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[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.

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[a-fell.livejournal.com]

His fingers curl into Crowley's side and he hums faintly, almost under his breath (it's faded, certainly, but still a little sensitive).

"Need to keep up my strength, you know," and it's muffled, rather, because he's smiling against Crowley's skin.

[aj_crawley]

"That," he says, "is a very good point."

Crowley disentangles his arm from the blankets, the arm that isn't wrapped rather awkwardly around Aziraphael, and reaches up above his head as he stretches - as wide and as drawn-out and as joint-poppingly satisfying as he can manage without dislodging the angel's head on his shoulder.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

When he looks back at the angel he might notice that he's looking a little dazed, now. Slightly pink about the cheeks, perhaps.

(It's the cat-like stretching. That and the flexibility. He really can't be held responsible if he's distracted.)

"We did have plans, after all."

[aj_crawley]

"Glad you remember," Crowley smirks, wriggling bonelessly back under the covers and then tucking them up around their chins. "Since begging is very undignified."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Mm," he mumbles, contrarily tugging the blankets back down again so he can run his nose along the sharp line of Crowley's collarbone, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"Undignified, certainly. Depending on circumstances though, perhaps."

[aj_crawley]

"Perhaps?" he enquires, raising an eyebrow (and pulling the blankets back up).

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Hmmph."

Disgruntled, this time, and he shifts away, extracting an arm from under the covers so he can rescue his tea (which is still rather unnaturally hot.)

"It has its place," he says airily, waving a vague hand and settling back against the headboard, covers pooling around his waist.

[aj_crawley]

"Well," he says, fingertips brushing Aziraphael's hip. "We'll see, won't we?"

The sight of Aziraphael's tea reminds him, alerts him to the smell of coffee, which a quick glance confirms is indeed sitting on his bedside table.

He doesn't make any effort to reach for it yet, though.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Yes, alright, Aziraphael inches closer, so his side is pressed against Crowley's shoulder.

But he does it grudgingly.



(Or, at least, with every appearance of grudge.)

[aj_crawley]

Crowley's fingertips still, and after a moment, he leans in slightly and places a swift kiss against Aziraphael's arm.

"Back in a second," he says, and starts to worm his way out from under the covers.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael's fingers link around his wrist again - just for a second, barest pressure of warm skin against skin.

"Thought you were in favour of staying in," he says easily, fingers tightening slightly and then letting go. "Just a second, yes?"

[aj_crawley]

"Just a second," he promises.

There's a slight hiss as the air - only cool in comparison to the warmth under the blankets, and that by Crowley's standards - hits the demon's skin, and he hunches his shoulders a little as he pads out into the main suite.

(It doesn't seem worth it to materialise a dressing-gown just yet; he'll only be gone a second.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael scoots himself to the edge of the bed, going to open the curtains a little further before settling himself back into the middle of the bed, under the covers. There are papers to read, there's tea to drink, but instead he stretches himself just as well as he can - not nearly so impressive a feat as when Crowley does it, of course - and can't help the frankly ridiculous smile that spreads across his face at the way his muscles protest.

[aj_crawley]

There's no sound from the main suite - but then, there wouldn't be. A feature of the Imperial, and a fortunate one, considering, is its good, thick, discreetly soundproof walls and doors.

The silence stretches out a few minutes, no more than about five, before being broken by a quiet click. Crowley slips back in, this time leaving the door open behind him.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Longer than a second," he says drowsily. It's really quite warm in the bed, of course, and (what with one thing and another) he really hadn't got all that much sleep, last night.

[aj_crawley]

"Figure of speech," Crowley retorts. There's not much kick behind it, though; strangely enough, the demon seems to be wearing an oddly hopeful grin.

He pauses for a moment, seated on the edge of the bed, to take a sip of his coffee (still hot, of course), and then climbs under the covers, slides across, and wraps himself back around Aziraphael.

The reason behind his grin takes a moment to become apparent - being not so much caused by any particular thing as by the absence of something. Crowley's skin, so usually kept by the demon at an unnaturally (and for others, often uncomfortably) hot temperature to compensate for his serpentine susceptibility to the cold, feels, well... normal.

It's really quite warm in the bed, see.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

It takes a while.

Eventually the angel turns, careful not to dislodge Crowley's arms from around him but making sure to pull away far enough that he can see the demon's expression, can have his own seen in return.

(For the record, he's frowning. Obviously confused.)

"Crowley, what - ?"

[aj_crawley]

"You seemed a bit overheated."

Crowley plucks at the blankets, grinning still, and then pulls them back up where Aziraphael's shifting had dragged them down a little.

"Figured this was a pretty decent middle ground."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"I - no, it was - "

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand. It was unimportant was what it was, and - and Crowley's -

"For me?"

He presses closer, tucks his face into the curve of Crowley's shoulder. He's not entirely sure how on earth one would say thank you, for something like that, so he settles for wriggling until he can wrap his arms around Crowley's waist, murmuring the words against the skin of his neck.

[aj_crawley]

"Well don't go shouting from the rooftops," he snorts, even as he sneaks his feet between Aziraphael's. "'S your job to keep me warm until we get up. That's the deal."

(Crowley does not, of course, have any intentions of remaining at this temperature beyond the confines of the suite.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"I think," he says, leaning up to touch his mouth to Crowley's jaw, "that I can promise that, camerado."