Chapter Text
Crowley had never seen his angel without a top on. Even back at The Beginning, he'd always worn something - robe, toga, tunic....
Not that Crowley was curious, mind.
(Crowley was also very good at lying to himself.)
But he'd seen the Markings while he was in heaven; the purple nebulas glittering in Gabriel's eyes, the gold shining across the bodies of the other angels, as beautiful as a wildfire.
He hadn't looked. He wanted to see Aziraphale's body, true, but only when Aziraphale was willing. He knew that made him a "bad" demon, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Not anymore - not ever.
"Do you have markings?" Crowley asked, during a quiet night in. They were in a bed. Well, technically Crowley was in bed, Aziraphale was on top of the covers in the ridiculous tartan pajamas Crowley had bought for him. (Seeing Aziraphale on his bedspread in his normal everyday wear had made him itchy in a way that shouldn't have been possible.)
Aziraphale raised one eyebrow, putting the book down. "Markings?"
"Like the gold on, you know." Crowley sat up languidly, and gestured at his face. "The markings."
"Oh, yes." Aziraphale looked away, "those."
"You have them, don't you?" Crowley could feel the smile growing on his face, and he let it. No one he cared about was paying attention. "Can I see?"
Aziraphale froze tapped his fingers along the book in a nervous motion. "Mine isn't as nice as some others."
Crowley hissed in annoyance. He didn't know who had convinced Aziraphale of that, but he'd make them regret their words. "Let me be the judge of that." He sat up straighter, and gently took the book out of Aziraphale's hands, conjuring up a bookmark in the shape of a snake to keep the angel's place.
Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, and Crowley tried to radiate sincerity - not actually hard when with Aziraphale, truth be told. Something in his gaze must have comforted Aziraphale, as there was the briefest of pauses, before he was sliding off the tartan top with his typical angelic grace.
"I know that it looks a bit like a human rash, or at least, I've been told," Aziraphale was explaining, as he turned his back towards Crowley, shoulders tense.
Crowley didn't need to breathe, but he figured if he had, he would have forgotten how. The angel had the Milky Way across his skin; Crowley could even pick out individual stars. Stars he never thought he'd really have a chance to see up close again, and yet here they were. He reached up and traced one of the constellations, fingers ghosting over the golden nebulas. He didn't know what to say, all he knew was that he would worship at this skyline until the world ended, and even beyond if given permission.