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Anthony J. Crowley was many things, but soft was not one of them.
His corporeal form was all hard lines, bony hips and prominent collarbone and no extra padding anywhere.
A waste of a miracle, the designers had said when they’d given it to him, it takes more power to give you extra form, and you’ll look more demonic like this anyway.
And it was true. For six thousand years, Crowley’s bones and sinew and sharp, hard lines had served their purpose. He could be scary when he needed to, he could blend in when he didn’t, and he’d never really wanted to be soft.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was very soft. Soft hearted, soft spoken for the most part, and his body was all soft lines.
Not that Crowley had been paying attention for six thousand years, not at all, no, he hadn’t been paying attention to Aziraphale and especially not Aziraphale’s body for the past six thousand years. Definitely not.
No, he hadn’t noticed how soft Aziraphale looked. How comfortable it must be to lean against his side, which was so soft and comfortable and so different from Crowley’s bones and sharp edges. Even how Aziraphale’s face was so much softer than Crowley’s, round cheeks and big eyelashes and full lips. And that soft, curly white hair. And even his clothes, which were a soft creamy color, never anything too bright or too dark, always…soft.
Crowley hadn’t thought about any of that.
Not in the summer when it was too hot to cuddle anyway, but maybe Crowley still wanted to a little bit. With anybody, not just Aziraphale, because he didn’t think about cuddling with Aziraphale ever, let alone in the summer heat.
And not in the winter when he was cold all the time and couldn’t get warm and needed somebody to wrap around and soak the warmth up from, no, he didn’t think about how there was probably nowhere cozier than Aziraphale’s cluttered shop with the overstuffed chairs and the fireplace and Aziraphale himself and his soft, comfortable body that would probably just ooze warmth, if only Crowley could convince Aziraphale to let it happen.
Not that he’d ever try.
To convince Aziraphale to cuddle with him, that is.
Because he’d never, not for one second in six thousand years, not for one moment, one thought, never. Never. Thought about how soft and comfortable Aziraphale looked.
And his plants were shaking while he yelled at them about that.
His apartment, at least, was warm. Exactly twenty-eight degrees Celsius, his perfect temperature. Even with the disgusting sleet falling outside, his apartment was perfect.
Other than the absolutely disgusting lack of warmth from any source other than his building’s furnace and the minor miracle required to hold the temperature steady and perfect year round. Twenty-eight degrees Celsius exactly, year round.
A. Z. Fell and Co. was also exactly twenty-eight degrees, not that Crowley paid much attention. It was just that there were very few places in London in the winter that was warm enough for him to shed his layers.
A warm overcoat, two sizes too large in order to fit over his two other warm overcoats, one one size too large and one that fit him perfectly. Three coats, then, over three sweaters, one of which was a turtleneck, and the wonderful modern invention that was thermal underwear, both long pants and a long sleeved shirt, with his usual outfit on over those. Also, at least one scarf, thick and long enough to wrap around his face at least twice, and a thick wool hat he was pretty sure he’d stolen from Aziraphale sometime back in the sixteen hundreds but he’d fall again if it wasn’t the warmest hat in the world. And over his long thermal underwear, he had his usual tight pants, but over those, he wore two pair of sweatpants and, if it was sleeting or snowing or raining or if anything cold was falling from the sky at all, he added an absolutely horribly ugly pair of waterproof track pants on over those, but he only wore those if he had to.
Winter was terrible for his image. Had been since he’d moved away from the equator and into a place that had a wet, cold winter.
“Do try and avoid getting rain on those book there, dearest.”
“I’ll miracle it away,” Crowley said, pulling off his second coat.
Torso to legs, top down, that’s how he had to undress. Otherwise he got tangled when he tried to get the pants off.
“Is that a third coat? Gracious, Crowley, aren’t you suffocating?”
“I’m cold-blooded, angel, I’d freeze in a minute without my layers.” Crowley tried to put on a scary scowl, but it was too nice to be able to shed all these clothes and be able to move his arms again.
“Even your human form is cold-blooded?”
“Hazard of the fall. Some things can’t be changed with miracled bodies.”
