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[ Aziraphale can't kiss him on the forehead about that little reaction, which is a crime. He's making a note to self to do it after.

Things he's choosing to do with the button for now: fidget with it instead of with his pinky ring. Every day, a new victory. ]

You could be. If you like. [ He already is a bit, in Aziraphale's personal opinion. Just in a different aesthetic with different channels. ] 'Some people' might be looking for a chance to spoil you properly, when you're ready.

[ Because if there's one thing he now knows for absolute truth, it's that indulging someone's fussiness is a whole love language. Crowley built it from the ground up. It would be nice to do the same. Properly, for once. Whenever Crowley feels ready to handle that sort of attention. ]

[Oh, he's sort of pleased about that, too. Being able to provide a new fidget toy is a win.

He'll take that little victory and get back to the task at hand to remove the last of the few pieces of ephemera from his wings.]

What's fussiness got to do with spoiling me?

[He can't connect the dots.]

[ Angels should be able to purr. It would be closest on the emotional spectrum to what this pampering merits.

That said: Aziraphale thought his meaning was very clear and that he wouldn't have to communicate about it further. Damn. Still need to do a skills workshop on that, it seems. ]

Crowley, you let me get away with being fussy about things all the time. [ That's basically the entire definition of spoiling him? He can admit that, because he is fussy. He's always been fussy.

And that doesn't even include all the other flagrantly spoiling-an-angel things Crowley does. Obviously. ] I suppose they're not technically mutually exclusive concepts, but.

[ He has no followup to the 'but.' All he has is a pointless gesture, like there's a whiteboard with all the math laid out in front of him. He has not realized he's straddling the line on being fussy about... being fussy. ]

[Aziraphale is out here wanting to purr and Crowley's halfway to catnip mode being activated.

But he tries very hard to figure out what Aziraphale is trying to communicate even though he'd much rather just vibe with the task at hand. It helps that he's suddenly reminded of Aziraphale's face when he fixed his coat for him.]

You want me to be fussy about something so you can indulge me?

[Just to make sure he's got it. The why of it is still slightly a mystery, but he can at least comprehend the basics.]

[ Aha. Success! Aziraphale tips his head back even though it's not an optimal angle for properly looking at Crowley. ]

Yes, exactly. I want to indulge you. [ What if we kissed... and we were both neurotic weirdos who indulge and support each other?

At least now he knows the overall intent is on the table for consideration. ] You hardly ever get to have a proper fuss.

[ By his standards. ]

[As it turns out, Crowley is incapable of maintaining any kind of eye contact after Aziraphale says the word indulge like that. How's he supposed to cope?

He simultaneously has an entire discussion in his head with his mental version of Aziraphale, where he says something about it not being necessary, to which Aziraphale argues that it isn't about necessity, it's that he wants to do it.

So they can skip that part.]

Not really sure there's much I'm fussy about.

[They can skip the argument and go straight to Crowley trying to sidestep the notion with a very obvious excuse.]

[ Noclip mental discussion speedrun any%. Aziraphale doesn't mind not having that one. Maybe it's a good sign that Crowley is interpreting properly.

What he can't verbalize of the full scope of the emotion, the sort of-- wanting Crowley to like things and want things and enjoy things and be annoyingly particular about them, or wanting Crowley to know that there's, there's space for all that. Here. With him. Aziraphale hasn't got all that on tap yet. Maybe someday.

Right now he's got whatever he's managed to put out there. ]

Well, like I said. When you're ready. [ Plenty of time. He can wait. ] We'll just keep a weather eye out as we go, won't we?

[ Won't we? 🥺 ]

[If he tries to come up with something, the only real possibility that comes to mind is the Bentley; he's very particular about taking care of it, but he doesn't think that's quite what Aziraphale means. It's a moot point, anyway, since the Bentley isn't here.]

If there's anything I decide to be fussy about, you'll be the first to know.

[Sort of... one of those things he says to placate Aziraphale, because he's not sure if this is a task he can actually manage.]

Is it alright if I give your feathers a bit of a tousle?

[It'll get any remaining dust out, but it might be a bit much.]

Thank you.

[ Note to self: kiss Crowley about that, too. Aziraphale loves him so much it's almost unbearable.

Almost.

He hopes he hasn't made this uncomfortable that quickly. Might be a new record. ]

Could you, um. Not to be ungrateful for your hard work, of course, you're doing a lovely job. Very kind of you to offer at all. But I think there may still be something stuck... right... [ The button seemingly Miraculously Vanishes from his hand as he tries to get at some particular patch of feathers that his physical arms can't reach from this angle of approach.

