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Aziraphale isn’t sure why he does a lot of things, especially when it comes to dealing with Crowley. Crowley gets in his head, even when he’s not physically there, and sometimes it feels like he’s tempting Aziraphale without even meaning to.
Well. Of course that’s the case-he is a demon, after all.
But this is one of those moments where Crowley is tempting him without being there physically, spiritually, or any way at all. Aziraphale tries not to think that the real reason he’s doing this is that he just wants to. No, that wasn’t it at all. It was only because Crowley mentioned it first, had said it that night like he wanted Aziraphale to say ‘yes, I’ll stay with you’.
It’d taken a few years of half-interested searching for Aziraphale to even find out where the demon currently lived. He could have just asked Crowley, but the demon could be elusive without meaning to be, and so every time they met in person Aziraphale always forgot to ask. Then one day Crowley had called him and told him to come over so he could check out the newest piece of artwork he had collected (Looking back, Aziraphale was pretty sure that was just Crowley’s nice way of saying he had stolen the real Mona Lisa and put a fake in the Louvre), but it was too late for Aziraphale to simply say he had no idea where Crowley currently lived, and so he spent the next two days frantically searching through phone books and asking Mr. Shadwell to help find this mysterious stranger before he finally found the rather stylish home Crowley had bought for himself.
It didn’t look any different on the outside than the first time Aziraphale had come by, except the doormat had changed. He was standing on it now, leaning back on his heels with one hand raised to knock, except now he wasn’t sure he even wanted to do that, and what if Crowley wasn’t home-even if his car was-and what if he was busy, or had guests over, or-
The door swung open.
Aziraphale blinks, squinting at the sudden light in his eyes before he adjusts to it.
“Crowley-“
“Angel. Hi.” Crowley isn’t wearing his fancy jacket, nor shoes, nor his button-up. Just his pants and his undershirt. He doesn’t look intimidating at all, but Aziraphale is still nervous about what he’s about to say.
“What are you doing here? It’s late.”
“I know. It really is. I was just wondering if maybe…” This was it. Crowley was going to laugh at him and Aziraphale would have to leave, embarrassed and mortified at his own actions. “If you wanted to have a sleepover?” he finishes, somewhat meekly.
Crowley was wearing his sunglasses, even though he had been inside and it was almost ten at night, and they made it hard to read his expression. But then he steps aside and holds the door open wider. “A sleepover,” he repeats, a little smile barely-hidden in his voice. “I’d love to. Get in here.”
Aziraphale takes his shoes off at the door because it feels polite. He follows Crowley around while he’s given a tour of the house, even though he still remembers it from the few times he’s come over. Crowley’s plants are blooming beautifully-he won’t say how, but he’s a rather impressive gardener-and he’s added onto the paintings and sculptures set around the house.
“No more stolen, I should hope?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley just gives him a sly smile and Aziraphale just sighs, even though he isn’t really disappointed. That’s just what Crowley does.
“Welcome to the living room,” Crowley says at the doorway to the aforementioned room. There’s a long black couch with a low table and a fireplace, and there’s a television mounted on top. It’s all dark colors and deep reds, typical of Crowley’s fashion. “I was binge-watching The Bachelor, but we can watch something a little…nicer. Than that.”
“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale says. Crowley looks him up and down, and then his mouth curves downwards. “You’re not going to wear that all night, are you?”
“What’s wrong with my outfit? It’s comfortable, and I’m used to it.”
“That is not comfortable. You’ve just worn it so long you can’t even imagine that there’s anything better to wear to sleep than that. You do sleep, right? You know we can do that? It’s heavenly, really-look at me, using words like heavenly-and you feel fantastic afterward.”
“I usually read at night,” Aziraphale admits, and Crowley gasps, putting a hand to his chest like he’s personally offended by the comment before he simply shrugs. “Good thing I don’t own any books.”
“What? You really should, they’re a good-“
“I nap instead. Here, put these on.” Crowley demon-miracles a set of pajamas in his hand, black with blue edges, and holds them out to be taken.
“Black isn’t really my color.”
“Wh-sure it is! It’s very slimming. You’ll look like a model, more than you already do. Go ahead!”
Aziraphale sighs, but snaps his fingers, and in a second the folded clothes in Crowley’s hands aren’t pajamas but Aziraphale’s everyday outfit. It feels strange wearing something that feels loose on him. “I think I need a smaller size-“
“Nonsense. Pajamas are meant to be larger. More comfortable that way, after all. I would know.”
