(no subject)

[a_fell]

The curtains in the bedroom are thick enough that he winces when he opens the door into the rest of the suite, slipping out quickly and shutting it silently behind himself. Without the gentle glow of the lamplight, by natural light pouring in through enormous windows, he'd half expected the room to be revealed as something slightly lesser. Expected wallpaper to be peeling in corners that'd been shadowed, perhaps, or peeling gilt around smeared mirrors. But things this morning are just about as perfect as they'd been last night and he can't help but smile at that.

It seems somehow fitting.

Rubbing his eyes, Aziraphael wanders over to the window, noting with no real surprise (but a good deal of pleasure) that fluffy snowflakes are drifting gently down from a low grey sky; he'd make a mental note to drag Crowley out in it later, were it not for the fact that there are already plans for the day.

(Another smile, at that, and a touch of pink to his cheeks. He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck as he walks over to the table.)

There's coffee and tea on the table, and - he laughs, softly - freshly ironed newspapers; he tucks these last under his arm as he pours out drinks for himself and Crowley.

(He must have left the bedroom door a little way open, since it moves obligingly out of his way without any need for juggling.)

Crowley's coffee he leaves on the bedside table, depositing his tea and newspaper at his own side of the bed before climbing back under the covers, tucking his feet under Crowley's leg - it wasn't cold outside, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't up to the standards of warmth he's starting to find he'd much prefer.

Comments

[aj_crawley]

"Urgh," Crowley complains instinctively, flinching half-heartedly away from Aziraphael's feet in his sleep.

After a moment, though, he seems to decide they're not so cold as all that; he settles down again with a rustle of rich cotton sheets and heavy blankets, arm sprawling possessively across the angel's belly as he snuffles quietly into the pillows.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael gently brushes hair away from his face; it's all right when Crowley's asleep, he can be just as unattractively sappy as he wants.

The light spilling in through the barely open bedroom door highlights edges, reflecting on the line of Crowley's shoulder, his cheekbone, the sharp angle of his jaw. Everything else is rendered in shades of grey.



(It seems somehow fitting.)



He snuggles a little further down under the covers, resting his back against the headboard and reaching over for his cup of tea.

[aj_crawley]

The motion vacates a few scant inches in the bed, and by the time Aziraphael leans back, Crowley (as is his unfortunate habit) has slithered into them. His forehead presses against Aziraphael's arm, and the knuckles of his other hand rest gently against the angel's side.

A minute or three (or four) later, there's a faint, ticklish brush of something else against Aziraphael's arm, something other than Crowley's deep, steady breathing. A closer inspection reveals the source: Crowley's lashes, as the demon's one visible eye drifts open.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Morning," Aziraphael says softly, the somewhat embarrassingly wide smile on his face visible even in the half light. "There's coffee for you, if you'd like."

[aj_crawley]

Crowley blinks slowly a few times, dishevelled and charmingly clueless as he raises his head a groggy inch or two and wets his lips, preparatory to a really huge, very big, quite enormous yawn.

His eyes haven't quite focused yet, even afterwards, and it's clear he's not quite started processing any reasonable amount of external stimuli. But that doesn't stop Crowley from glancing vaguely around at their surroundings, before greeting Aziraphael with a bleary, lovely grin.

"Morning," he mumbles.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

The hand that isn't holding tightly to a teacup runs along the arm Crowley's got laying across his stomach. He takes a sip and then puts his cup carefully to one side, leaning down far enough to press tea-warmed lips against the demon's forehead.

"You can sleep a little longer if you'd like, you know. It's not so late as all that."

The light's not good enough in here that Aziraphael can read a paper to pass the time, but he really hasn't the need for it. He's quite content.

[aj_crawley]

"Mmm," Crowley replies, leaning up for a sleepy kiss that lands on one corner of Aziraphael's mouth. "'M good."

Not nearly awake or aware enough to feel selfconscious, Crowley nuzzles against Aziraphael's cheek for a few moments longer before flopping back down against the pillows.

"You?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"I'm - "

There are a ridiculous number of adjectives in the world, of course, and Aziraphael knows far more than his fair share of them - his collection includes several different languages and any number of archaic terms that no one (save Crowley) would understand, any more. But... yes. It serves well enough.

"I'm good, yes."

[aj_crawley]

"Good."

Crowley swallows another yawn, and nestles a little closer. His eyes still haven't made it past halfway open, and in the dim light, with his tousled hair, it makes the harsher lines of his face seem curiously less so. His fingers scritch Aziraphael's stomach idly.

"Sssleep well?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Well I had a dream about a dinosaur in a hat, which I'm sure is dreadfully symbolic of something or other, but yes."

He's not quite far enough gone to tell him that he always sleeps better when Crowley's there.

"Lovely and warm."

Almost, but not quite.

[aj_crawley]

"Yess," Crowley agrees blissfully.

After a few moments, he cranes his neck a little, looking up at Aziraphael around the angel's shoulder.

"'Njoying the break so far?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He arches an eyebrow.

"There's more?"

[aj_crawley]

Crowley lowers his head again, nudging Aziraphael's shoulder with his forehead before resting it there.

"There's today."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael's hand ghosts over Crowley's dark hair.

"It's not so late as all that," he says again, agreeing, although this time his tone's a little more wistful.

[aj_crawley]

On Aziraphael's stomach, Crowley's hand curls loosely.

"How long've you been awake?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Long enough to find out that the papers were ironed?"

Yes, that is quite an unholy amount of glee in his voice.

"Oh, and it's snowing."

[aj_crawley]

Crowley's grimace isn't entirely hidden by Aziraphael's shoulder, but it's gone quickly enough in any case.

"Okay," he heaves, and starts to drag himself reluctantly towards his edge of the bed. "I'm up. What is our - " another jawsplitting yawn, " - agenda for today?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael grabs hold of Crowley's wrist, dragging him insistently back towards the middle of the bed.

"Where on earth do you think you're going?"

[aj_crawley]

Crowley lands back on top of the angel with a muffled 'oof', and peers down at him, a little bemused.

"To take a shower?" he hazards.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Hmm," and he sounds faintly grudging, "I suppose that's acceptable." Even as he says it, though, his free arm is winding around Crowley's waist.

(Does he contradict himself?)

[aj_crawley]

Propping his chin briefly on Aziraphael's chest, Crowley at least has the good grace to look faintly guilty.

"No sense wasting away more of the day. Not if there's things you want to do."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael frowns at him, uncomprehending.

"Well, yes," he says slowly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Crowley's ear, "but this doesn't count so much as 'wasting', to my mind, as it does 'doing'. What I want, I mean."

[aj_crawley]

"Oh," Crowley says.


It occurs to him to wonder if, pressed as close as they are, Aziraphael can feel Crowley's stomach doing those funny little flip-flops.

The demon, for his part, gamely ignores them, tries his sleepy best to pretend he isn't smiling like a fool, and tucks his fingers under Aziraphael's side.


"Well that's alright, then."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

His grins turns a little wicked.

"You've no desire to go wandering about in the snow-clad streets, then? Because I'm sure I could be persuaded, if that were the case. Red noses, and biting wind slipping up the sleeves of your coat, and the occasional snowflakes insinuating themselves under your scarf..."

He's tugging the blankets back up around them as he speaks, of course.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley hisses in distaste, sliding off Aziraphael to huddle close beside him under the blankets.

"Preaching to the choir," he grouses. "'M all in favour of staying in. I was just..."