How could other angels and demons possibly be doing this regularly and enjoying it? That's a mystery. ] Thereabouts. Might just be an odd feather. If you don't mind checking for me?

[ Whether or not this is partly to do with buying time to think over the tousling is also a mystery. It's probably not. This is definitely in no way any kind of potential trap. ]

[For a handful of seconds, Crowley's heart sinks with the fear that Aziraphale is leading up to a request that he stop; he would, without question, but he can't help the flicker of disappointment that he might never get to do this again.

Once the request comes, the relief of it thoroughly distracts him from any potentional suspicion, he just carefully reaches for the spot that Aziraphale indicated, combing his fingers through feathers until he finds something that shouldn't be there.

A small bit of fabric, is his initial assessment as he starts to ease it out, wondering how on Earth it managed to get wedged in there.

Pulling it out further reveals an entire handkerchief and Crowley opens his mouth to say something about how ridiculous it is that Aziraphale lost an entire kerchief in his wings, but the words die as another handkerchief is tugged free, knotted to the first.

And then another, and then another. There's a slight increase in frantic energy as he continues to reveal the chain of handkerchiefs, like maybe if he gets them out, this will turn out to have been a dream.]

Aziraphale.

[Exasperated and fond and ready to either file for divorce or kiss him on his stupid mouth.]

[ Aziraphale will magnanimously allow the chain to end before too too long. Whether this is related to the fact he's started fighting a losing battle to not laugh is up for debate. ]

Oh, did you find something after all? I'm feeling much better already.

[ It's a beautiful day in the North Pole, and you are a horrible little angel. ]

[Crowley briefly considers setting the whole lot of them on fire, but decides to scrunch them up into a ball, instead, so he can pitch it the back of Aziraphale's head.

And then a horrifying thought occurs to him.]

I'm putting a bloody moratorium on magic tricks in the bedroom. Before you get any ideas.

[ He throws Aziraphale's special magic scarves... like the football.

Aziraphale can't really be offended, he knew this was the likely outcome. As tactics to a) be a little shit and b) sidestep making Crowley think more about the indulgences issue during a nice evening, this is a categorical success.

He has many skills. Magic is not among them, but avoiding lines of thought or conversation very much is. ]

You're no fun at all. [ A blatant lie. ] Consider the sanctity of the bedroom thoroughly respected, my dear.

[ He can be annoying with magic tricks any other time, as a free agent. ]

[It was either throwing them or using them as a garotte.]

Oh, so terribly sorry for spoiling your fun. [The sarcasm is a physical weight in his mouth, and he's even going to be bold enough to give one of Aziraphale's feathers a gentle little tug in retaliation.] Have I ruined your plans to pull a string of handkerchiefs out of my cunt?

[If Aziraphale is gonna be rude with magic, Crowley's gonna be crass about it.]

[ Potent combination to achieve what bringing up sexting could not. Crowley gets his flustered blush, barring one "Aziraphale feels Some Way about that feather tug that has yet to be properly categorized but he thinks is positive" twitch of the wing. ]

Now you're just being, being ridiculous. Rude for no reason. [ NO reason? Really? ] Whatever that particular magic act may have entailed will be remaining a professional secret, thank you.

[ But no he was not going to pull handkerchiefs out of Crowley's cunt. Let that be on the record.

He can repurpose any restraints and/or blindfolds without the theatrics anyway, it's fine. The card and magic ring tricks... the doves... hm. Not so much. ]

[The smugness radiating off Crowley could power a nuclear reactor; he's so pleased with himself for that blush and is hoping that the little wing twitch was a positive one.

Although he doesn't push his luck on that front, choosing instead to smooth down the feather.]

I've perfectly good reasons. I've seen your sleight of hand tricks, s'only sensible to worry about what you might get up to down there.

[Since he never got an answer re: tousling, he'll just card his fingers gently through the feathers to loosen any dust. Even as he's being a little shit.]

And you've just admitted that you did have an act planned.

[More reasons for him to be ridiculous!]

[ Divorce filed, it's so over. For probably the hundredth time today because that's just how they are. Unbelievable. ]

No reasonable reason, then. [ Literally just arguing to argue.

Aziraphale gets his new old button fidget toy back out so that he can be well-behaved and polite for the rest of his grooming (maybe), but like in a petulant way. ] Maybe you should have considered the potential ramifications of being a love worth planning for, hm?