“Where are yours, then?” Aziraphale asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He feels a little exposed, standing in front of a demon, even Crowley, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. Crowley doesn’t seem to mind and snaps his fingers as well. There are even fewer clothes on him now, just sweatpants that hang low on his hips and fuzzy slippers with bunnies on them.
“Now,” Crowley says, and when Aziraphale follows him to the couch he holds out a bowl of warm popcorn. “What should we watch?”
It takes a few minutes of light arguing and disagreeing before they finally settle on Jeopardy. Aziraphale’s never watched it, but Crowley insists it’s a classic, and so Aziraphale finally relents. They take turns answering the questions, and though Aziraphale misses more than Crowley he still gets some that surprise the demon. At one point Crowley pulls his feet up onto the couch. When Aziraphale beats him to a question he stretches them out to push lightly at his thigh.
Crowley keeps his feet there, pressed against Aziraphale’s leg. Aziraphale doesn’t move away, either. It’s taken a while for him to get used to physical contact, especially when it’s coming from a demon, but it’s…it’s nice. That’s all he decides to think. They stay like that until Jeopardy moves onto some late night sit-com that even Crowley groans at. “It’s late enough,” he says, grabbing the remote beside himself and turning the TV off. “I need my beauty sleep, angel.”
“Right,” Aziraphale says, watching as Crowley stands up and tugs his sweatpants back up where they’ve ridden even lower. His thigh where Crowley’s feet pressed against feels cold. He sits quietly, until Crowley clears his throat by the doorway. “You coming?”
“Oh, I-me?”
Crowley looks around the room. “No, the ghost sitting over between us-yes you, angel. Hurry up, I’m turning the lights off.”
Aziraphale jumps up and follows him, through the darkness to the door at the end of the hall. The sound of his slippers against the floor and Aziraphale’s own bare feet padding along the ground are the only noises being made. The door opens without a noise. Crowley snaps and a few candles spark to life in the room at his call, giving off enough light for Aziraphale to see the room. Crowley’s bed is unmade, and there’s clothes tossed on the ground amongst the occasional wine bottle. The demon pushes some of it under his bed with his foot but doesn’t do much more beyond that as he moves to the left-most side of the room. “I should’ve mentioned I turned the guest room into a closet. We can share the bed.”
“The whole-the whole room?” Aziraphale asks, eyes wide. “Why? You wear the same outfit everywhere you go.”
“Just to tell people I’ve got a closet the size of a bedroom. Why else?”
Aziraphale chuckles at that. He should’ve expected as much from Crowley, but even knowing him for six thousand years, Crowley has always managed to surprise a laugh out of him whenever he wanted. He moves to the right side of the bed and climbs in. Once he’s settled, Crowley snaps again and the candles blow out immediately.
Falling asleep was not something Aziraphale had much experience in. He tried it a few times, and it mostly unsettled him, knowing he’d just missed out on several hours and had no idea what could have changed in all that time. He could feel Crowley turning around a few times before he went still with a final sigh. When he glanced over, however, Crowley was turned to him, his sunglasses set on his nightstand and his eyes shining in the dark. “It’s…it’s such a strange experience,” Aziraphale began. He felt like he had to explain himself, and whenever he felt like that, he began to ramble. “What if-what if your house catches on fire, next? Only this time Adam won’t be able to bring it back, and we’d be stuck inside, and you’d lose all your stolen paintings and your plants, and we wouldn’t even realize it until sometime tomorrow when we eventually woke up in the middle of nothing but rubble-“
“Do you want me to set an alarm for the middle of the night? Three in the morning, so you can wake up and check?”
Crowley sounds different. His voice is slower, and he moves languidly as he rolls over for a second to grab his phone when Aziraphale nods. He’s sleepy already, even though Aziraphale feels like he could go on talking all the way through to next Tuesday if he got the chance.
“There,” Crowley murmurs, dropping the phone in between them after messing with it for a few seconds. “Ringer’s on. When you wake up, nothing will have changed or happened. I promise.”
“You can’t-you can’t possibly promise that,” Aziraphale protests, turning to lay on his side and stare at his strange friend. “You can’t possibly know, Crowley-“
“Figure of speech or somethin’, angel. Just close your eyes and relax. It’ll come naturally from there.”
So Aziraphale tries. He really, really does, but all he can focus on is the sound of Crowley breathing, which is nice, but distracting, and then Crowley falls asleep, and it gets worse, because now Aziraphale is much more aware of what he’s doing and why he’s here now.
