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[Alright, he can do this. It's just their usual back and forth except now they're actively talking about Aziraphale loving him.

He can think of a comeback if he pretends they're talking about something else Aziraphale likes.]

Just don't push it, angel, or I'll cut you off. [As if he's the vintage wine at the bookshop they've gotten into.] I'll take the veil so you're not able to do any regarding, fond or otherwise.

[Hilarious image, thank you Crowley.]

[ SCOFF. ]

Cut me off and take the-- ridiculous. No you won't. My just-this-once allotment has barely even started.

[ Even though it would be either very funny or very hot to see Crowley in full taking the veil coutoure. Maybe both? Look, he contains multitudes. ]

Your allotment's only thirty seconds, did I not mention that from the beginning?

[He's back on track, he's vibing by being a little shit, he will broach the wings thing again as soon as he remembers.]

Thirty seconds? Crowley, that isn't feasible and you know it.

[ It is feasible, Aziraphale, you've been sneak fondly regarding Crowley for years. You're just spoiled and arguing to argue. ]

This is the whole issue with time allotments, you know. I'll have to start giving you one to keep things even, and then that's hard cheese for the both of us.

[ Unfair treatment! Jail! ]

Ah, see, that's where you're mistaken. I'm a demon, breaking the rules comes naturally.

[He will simply refuse to acknowledge the allotment and continue doing whatever he wants to do.

What's Aziraphale gonna do about it? Bend him over a table?]

Five seconds left.

[He's a menace.]

[ This is appalling and ghastly. Aziraphale's lawyers will be hearing about it.

In the meantime, fine. Silly made-up back and forths call for silly made-up measures. He'll just call Crowley's bluff.

Not the bluff implying there's any sort of world where there'd be consequences for continuing to look. The bluff where Crowley implies that he'd actually enjoy it if the regarding stopped happening.

He settles his shoulders with a dumb wiggle. He crosses his arms and lifts his chin. The whole bit. And he takes his five seconds and then very pointedly looks away like a proper drama queen. ]

Well. If that's how it has to be, then I suppose that's just how it has to be, doesn't it.

[ He said, making zero effort to rein in any other eyes he may have on any other nonphysical planes, because he just wants to be dramatic. ]

I should hate to regard you overly fondly.

[It's only five seconds; he manages to maintain eye contact for the entire time that Aziraphale is regarding him, feeling more than a little pleased with himself for entirely unknown reasons.

He even manages not to burst into laughter when Aziraphale turns away.]

You're still looking, aren't you?

[Aziraphale said that he always was, didn't he?

Crowley's never going to forget that, and it was even more true than he realized, now that he's watched the damn show.]

[ What's even the point of having a whiny little strop anymore. It's been wasted. Aziraphale's been called out.

He's probably still been holding Crowley's hand the whole time too so like, who knows what he was really expecting. ]

Of course I'm still looking, you ridiculous creature. Dare I say, even more lovingly than before! [ Always! At every opportunity! Forever! So take that. ] I'm afraid you simply don't have a choice in the matter.

[Crowley loves him so much that he can't stand it. If Aziraphale can't sense it practically vibrating off him then he needs to get his angelic senses checked.]

If you wanted to see me in a habit, you could just say you're interested.

[He's so unbearably pleased with himself for not only making a stupid joke but also for circling this back around to the start of this discussion like some conversational wizard.]

[ He's getting a divorce.

Aziraphale is actually so brave because he's not immediately a slut about that. Well, not verbally. If he got into the category of costume he'd quite like to see Crowley in and then back out of, they'd be here for ages. ]

Oh, dear heart, you've lain me to waste. I'm in stitches. Hoisted on my own petard.

[ The drama. The betrayal. The overwhelming love of it all. ]

[Crowley makes such a face, incredibly put out that Aziraphale hasn't actually been lain to waste by his cleverness.]

See if I ever groom your wings. I was gonna ask if you wanted them done tonight, but now...

[He's lost his chance!!!!

(He hasn't.)]

[ Ohhh, he sees now. This entire circular conversation was a trap. An elaborate stage-setting for Crowley to be in the position of being asked, rather than asking.

