Chapter Text
After the Armageddon-that-almost-was, Crowley grows his hair out.
If you asked him why he did it, he would shrug and say something along the lines of “felt like a change.” The real reason, of course, was Aziraphale, but not even he knew that. It had been an off-hand comment, sometime after doomsday while the two were at lunch. A simple “I always did admire your hair long, the intricate braids you would put into it,” was uttered and within a week, flaming red waves hung just above his shoulders.
After the Armageddon-that-almost-was, Aziraphale loves to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair.
Their falling in had been the obvious thing to do. Ties with heaven and hell were severed, and as they began their new human life together their long nights of drinking had gradually become long nights of discussions and revelations and confessions and kisses. Caution had been thrown to the wind and Aziraphale had decided for the first time in his arduously long life to go fast. It had turned out that speed was much less scary when there was somebody by your side to hold your hand.
And speaking of hands, right now his left one was combing through red waves absentmindedly while his right held a first edition Austen. He was lounging on the sofa in his shirtsleeves, readers perched on his nose, and a head on his lap. His demon slept soundly, lying on his side and facing the backrest of the sofa. A box of truffles sat just within Aziraphale’s reach next to a teacup that was (miraculously) still warm after a few hours (After all, what is the point of falling from heaven if you can’t indulge in a few frivolous miracles every now and again?). In his subconscious, he registered the clock chiming off the hour, three in the morning. It was late; not that the time of night mattered much to him, except that he supposed eventually he would have to put the book down and open the shop for the day. One benefit of having a celestial body was that he had no need for sleep. Need and want were very different things of course, as evidenced by the head in his lap.
The head chose this moment to stir, rolling on to his back and opening one bright yellow eye. The eye briefly crinkled at the edges at the sight of a very serious face engrossed in its book. Crowley decided to watch, waiting for his angel to notice him rather than bring attention to himself. After all, he was quite enjoying the feeling of having his hair stroked and it would be a bloody shame if it were to stop. He opened both of his uncovered eyes, revealing his slitted pupils to the world (not something he usually did, but Aziraphale had so often commented on how much he loved to see them, and Crowley felt an obligation to indulge him). He watched Aziraphale read, watching his facial expressions adoringly. He had of course memorized his face in the many years they had known each other, but he was still fascinated watching them move in new ways and-
“I know you’re awake you wily fiend,” came the soft voice above him. A soft smile had graced the angel’s face and the hair stroking had ceased.
“Oh what a brilliant angel I have, he has eyes,” Crowley replied, shit-eating grin on his face and voice dripping with sarcasm. He then let a yawn escape. “What time is it?”
“I believe it’s just after three, no rush to get up my dear. Did you sleep well?”
“As well as possible. Keep doing that thing with my hair.”
The petting dutifully resumed and was accompanied by a thoughtful hum. “You know what’s remarkable? You snore. And even in your sleep you sound like a snake. You hiss on the exhale.”
“Some things are just programmed a certain way, Angel.” Though you couldn’t tell by his cool tone, this was a revelation to Crowley. Obviously nobody but Aziraphale had ever watched him sleep, and he wondered why he had taken so long to mention such a phenomenon. “What are you reading?” He asked, not wanting the conversation to stay on the topic of his tendency to snore.
“Sense and Sensibility. I don’t believe I’ve read it since it first debuted, it’s nice to go back and look at it with fresh eyes.” Still looking at his book, he was surprised when he no longer felt Crowley on his lap. Looking up from the page, he was greeted to a new phenomenon. In his serpentine manner, Crowley had gotten up and was now lying on the back of the sofa; propped up on one elbow and looking at the book over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Far from shocked or surprised, his only comment was “that cannot be comfortable.”
Crowley snorted and started to trace his finger across his shoulders, earning a satisfied hum from Aziraphale. “Comfort, angel, is nowhere near as important as knowing you get annoyed when I read over your shoulder.” This comment was accompanied by a wily grin, only describable as snakelike. This did, in fact, annoy him, but not as much as it endeared him.
“I think you’re just using that as an excuse to get close to me. And what happened to ‘I don’t read’?” He marked his page and set the book down on the side table next to the teacup, then turned around to face Crowley. Soft blue eyes met harsh yellow, and a soft kiss on the temple was used to wipe the grin off the demon’s face and shut him up. “You’re finished sleeping then?”
“Oh, maybe not finished. Just taking a break. And I don’t read so much as glance at the pages and make enough noise to distract you.” As much as there was wickedness in the smile that was returning, the eyes above them held none. Just softness and adoration.
“Well if sowing frustration is what you’re after, I suppose my duty then, as always. is to thwart you.” He took off his glasses and set them down on top of the book as Crowley snorted.
“Oh, yeah, right, like you were ever any good at thwarting me, Angel. As I recall, all it would take to tempt you would be to, say,” he reached into the box on the table and picked up a devilishly rich sphere of dark chocolate and raspberry, “offer you something to nibble?” He put the truffle between his teeth and wiggled his eyebrows in an offer of “come and take it.”
Aziraphale turned pink in the cheeks but turned snarky and grabbed the chocolate between his fingers, stealing it from Crowley and popping it in his mouth. “I suppose if I’m not going to be an angel then I’m under no obligation to avoid temptation," he replied when he was finished chewing.
“That’s the spirit,” laughed the demon, a bit annoyed that his play had not worked. At that moment, though, his patience was rewarded with a raspberry-flavored kiss. It was soft and sweet and the perfect thing to wake up to. His long-fingered hands rested on Aziraphale’s face and held it while they kissed, white-sleeved arms wrapping around his neck in turn. They stayed like that for a beat, enjoying the quiet moment to themselves.
When he pulled away, Aziraphale smiled and kissed Crowley’s forehead. “Do you have any desire to go back to bed?”
“Oh I think I’m all slept out Angel,” Crowley responded, hands still on his face and gently stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.
“Did I say anything about sleeping?” Aziraphale asked, cocking his eyebrow with feigned innocence.
The grin on Crowley’s face grew wider. “Right, and which one of us is supposed to be the tempter again? You really can be a wily bastard,” he slinked off the sofa and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, pulling him into the back and ignoring the babbling of “well if you hadn’t started the business with the chocolate I would never have-“
After Armageddon-that-almost-was, life for Aziraphale and Crowley was peaceful.