Crowley has always moved too fast for him-when they walk together, in the car, even plotting how to live the end of the world-running away to Alpha Centauri, for example, when all Aziraphale wanted to do was save the world. But Crowley didn’t go to Alpha Centauri. He had stayed, and he had come back for Aziraphale, and they had saved the world together, and all the humans living in it, even Adam.
Now Crowley was still, and quiet, even if when he snored he hissed instead. Aziraphale watched him for several minutes. This was weird, even for angel standards, but it wasn’t often he got a chance to just watch Crowley be quiet and still, and he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity.
But Aziraphale is still restless, and so after a minute he reaches out, fingers stopping just centimeters from Crowley’s temple where he’d been prepared to touch. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to. He just…did. Crowley had always been too fast for him, too far ahead for him to ever dream of catching up, but like this, Aziraphale can reach him and can hold him without fear of getting burned.
He cups Crowley’s cheek, making sure his touch is feather-light just in case it wakes the demon up. His skin is warm, almost hot to the touch-pros of being a demon, Aziraphale reasoned, but the idea of Crowley wearing his black suit even in the summer despite being this warm makes Aziraphale wince. Still, his fingers trail upwards, towards the snake tattoo, and he uses his thumb to trace the winding pattern as it goes up and down and into itself.
It's a demon’s sign, one that Crowley wears proudly.
It looks good on him. Aziraphale can’t imagine anyone else who would look as dashing as Crowley does with his tattoo, anyone else who could pull it off so devilishly well. His fingers linger for a few seconds before he moves them to Crowley’s hair, running them through his soft ginger locks.
He gets distracted.
Suddenly there’s a hand on his wrist, squeezing tightly, and Aziraphale tries to pull away at first, but when he sees Crowley’s eyes trained on him he stops moving.
“Fidgety?” Crowley asks, sounding amused.
“Only slightly,” Aziraphale replies, voice gone meek. Crowley’s thumb on his wrist moves in small, hypnotizing circles. He wants to ask why he’s doing it, but he’s scared of the answer. Scared when Crowley responds, it’ll be something he can’t fathom yet. Crowley’s awake and has probably left him behind once more, without even realizing it.
That scares him, too.
“Angel? It’s all right.”
Crowley shifts closer, thumb stilling, and Aziraphale stops the childish whine just before it spills out of him, the ‘no, don’t stop’ he desperately wants to blurt out.
“You don’t have to sleep. Don’t worry about it. Takes some practice, after all.”
Crowley’s not thinking of ten hours or ten years from now. He’s thinking of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale being too scared to sleep. The kindness is unusual for a demon-if that demon was anyone but Crowley. Coming from him, it’s still a little unexpected, but a nice surprise nonetheless. His thumb begins to move again, and it does wonders to soothe Aziraphale’s racing heart for some reason.
“Your pulse feels fast here,” Crowley comments. His voice only holds interest, no teasing.
“Can’t imagine why,” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley gives him an unimpressed stare, the one where he knows Aziraphale is lying but doesn’t intend on prodding beyond the single glance.
“Riiight,” the demon says sarcastically, then inches even closer and pulls Aziraphale’s hand up to his hair again. “Carry on, then.”
“I-what?”
“What you were doing earlier, it’s-it was nice. Don’t stop.”
“Okay,” Aziraphale says, and then he’s dragging his fingers through Crowley’s hair again while he feels the demon practically melt into the bed with a blissful groan. “I’ll sleep,” Crowley says. “Whether or not you feel like it is up to you, angel.”
“Okay,” Aziraphale says again, and that’s all the conversation they exchange. Seconds later Crowley is back to snoring-er, hissing-and Aziraphale watches him sleep and brushes his hair with his fingers, and although he doesn’t sleep, he comes close at times, just watching Crowley be calm and at peace.
Miraculously the 3AM alarm never goes off, and not-so-miraculously, the house never catches on fire.
Crowley wakes up at just past seven. He stops snoring first, and then opens one eye to stare at Aziraphale before closing it again with a soft hum of disappointment when Aziraphale slowly and somewhat reluctantly pulls his hand away.
“Crowley?”
“Hm. Morning.”
“Um, good morning, but…”
“What’s up?”
“Why didn’t we just miracle a second bed? Or-or let me sleep on the couch?”
Crowley shrugs, tugging the blanket up higher over himself while Aziraphale watches. “We could’ve,” he begins, voice rough with sleep. Still, underneath it, Aziraphale can tell he’s smiling when he speaks again:
“But where’s the fun in that?”