Textbook. ]

Terrible shame. I was going to ask if you might have the time for it tonight. [ Although. Hm. ] Pending any shakeouts I may have needed to go and do for them first. It's, um. Been a minute.

[ Realizing he's actually not fully sure how presentable his own wings are right now: an Aziraphalean tragedy. ]

[If only this were actually his plan and not just him having a strop because his original plan (make Aziraphale blush) didn't work.

He doesn't even have it in him to keep up the charade, in case Aziraphale thinks he's actually rescinding the offer and he never gets to touch his wings.

But first:]

Sorry, wh— shakeouts? Why do you need to shake out your wings?

[Babe. Bestie. Beloved.]

... I just told you why.

[ Because it's been a minute. Obviously.

He squints, in the way of a person who felt pretty confident about the equation they finished only to hear his classmates all came up with something different. What did he miss and should he be offended about it? ]

Yes, I heard that part, but what are you shaking out of them? I can take care of the loose feathers.

[WHAT ELSE WOULD BE IN YOUR WINGS, AZIRAPHALE.]

I'm sure if I had those answers, I would tell you.

[ It's a statement but also almost a question. It seems like the right thing to say. ]

But, well. I don't really know where they were while I was in the, the last reality, so I can't account for that. And you know how these things get besides.

[ Loose feathers, certainly. Dust, perhaps. Oddly prone to attracting little objects despite being essentially tucked away on an entirely different plane. Oh, he really couldn't say for certain until he's done the shaking out part.

A vague gay gesture that illustrates absolutely nothing follows the statement. ]

[At the mention of the last reality, Crowley softens immediately, suddenly feeling a bit rubbish about having given him a hard time about it.]

Why don't you bring 'em out and I'll get them sorted for you?

[If they need a shaking out, then he can do a shaking out, but he'll take a look first to see what he's working with.]

I can summon you up a stool if you'd like, or you can just pop onto the bed.

[How cozy does he want to get? The ultimate question.]

[ Hmm. He seems to have done it. The right answer. How very lucky that it was also the truth. Gift horses and all that. ]

A stool should do nicely, thank you. [ Should it turn out that Aziraphale does not, in fact, enjoy the feeling, or Crowley changes his mind at some point, getting out of a bed would be much more awkward. In his opinion. ] Now, if you'd like me to go and straighten them out a bit first, you can say so. I won't take offense.

[ He promises, cross his heart. There. Now Crowley knows he's not obligated if things are messier than what he's willing to sort. It's important to make sure the exit door is labeled and all that. Aziraphale shucks his housecoat and very neatly lays it over the back of the sofa in the meantime. ]

[A snap of his fingers summons a fancy little stool, upholstered in deep red velvet, because he has a aesthetic.]

You've seen my flat, angel. I don't mind tidying.

[If anything, it's incredibly soothing and he's fairly certain that grooming Aziraphale's wings is going to be the equivalent of dropping a kilo of catnip on a kitten.]

I thought there was a chance you kept it like that to make a point of not needing to tidy. [ In hindsight, given Crowley's overall vibe, he supposes it makes sense. When he was there everything was always very organized.

Fine, though. That's reassuring, really. As reassuring as "don't mind" versus "like" can be for anybody. Aziraphale sits on his fancy little stool and pulls his wings out without further ado. Which already feels better, honestly, he always forgets how nice it is.

They are, in fact, a bit of a mess™️. Everything the narration once promised comes to fruition: the loose feathers, the being disheveled, intermittently dusty??? Somehow? There's a very authentic goose-feather quill stuck to the top of one like a sock out of the dryer. And slightly squashed in places, in a very "some bitch just stows them in the ether and forgets about it most of the time even when he hasn't been cut off from them by forces unknown, because he could be reading books or having cake or seeing a show instead" fashion.

In many ways, this is like bringing an artificial Christmas tree out of storage. You can look at it and go ah, well, it's clear which side of this tree was on the floor of the garage all year. Hope a spider didn't move in.

