tongue or feel the heat of him and that delicious darkness and promises. Dark wonderful promises that he could never let himself explore or it would be too far. Too far and he wouldn't be able to come back.

The light torment from the scratch excited as much as the indecent noises from an angel had and in the process of looking for firmer purchase Crowley's hand landed against the pane of glass pressing his advantage with his partner further. So it was a rude shock when that staying hand landed on his chest and gently pushed him back right in the middle of a very unflattering duck-faced kiss. Quite enough inspiration? Maybe Azriaphale could turn passion off so easily but he had to stand there a moment to allow his emotions to settle. Something he did reluctantly and with a firmly disappointed frown.

Course he hadn't known a kid was there, so when Azriaphale hurried off to recollect his book and Crowley caught sight of the boy being led away he began to feel the angel might... possibly... have been right.

"What do you plan to do with that?"

The question was asked to give him time to still his breathing but from the corner of his eye he glanced the horrified expression of the temp weapon smith clerk. A deeper look into the shop revealed the reason. It wasn't due to the scene outside it was the chaos inside that had inspired the fear. Every lantern, torch, and candle burned with an intense flame far bigger and hotter than they ever would have been able to reach under normal circumstances. Staring into the bonfire that was the crystal lamp hanging in the window he noticed something else. The glass under his hand was soft and malleable, melted by the furnace on the other side of the pane. Quickly he drew it away and inspected the amazingly burn free nature of his palm. As he did so the fires inside the store shrank, finally going out entirely to leave only a demon's hand print forever trapped in a pane of cooling glass.

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