(Untitled)

[a_fell]

Aziraphael had changed his mind, halfway to the door, and diverted to the Bar

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[aj_crawley]

Crowley's not helping, either, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest. Indeed, he forms the very picture of nonchalance to anyone who might happen to pass by - anyone who isn't quite close enough to see the look in his eyes (no longer hidden by the sunglasses in Aziraphael's pocket), or near enough to guess at the reason he might be keeping his hands to himself.

The noise of the key rattling against the lock seems painfully loud.

[a_fell]

And then it opens with startling suddenness and Aziraphael almost trips over his own feet, because it's difficult to be graceful when awareness is limited and senses focused on something at the corner of the eye, Crowley's stillness far more distracting than it has any right to be.

[aj_crawley]

It's difficult to say when the stillness gives way - perhaps it never does. Certainly, Crowley doesn't really seem to move at all; he's simply in the hallway one moment, and in the room the next, the door clicking firmly shut behind them both.

Though large, the room is dim. Crowley waves one hand distractedly, and the lamps to either side of the bed flicker on. That's all the movement he makes, leaving his hand to come to rest against the smooth wood panelling of the wall - waiting, it seems, for Aziraphael to initiate the next move.

[a_fell]

He doesn't have to wait long. A moment or two, perhaps, where the lights behind Aziraphael render his expression a little less easily readable than usual and then he steps forward, sliding his arms around Crowley's waist. He leans in for a quick kiss, pulling away before it builds in intensity, then leans forward to rest his head on Crowley's shoulder, arms tightening. His face is tucked in to the warmth of his neck, breath ghosting over Crowley's skin.

He's missed this.