One scarf, three coats and two sweaters down, one sweater to go before he hit his actual clothes. And then all three pairs of extra pants, and his winter boots, which he’d have to replace with his normal shows that were hidden in a pocket somewhere.
“So you spend your winters wrapped up like that?”
“When I’m not otherwise warm.” With a sigh, Crowley finally pulled his real shoes on and stood back up.
And when he looked over at Aziraphale, who was leaning against a bookshelf that was definitely being held up by a miracle judging by its awkward lean and the sheer number of books stacked on it, his little snake brain definitely wasn’t thinking about how soft and warm and comfortable he looked and how there was a huge soft comfy couch in the back room that would be very perfect for curling up in and soaking up all the warmth Aziraphale could give up to him.
No, that wasn’t his snake brain.
That was his demon brain, his smart brain, his capable-of-rational-thinking brain who looked at Aziraphale and heard the sleet coming down and felt himself shiver even in the warm air of the bookshop and instantly wanted to be cuddling up against Aziraphale’s side to get warm, really warm, the kind of warm he could only get from pressing into somebody’s side. Somebody who generated their own body heat.
Because Crowley only needed to be twenty-eight degrees Celsius, but every snake liked to bask, to heat themselves up as warm as they could get, and Crowley’s body was probably exactly thirty-seven degrees Celsius, because that was the perfect human body temperature, and Heaven wouldn’t ever send out a body that wasn’t perfect.
Although, Adam had technically created Aziraphale’s current body. Or had he just summoned the old one back from wherever empty bodies go when their discorporated?
Still, that was a perfect basking temperature, the perfect temperature to lean into and soak up until he was warm all the way to his bones in a way he wouldn’t be until the summer heat waves started again.
“Care for a cup of tea?” Aziraphale asked, already heading for the back room.
“Maybe I do,” Crowley said as petulantly as possible.
Aziraphale just smiled his soft, sweet smile back at Crowley and continue back towards the back room.
Nobody would be coming into the shop today. It was closed. Unless, of course, they needed something that wasn’t a book, in which case Aziraphale’s sign would magically appear to say the shop was open, and they’d be able to come in and wait it out. Unless they wanted to buy a book.
No book buyers allowed in this bookshop.
Crowley sprawled out across the big comfy couch while Aziraphale bustled around the already heated teapot.
He’d already had two cups set on their little saucers, ready to go even though Crowley hadn’t called to warn he was coming. In only a few seconds, Crowley had a steaming cup in his hands, reveling in the warmth that was spreading through his fingertips.
Aziraphale nudged Crowley’s legs aside and sat down on the end of the couch, sitting up as straight and proper as ever.
Except on the couch rather than his own chair, which was unusual.
Crowley did his best to avoid overthinking it. It was Aziraphale’s bookshop, after all. Aziraphale’s couch. Maybe he liked the couch more than his chair and had simply let Crowley have it because of that soft politeness he’d always had.
Yes, that was it, he was just sitting on his couch because it was his couch and he could.
“I suppose it’s a miserable time of year for you.”
“I hate the winter,” Crowley agreed. “Always have.”
“I’ve never noticed.”
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you in the winter in several hundred years, angel.” Crowley took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat that spread from his tongue down his throat and through his stomach.
He really, really needed to bask right now. Maybe that was why he’d been thinking about how soft and warm Aziraphale looked.
He hadn’t had a good bask in hell knows how long. Far too long. It was February and he’d been so cold all winter and all he needed was a good long bask to heat him back up.
And yes, maybe technically he could curl up under a heated blanket. Go find a hot tub.
But it was so much nicer to wrap around a person. People were a perfect temperature, and it just felt so nice to push so close to a person and feel himself warming up.
He was so tired of being cold.
It made him so slow. Even now, with hot tea and in Aziraphale’s warm shop, when he wasn’t technically too cold, he felt…lethargic. Stiff. Like his joints wouldn’t move right and he didn’t really want to move them, anyway, because he just wanted to sleep, probably, sleep would be good.
If he could sleep somewhere warm. Preferably on top of a person.
Maybe it was his snake brain thinking.
“Are you quite alright, Crowley dearest?”