Imagine getting a new body and shiny new wings from the Antichrist and then within about 2 years they've gone full Velveteen Rabbit like everything else in Aziraphale's orbit. Truly a reflection of the self. There u go Crowley have your free catnip. ]

Bit of both, really.

[The tidiness is the typical state of things, but it always gets Extra Tidy when he's stressed or otherwise discombobulated and needs a way to soothe himself. It's for the best that Aziraphale has never left him alone in the bookshop for more than an hour.

Nothing could have prepared him for the state of Aziraphale's wings, even the suggestion that they'd need a shaking out led him to expect a bit of dust and loose feathers, not... this.

Some kind of unintelligible sound sneaks out of him as he attempts not to straight up cuss about the state of things, and his first instinct involves a quick miracle to clear the immediate air of any dust or debris.]

Well, I see what you meant.

[His wings are so beautiful and for what??? To have a quill stuck in them?

As he stands for a closer look, Crowley forces himself to take a moment to move past the surprise and slight indignation so that he can actually appreciate Aziraphale's wings, no matter how much of a mess they are. This deserves a level of reverence that he won't bring if he focuses too much on the practical aspect of tidying them up.

His first touch is gentle as a result, just a light brush with his fingertips down one of the flight feathers. None of the dust or debris stop them from being impossibly soft, and it takes some self control to leave it at just one touch, to give Aziraphale a moment to process.]

Alright?

[ Aziraphale is going to use not looking at Crowley right now to pretend he's not trying to run the math on whether that seemed like an especially judgy noise and tone, or just sort of appraising the situation. He needs to be twisting his ring about this for extra computational power.

How could this have happened. What if Crowley doesn't like them and then he gets a bad grade in wings?

No, that's stupid. It's only Crowley.

Feeling embarrassed is potentially on the docket, though. It's always on the docket.

The touching is a welcome distraction from this potential mini-spiral.

Alright? Is it? Aziraphale makes a thoughtful noise somewhere in the back of his throat. Little bit odd, he thinks. New. Terrifyingly gentle and intimate.

But certainly not unpleasant. ]

I think so. [ Then more definitively: ] Yes. Quite alright.

[ The mortifying ordeal of grooming has all at once become very clear to Aziraphale. He can't believe the roller coaster he must have been putting Crowley through when the roles were reversed. He was a fool. He's not entirely certain how one apologizes for taking that liberty months after the fact, so he'll workshop it. ]

[Forcing himself not to have a fit about the situation has served a two-fold purpose, as it turns out. It's allowed him to be gentle, as Aziraphale deserves, but once past the initial surprise, the indignation has faded to replaced by the sort of fondness that always shows up, where Aziraphale is concerned.]

Good.

[A bit soft, a bit fond, as he repeats the touch a few times, letting him adjust to the sensation while Crowley develops a plan of attack.]

M'gonna start with removing any interlopers, like this bloody quill. [His tone of voice has gone from a bit fond to incredibly fond, as he very gently eases out the goose feather.] Writing a correspondence with your wings out, were you?

[ A little clearly fond teasing is allowable as a treat. As long as it's coming from Crowley, anyway. Aziraphale unironically wishes he had a grasp on Crowley's strange and mysterious fondness proclivities. Then again, Crowley is in love with him. He supposes he actually has a very good grasp on it. ]

Oh, I'm sure I couldn't tell you.

[ He's supposed to what, remember things that have been out of sight and therefore out of mind? At any point, let alone right now when he's starting to relax into this free physical touch? Sounds fake. ]

It may have just felt most at home there. [ To Aziraphale or to the quill? Who's to say. ] Odds and ends, you know. They like to settle.

I'll refrain from making a comment about you and geese.

[If only because it wouldn't be very demonic to utter the words silly goose, no matter how ridiculous and in love he happens to be.

A side table finds itself suddenly existing in the room, by Crowley's hip, so he can set down the quill, and the train ticket, and a small scrap of leather from what was likely a book-binding project.

And a gold button, engraved with a serpent that looks incredibly familiar.]

Is this where that got to? I lost this thing in the seventeenth century.

[He'll hold it out above Aziraphale's head so he can see what it is, because he's nice like that.]

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