Chapter Text
Crowley wakes for the first time surrounded in a warmth that he doesn’t think he will ever get used to. His eyes blink open slowly to see Aziraphale curled up in the duvet next to him, peaceful features partially illuminated by the soft amber glow of the streetlights leaking in through the blinds. There’s a part of him that can’t quite believe that this is real – that the apocalypse has been diverted, that Heaven and Hell have agreed to leave them both alone, that Aziraphale…
Aziraphale loves him.
Crowley sits up in his bed, careful not to wake or disturb Aziraphale. He covers his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud incredulously – Aziraphale loves him, he said so himself just last night, and Crowley finally got to tell Aziraphale that he loves him back, and it’s real. Aziraphale is alive, and lying in Crowley’s bed, and there’s a little bit of dried drool on his chin, and Crowley thinks he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. He leans over to place a kiss on Aziraphale’s shoulder before wiping the sleep out of his yellow eyes, and lazily plodding to the kitchen to start making breakfast.
Aziraphale’s sweater is folded neatly on Crowley’s dresser and there’s a chill in the flat without the duvet or the angel’s ever-present body heat, so Crowley grabs it absentmindedly and pulls it on before leaving his room. It’s soft, much softer than most of the things he owns, and he likes the way the sleeves cover his hands. He sleepily brings a wool-covered hand up to his face as he walks and he is so distracted by the way the material feels against his skin that he almost doesn’t notice… the freckle.
See, in the hall leading from the bedroom to the kitchen, Crowley has hung a mirror. It’s nothing fancy, really – its presence is mostly there for aesthetic purposes because Crowley thought it fit in with the minimalist vibe he was going for when designing his flat. In his tired, barely-awake state he didn’t notice the freckle until he was actually past the mirror, causing him turn suddenly on the slippery lino floor (almost tripping over) in order to examine it in the mirror closer.
On his forehead, just above his left eyebrow, is a freckle – a freckle he is certain wasn’t there before. He pokes at it curiously, his eyes transfixed and unblinking, until he spots another new addition to his face in the middle of his right cheek. He pokes at this one too, so that he is squishing his face from both sides. He frowns. Where did they come from? There was no expla- oh.
Oh.
The night before, he and Aziraphale had kissed for the very first time (and the second and the third and the fourth…). The two of them hadn’t done much more than kiss - both of them were scared that if they went too fast then they would break this new and fragile thing that was blossoming between them – but they kissed, they kissed again and again and again, and Aziraphale had kissed Crowley’s cheek, and he had kissed Crowley’s forehead just before the two of them drifted off to sleep, and he had kissed the back of Crowley’s hand; Crowley lifts his hand, and sure enough, a new freckle has found it’s home there.
He stares at the back of his hand with tired confusion, so baffled that he doesn’t realise Aziraphale creeping up behind him until the angel’s arms are wrapped around his waist.
“You always mock my clothes,” Aziraphale says in between leaving kisses along Crowley’s neck. “And yet here you are, wearing my jumper and staring at your own reflection.”
Crowley huffs a laugh. “It’s not the jumper I’m staring at, it’s – look!” He points at where Aziraphale is kissing him, at the trail of freckles that has appeared there only now. “Look what you’ve done!” Despite his words, his tone isn’t annoyed, and there’s laughter in his voice. Aziraphale grins, trails a finger gently over the little freckle-y pathway.
“Oh my,” he turns Crowley around and kisses the demon’s nose. “This,” a kiss on his cheek, “calls,” a kiss on his chin, “for”, a kiss on his collarbone, “some”, a kiss on his ear, “experimentation.” A kiss on his mouth.
When they pull apart, Aziraphale feels like he could be knocked out from the sheer amount of love radiating from Crowley. His eyes are filled with sleep still, but he’s looking at Aziraphale with pure and unrestrained wonder, a wonder that Aziraphale can only imagine is reflected on his own face*. He’s beautiful like this, Aziraphale thinks. Of course, Aziraphale may be biased because he thinks Crowley is beautiful all the time, but there’s something particularly exquisite about him in this moment, with his bedhead and his sunglasses nowhere to be found and this jumper that is baggy on him and these new freckles – well, Aziraphale just has to kiss him again.
Crowley laughs into it, and is the first to pull away. “Angel – why do you think they’re there?”
Aziraphale thinks he’s joking, but when he looks up Crowley just looks completely and utterly perplexed.
Crowley goes on: “I mean, I don’t mind, particularly – especially considering your reaction to them,” the demon’s cheeks go a bit pink at this admission. How anyone in the history of the world has ever thought this man demon person individual to be suave, Aziraphale will never understand. “But why are they there?”
He reaches up to touch his own face, to trail his finger where he felt Aziraphale kiss him just moments before. He’s a little off the mark – as he’s no longer looking at his reflection – so Aziraphale guides his hand to the right place, leading Crowley’s finger down the little stream of freckles.
“My dear boy, don’t you know of the saying?” Aziraphale’s voice is little more than a whisper. Crowley shakes his head minutely, takes the hand that Aziraphale is using to guide his own, presses his lips to the palm.
“What saying might that be?”
“Well, some humans do say that – that every freckle is an angel’s kiss.” Aziraphale reaches out to comb a hand through Crowley’s mess of red hair, because he’s allowed to now, and Crowley buries his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder. He starts to shake, and Aziraphale is instantly worried that he’s messed this up somehow, why is he crying oh my Someone what have I done – but then Crowley pulls back and he’s not crying but laughing – no. Not laughing. Crowley, Serpent of Eden, Demon of Hell, The Original Tempter, Creator of Chaos and Minor Inconveniences, is wearing his boxers and Aziraphale’s jumper and is giggling.
If Hastur could only see him now.
Aziraphale can’t help but join in, because it is a little ridiculous, because although he has known for some time that this was a – a side-effect, of sorts, to his kisses (over the many years he has lived on Earth, he has been highly influenced by European cultures and very much enjoys kissing people on the cheek in greeting**), last night he never stopped to think about how every kiss he would give Crowley would result in this. He was so caught up in – well, everything else, that it didn’t even cross his mind. Now, though – it seems ridiculous, and silly, and funny.
“Crowley, my dear,” he manages to get out between his laughter, “I’m afraid that very soon you may become one, single, freckle. Nobody will be able to see that you’re a person! All they’ll see is one freckle with dashing red hair.”
Crowley, in a great act of nobility, manages to stop giggling just long enough to ask “Why?”.
Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Because it seems that I quite enjoy kissing you, actually – I would rather like to kiss every inch of you, if you’ll let me. I’d like to kiss you forever.”
“Forever?”
“And ever and ever and ever.”
Crowley snorts.
“That’s an awful long time, angel.” He raises an eyebrow. Aziraphale kisses his nose again.
(Another freckle appears.)
“Oh, I do so hope that it’ll be a long time. Though I must say – I don’t see anything ‘awful’ about it, personally.”
Crowley feels something explode somewhere deep within him. Not a bad explosion – it’s more like one last incredible firework going off after you think the show is finished. You were already content and satisfied – nothing else was wanted, or needed, but you gain something you had no idea you were even missing to begin with.
“Well then,” he says, aiming for smooth (and missing by a long shot, but Aziraphale doesn’t mind***). “We better get started on forever then, hadn’t we?”
*It is!
**Also: It is a truth universally acknowledged that Aziraphale fucks. Cheeks are not the only things he has given freckles in his time.
***Aziraphale decidedly is in to it, so everyone’s a winner.