“Hmm?” Crowley took another sip, his eyes still closed. The tea was really wonderful.
“You seem a little slow.”
“It’s February, angel, I haven’t been warm since August. It’s slowing me down.”
“How do you warm up?”
“I bask, angel. I bask someplace warm.”
“So why haven’t you done that yet, if it’s been so long?”
“Because, angel, I can’t bask just anywhere. I would never trust a public hot tub. I hate heated blankets, they’re never comfortable. The sunlight hasn’t been strong enough for me to warm up in. And you know those heated shower tiles they sell? Total rip off. They never get any warmer than the floor usually does when hot water hits it. Bath water cools off too fast, and the point of basking is to relax and get warm, so refilling it is a pain. And showers aren’t relaxing.” Crowley was pouting now, listing off the places he could go to get warm but didn’t want to.
“What about a sauna?”
“Too moist.”
“You could turn up the heat?”
“Bad for the plants.”
“I could turn up the heat?”
“You aren’t cold blooded, angel, you’d be too hot.”
“So what do you do? Or rather, what have you done?”
“I find somebody.” Crowley was practically whining at this point, somewhere between embarrassed to be saying it out loud and cold enough that he didn’t care.
“Somebody?”
“Yes.”
“How does that…work?”
Crowley opened his eyes and looked over at Aziraphale.
“I find somebody,” he said. “And then I sit very, very close to them until I get warm.”
“Oh. That’s simple.”
“Sure it is.”
The tea had cooled down a little bit, no longer warm enough to send heat all the way down to his stomach, but it was still warm enough to feel good when he took another sip.
He closed his eyes again and took a bigger drink, feeling himself shiver again.
If he didn’t warm up soon, he was going to need to brumate soon. It had been a very long time since he’d gotten that cold.
He hated when he had to do that. It was such a waste of time, either sleeping or sitting in his apartment so close to sleeping he could barely move until the weather got warm again.
His eyes snapped open and he sat up very straight when he felt Aziraphale’s arms suddenly wrap around him.
“What are you doing?” he said, maybe a little too sharply.
“I’m warming you up, dearest, isn’t that what you need?”
Crowley’s sitting up had only made it easier for Aziraphale to pull him closer, and he felt himself relaxing into the heat coming off of Aziraphale’s body even while at least a small part of his brain, his smart brain, not his snake brain, knew it was a bad idea he heard himself sigh and sink into the heat.
Crowley was so cold and Aziraphale was so warm.
And soft and comfortable.
Crowley’s eyes had drifted closed again without him meaning them to and when he started paying attention again he realized he’d slung his legs over Aziraphale’s lap and wrapped his own arms around Aziraphale’s neck and he was just completely and totally wrapped around the angel, soaking up as much heat as he could from Aziraphale’s body.
Snake brain took over, he thought, that’s why I’m so wrapped around him.
And his smart brain was rapidly dragging up all the reasons he should unwrap himself and go back to his apartment and hibernate for a month or two until he could sit on his couch in the sun to warm up.
Mostly the six millennia of obviously unrequited pining after the angel. All the somewhat painful attempts at telling him. Trying to get him to run away together, to be on their own side like they obviously had been since the beginning but Aziraphale wasn’t willing to see that. Doing good miracles to try and show him that it was possible for a demon to be good, saving Aziraphale and his books from the blitz, a million things that Crowley had done trying to win him over, only to end with Aziraphale rejecting him.
Or even worse, not rejecting him. Admitting that he felt the same but wasn’t willing to act on it.
“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”
Pah.
Too fast, as if six thousand years of patience hadn’t been enough.
And then the apocalypse had almost happened, and it had almost seemed like maybe Aziraphale was finally catching up to Crowley except nothing had actually changed other than getting to be less sneaky when they wanted to see each other socially.
That’s why it was a bad idea to bask in Aziraphale’s warmth.
Because Crowley had been working very hard to stop feeling anything towards him for six thousand years and being wrapped around him on the couch was not exactly a good way to go about that.
Too bad his snake brain was overpowering every rational thought that tried to make it through.
