Tuesday (or Thursday)

[a_fell]

It's just past the still-dark phase of the morning when Aziraphael disentangles himself from Crowley for long enough to slip out of the bed and into his fuzzy slippers and a worn bathrobe. Downstairs, he putters around aimlessly for a minute before changing the opening time on the sign to 1pm. He goes to the kitchen and, humming tunelessly, fills the kettle and takes a pair of mugs from the draining board. He's poured the hot water and is pulling a plastic honey bear from the cupboard when it occurs to him that tea might not be quite the thing if he's going back to bed.


Well, waste not. He takes both the mugs as he creaks up the stairs and carefully opens the bedroom door with one shoulder. It's fortunate - or something like that - that it didn't close all the way when he left.

Comments

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael's hand - the one not required to support the cup - drops immediately to the blankets and secures with an iron grip what little hasn't been pulled over toward Crowley.

His eyes look slightly panicked.

[aj_crawley]

He's not about to steal any more - so says the face he makes when Aziraphael reacts. He has enough, or thereabouts, to pull up around his ribs as he leans down against the headboard, watching Aziraphael suspiciously.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael takes another sip of his tea; apparently Crowley isn't going to lie down again right away, so he stares back at him (innocently).

"This is rather nice," he says conversationally. "Tea in bed, I mean."

[aj_crawley]

"Not'f it makes you twitchy," Crowley mutters - no doubt trying for pointed, but, with his drawn face and folded arms, landing rather closer to petulant.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Believe me, my dear, you wouldn't want to see me in the morning without tea," he says, with a mock shudder. "Twitchy is a small price to pay. But I doubt it was the tea, anyhow."

[aj_crawley]

Have, he thinks, but so vaguely that the thought never makes it as far as his throat.

Slowly, groggily, the next one trickles through:

"No?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"No," he confirms, glad that Crowley seems to be catching on.

"I only made it just now; it couldn't possibly have affected me so quickly. If you're referring to the caffeine content, of course."

[aj_crawley]

"No," Crowley says, fingers curling tighter into the blankets clamped around him.

(He was.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Ah. Well, er. The smell of tea has an awakening effect, I suppose, but it's certainly not universal."

He looks uncertain, but rallies with a wave of his hand.

"Regardless, it's not something I can attribute to the tea."

[aj_crawley]

"Don't care why you do it," is Crowley's only response, slumping a little lower and glaring up at Aziraphael. "Long as 's not while I'm trying to sleep."

He just wants -

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"All right, yes, all right," he says, placating. He gulps the dregs of his tea and puts the cup carefully back onto the table. He slides down a little, leaning against the headboard at the same height as Crowley.

[aj_crawley]

Abruptly, Crowley flushes - a heavy, embarrassed red.

He pushes himself upright; occupies himself with punching his pillows back into shape before laying back down and pulling the blankets up around him.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He doesn't miss the flush, though he can't fathom what prompted it. He doesn't slide down any further, but his closest hand inches out to brush the hairline at the back of Crowley's neck.

[aj_crawley]

At first, Crowley stiffens.

But then (a second ticks by, and then another), his own hand reaches around and catches Aziraphael's fingers.

His ears are still red, even in the dimness.

Gently, he pulls.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He scoots closer, obligingly, until they're nearly touching. Aziraphael's posture against the headboard at last seems ridiculous next to Crowley's, lying buried in blankets.

He slides down a little.

[aj_crawley]

"Come on," Crowley finally says, so very quiet as to be nearly inaudible.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Well, that's clear enough. He slides the rest of the way down and inches forward until he's right up against Crowley's back. It's difficult without the use of the hand that was captured by Crowley, but he manages.

[aj_crawley]

There.

Crowley has to let go for a minute, just to pull the covers back more securely around them, but then his hand fastens on Aziraphael's again.

It's easy to feel, with the angel curled so close: Crowley breathes in (deep), and out (long, and a little rough).

(Relieved.)

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

It's convenient - and familiar - to rest his forehead in the hollow created between the top of Crowley's shoulder and the back of his head.

But it's not long before he tilts his head up to rest his lips there, instead.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley tucks Aziraphael's arm a little more tightly around himself.



Presently:

"Look," he says awkwardly, and then stops.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Mm," he says intelligently, half-words and half-sigh. The fingers of the arm around Crowley tighten very slightly in the vicinity of his ribs.

[aj_crawley]

Aziraphael's bookshop is old, and dusty, and terribly creaky; the bedroom door is gently warped with age, and the grey light of dawn filters in around the edges of the frame. It isn't bright. It smoothes corners, softens edges, makes the wallpaper less horrible and hides the places where it cracks and peels.

Except from Crowley, who can see in the dark.

"I, er," he says, looking at the curling corner above the bedside table.

His shoulders stiffen again.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Mm," he says again, into Crowley's neck. His fingers relax and then start tracing tiny, formless patterns across his ribs.

"'S all right," he adds, mostly coherently.

[aj_crawley]

Another deep breath in; another long breath out.


"Yeah," Crowley says quietly. "All right."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"All right," he repeats, planting a kiss while he's there. His exhale vibrates the short hairs at Crowley's hairline.