Not by your estimation, evidently.

[Crowley thinks he has more than enough reasons, Aziraphale is just being a contrary little bitch, which is fortunately something that Crowley loves about him.]

I'm not — [Another argument happens in his head, in which he tries to say that he's not worth planning for and it turns into a whole thing so he just bites his tongue on that particular point, even if it sort of feels uncomfortable to let it pass unquestioned.] No one said planning had to involve a blasted magic act, angel.

[ Narrowest verbal save of Crowley's entire life. Aziraphale was fully prepared to give him the most offended and withering look ever given if he denied the worth planning for status.

Not arguing is one step closer to being resigned to it, which is close to accepting it, which is almost close to believing it. Right? He assumes that's how self-esteem works. ]

No one said it couldn't involve a magic act. The sky was the proverbial limit on planning at the time.

[There are two wolves inside Crowley, one of them wants absolutely nothing to do with magic acts whatsoever and the other, the one responsible for so many of his problems, is far too curious.]

I'm utterly fascinated to hear how a magic act could be sexy.

[Maybe if he keeps gently fussing with Aziraphale's feathers, making sure they're all laid out neatly, it'll make Aziraphale more inclined to answer.]

[ Aziraphale is enjoying having his feathers fussed with. It's a lot. But a nice sort of a lot. He might take a walk to get his zoomies out about it later. Which is, of course, a later problem. ]

Don't tell me you never saw Houdini at work. [ Objectively sexy, obviously? His wife would kiss keys for escape acts into his mouth on stage. Perfect. No notes.

He'd like to say that he thinks their bullet catch trick was very sexy of them, only he has to remember that for Crowley it was apparently horrifying. So not sexy or romantic. ]

When would I have ever seen Houdini at work?

[Aziraphale knows how he feels about magic! Although, admittedly, he has less of a problem when humans do it since they aren't capable of actual miracles.

And also the professionals like Houdini are good at it. Unlike some angels.

Wait, he's connecting some dots (he hasn't connected shit) and he's going to be a bastard about it.]

If you want to dress me in fishnets and tie me up, you could just ask.

[ A little scoff, as if to say "well then it's no wonder you don't see the possibilities." The drama, the mystique, the adrenaline of it all. The unspoken and implicit trust between the magician and their assistant.

Fine, and the fishnets and restraints.

To be followed by an even louder, more offended scoff. ]

I'll account for the ten-minute prelude of you teasing me for asking if I ever do plan on that, shall I? [ 'If' he wants to dress him in fishnets and tie him up. Pf. If. Like he isn't attracted to Crowley in every which way as a rule. He'll make him understand that someday. But talking about that sort of thing seems to just make him uncomfortable and cagey. Some brand new approach-from-the-side language that must be learned.

He wouldn't keep accidentally making Crowley uncomfortable, he thinks, if they had put down those lists what not to do yet. Could have been very professional about it! Saved all the fretting for figuring out how to be romantically open after years of hiding and repressing! A definitely normal way to view relationships!!! Unlike Crowley's heathen (read: also fucking weird) way. ]

Never mind that you've always had the legs for it.

[ The fishnets or the tying up? It can be both. ]

[The mortifying ordeal of these conversations is much easier to handle when he a) doesn't have to make eye contact b) can't see Aziraphale's expression and c) has an outlet for self-soothing via grooming Aziraphale's wings.]

Nah, I mean — wouldn't want to make fun just 'cause you asked for something you want.

[Sort of disgustingly earnest, even if he tries to keep his voice light and keep with the spirit of the good natured back and forth they've currently got going on. He might tease a little, but only in the way where he'd be smug about it; the last thing he wants is to discourage Aziraphale from asking for something, no matter how silly it might be.

Case in point, about the smugness.]

I do, do I? [The smugness is a defence mechanism, but we don't need to unpack all that.] You know, it has been a while since I got tarted up. Maybe you ought to take me out somewhere nice.

[As if he needs an excuse to get tarted up.]

[ Remains to be seen. Okay, that's a lie. It's Crowley. Aziraphale could set a clock by the reliability of Crowley's willingness to indulge his little wants and hypotheticals without being properly mean about it. ]

My love, I would only ever take you out someplace nice. [ Places Crowley could both enjoy and enjoy finding things to complain about in the process. He's always a delight to have on one's arm in that way. ] Tarted up or otherwise, of course.

[ Maybe he'll consider options. Plan something that's not a foreplay magic act as a special treat. Dare Aziraphale dream...? ]

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