And his snake brain was telling him over and over how wonderful this felt, how waves of warmth seemed to be coming off Aziraphale and rolling into Crowley, how soft and comfortable he was stretched across Aziraphale like this.
He was just as soft and warm and comfortable as he looked. Crowley had never been so comfortable in his life.
Ever. Not with any other person, not in any bed or under any blanket. Aziraphale was warmer and it felt like they were made to fit together like this, like all of Crowley’s angles and hard lines were just designed to fit into Aziraphale’s arms like this.
He woke up without ever meaning to fall asleep, which rarely happened. He was a demon, he didn’t need to sleep so when he wanted to he usually chose to. Consciously chose to, he decided he wanted to sleep and he made himself fall asleep. And he decided when he was going to wake up, too, it was like setting an alarm that never failed.
So waking up without having meant to fall asleep was a little bit disconcerting. Even more so was that he’d definitely fallen asleep on Aziraphale’s couch, in the bright back room of Aziraphale’s shop. A cream colored couch with a weird pastel floral pattern all over it.
Not in a bed with dark red sheets and a black duvet. His own bed, he realized as he woke up, in his own bedroom in his own apartment with the curtains drawn against the sunlight.
And it was so warm.
Because he was still wrapped around Aziraphale, he realized as he woke up even more. Not so much wrapped around as draped across, head on Aziraphale’s chest.
“Are you awake, dear boy?”
“Almost, angel. Why are we in my bed?”
“You seemed like you could use a rest,” Aziraphale said simply, like that made everything make sense. “I figured your bed would be the best place. And I was getting rather uncomfortable on that couch.”
“Ah. Makes perfect sense.” Crowley tried to convince himself to sit up, but now that he was warm he wanted to stay warm and comfortable, and he didn’t want to sit up.
“I thought so.” Aziraphale smiled his soft smile and didn’t move his arms from where they were wrapped around Crowley’s back, holding him in place.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Almost a day.”
“You’re kidding,” Crowley groaned.
“Not at all. Was it a nice nap?”
“I suppose.”
He really should sit up.
He really didn’t want to sit up.
Six thousand years of pining. Of flirting. Attempted confessions, rejection, that painful, annoying hope that one day Aziraphale would catch up to Crowley and wouldn’t think Crowley was moving too fast any more.
And now he was cuddling Aziraphale. In his bed.
And he really didn’t want to move.
“I must say, I understand the appeal of a bed,” Aziraphale said conversationally.
“Did you sleep?”
“No, but I am very comfortable.”
“You should sleep.”
“I don’t need to sleep.”
“Neither do I, angel, that doesn’t mean I don’t.” Crowley shifted, and he felt Aziraphale’s arms tighten like he wouldn’t be allowed to get up even if he tried to. “You don’t need to eat, either, and you don’t let that stop you.”
“I suppose not. I don’t think sleeping is for me, though. A bed might be. I think this would be a lovely place to read.”
“Of course you do.” Crowley couldn’t help the fondness that crept into his voice.
Aziraphale was very predictable, and it was...endearing.
“Are you warm enough now?”
“I may even be able to shake a hand without getting any comments. I haven’t been this warm since last July.”
“I’m glad.”
Aziraphale still didn’t move.
Why wasn’t he moving?
Crowley wouldn’t be able to convince himself to move if Aziraphale didn’t move. They’d stay in bed like this for a century or two if it was left up to Crowley to move first.
They were just lying there, Crowley luxuriating in the warmth still coming off of Aziraphale in waves and Aziraphale not moving, holding Crowley close against him.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
“I could...give you a ride back to the shop,” Crowley offered. He was mirroring his least favorite conversation he’d ever had with Aziraphale, and he was doing it on purpose. Aziraphale liked metaphors. “Save you the miracle.”
“I used to think you went too fast for me, Crowley.”
“Oh.” Crowley closed his eyes again briefly, and then he actually realized what Aziraphale had said. “Oh. Used to?”
“I’ve since come to enjoy…going fast.”
“Really.”
“Perhaps I’ve caught up to you.”
“Perhaps so.”
They were silent for a couple more minutes before Crowley spoke again.
“Were we talking about the same thing, angel?”
“I don’t know. Were we?”
“What were you talking about?”
“I suppose I was talking about being in love with you.”
Aziraphale said it so casually. Like it was nothing, even though it was everything. It was the entire world. The entire universe.
Six thousand years of Crowley being preoccupied, doing good and spinning it into something evil because he wanted to impress an angel he met once in a while.
That’s what it was. It was six thousand years of being in love with Aziraphale, and yet Aziraphale had said it not only first, but very simply and very casually.
“Unless you were talking about your car, in which case I-“
“No, we were talking about the same thing, angel.” Crowley tried to sit up more, but Aziraphale only tightened his grip.
“And?”
“And what?”
“And…and what do you say?”
“Angel, I’ve spent six thousand years in love with you.” Realizing Aziraphale wasn’t about to let him up, Crowley relaxed back into his arms again instead.
He was so warm. Soft. Comfortable. Crowley felt warm and safe and happy.
“Oh. Oh, you have.” Aziraphale sounded relieved, almost. “Well, so have I.”
“Well, I suppose that works out nicely, doesn’t it?” Crowley, for the first time in a fairly long time, could feel himself grinning uncontrollably. He’d smiled, sure. Mostly at Aziraphale. But this kind of grin was entirely different. He couldn’t have wiped it off his face if he tried to, and he didn’t particularly want to, either. He wanted to smile and bask in the feeling of hearing Aziraphale finally admit to the feelings they’d been dancing around for several millennia.
“I...I suppose it does.”
Crowley felt one of Aziraphale’s hands hesitantly move from hugging him to card gently through his hair. Crowley’s head was still resting on Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale gently combed his fingers through it over and over again.
Crowley practically felt warm-blooded with the way a particular feeling was spreading outwards from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes. He leaned into Aziraphale’s touch, keeping his eyes closed and feeling more relaxed than he ever had in his entire long life.
“So what does this mean for us…darling.”
That was a new pet name being tried on for size, a departure from things that might be able to be seen as platonic. And Crowley loved it. He wanted to hear every pet name and sweet nothing that existed or ever had existed on Earth or in heaven or hell or anywhere across the vast expanse of creation come from Aziraphale’s mouth directed at him. Said to him. For him.
“We’ve been dodging this for centuries, angel. I love you.” With anybody else, in any other situation, Crowley never would have been able to say that so easily. He’d had six thousand years to build his walls up very high and very strong and the only weakness in them was a hole that was exactly Aziraphale shaped and he’d slipped through that hole a long time ago. It was easy to admit love for somebody who he’d loved so long that that love had become a part of him, almost as intrinsic as his snake eyes or cold blood. Crowley loved Aziraphale, and that was a simple fact of the universe that pretty much always had been and likely always would be true. “So I suppose that makes us lovers.”
“Does it?”
“Unless you prefer a different word.”
“No. I like that. Lovers.” Crowley could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice, and he sat up, refusing to let Aziraphale’s arms keep him down, so he could see that smile.
It was so soft. So sweet and simple and pure, so Aziraphale. It was a smile that had almost made Crowley wish he’d never fallen time and time again, but right now it didn’t make him wish that. Because if he’d never fallen, even if everything else had ended working out almost exactly the same, they both would have ended up dead in hellfire for stopping the apocalypse.
Crowley had fallen and become a demon, and that was why they were even able to be lying together in Crowley’s bed, because a demon and an angel had fallen in love and saved the world and each other, and honestly?
That was worth falling a hundred times.
Crowley propped himself up over Aziraphale, shifted so he was lying inbetween the angel’s legs rather than awkwardly sprawled across him.
And he looked down at Aziraphale’s soft, comfortable face. The face with deep smile lines and extra padding that Crowley didn’t have, the face that made him feel safer than any other face in history had the power to do.
His lover’s face.
And he leaned down and kissed Aziraphale and it was like fireworks exploding. Like a miracle was happening then and there.
Six thousand years of wanting and waiting and one sweet, soft kiss, and Crowley suddenly understood what Aziraphale meant when he called something loved.
It must mean this feeling. This overwhelming, wonderful, insane feeling, that must be what being loved felt like.
And Crowley doubted he could ever feel cold again.