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Crowley groaned. “Angel, no. Please. Have some decency.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun!” Aziraphale closed his book, looking over to the sofa. “And you’ve been moaning about being bored for hours. If you aren’t able to find some way to amuse yourself, then don’t be surprised if someone else does it for you.”
“Nothing amusing about checking out the bloody Christmas displays.” Crowley blinked inverted yellow eyes at him from where his head dangled over the arm of the sofa. “Swear they get earlier every year. Has to be my old lot’s doing.”
“It will be fun.” Aziraphale repeated it more firmly this time. “We’ll stop by a cafe while we’re out.” He stood up, walking over to the sofa and smiling down at Crowley. “Some nice seasonal beverages. A pastry or two.”
Crowley reached up and over his head to poke Aziraphale gently in the belly. “Or three.”
“Hmph. Is that supposed to be a temptation?”
“Nah.” Crowley flopped off the sofa. “This is, though.”
He stepped over to Aziraphale, slipped his arms around his broad waist, and kissed him with delicate thoroughness.
“Let’s go get you a pastry or two, angel.” He murmured the words against one round cheek, then pressed his lips to it. “Or three.”
Aziraphale snuggled closer to him. “And look at the Christmas displays?”
“Ghhhhhhh fine.” But one hand stroked through Aziraphale’s hair, belying the annoyed tone.
Crowley watched Aziraphale pull on his coat, but stayed his plump hands as they reached for a button.
“Let me.”
He started with the collar, placing a small kiss against Aziraphale’s double chin before he got to work. Down to the next button, and the next. Crowley’s fingers moved very slowly when he got to the point where Aziraphale’s belly curved outward, brushing the velvet of his waistcoat several times before he was done.
Aziraphale tsked once, when the brush turned into more of a caress. “I am not sure how this is getting me my holiday-spiced mocha.”
“Or your Christmassy rubbish.”
“That either.”
The coat tended to, Crowley miracled himself up a sleek leather jacket, raising an eyebrow at Aziraphale when the angel gave him an appraising look. “See something you like?”
“Hmm. I see an extraordinarily handsome demon whom I am going to very much enjoy taking a walk with.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s arm, beaming at him. “Anyone with an eye for male beauty is going to be terribly jealous of me.”
Crowley pulled a pair of sunglasses from the jacket and slipped them on. “Let’s be honest here. Anyone with working eyes is going to be jealous of me.”
“Oh, you.”
“Now, now,” Crowley went on, letting himself be tugged out into the street. The door locked itself as they set off. “‘Sweet Somebody!’ they’ll say. ‘That’s the most gorgeous being I’ve ever seen! Why, I’d fight a man for the chance to touch that belly.’”
Aziraphale snorted.
“Which... yeah. That could be fun. Battle royale, and the prize is one squeeze of your luscious tum. Could foment a lot of discord that way. Lot of bitter losers.”
“I’m not letting some stranger manhandle me,” Aziraphale sniffed. His hands tightened on Crowley’s arm, though, and there was an amused gleam in his eye.
“Fight’d be rigged, angel. Nobody’s allowed to claim that prize but me.”
Aziraphale looked smug. “Good.”
They moved down the pavement slowly, Aziraphale pointing out bright lights and festive decorations as they passed. Crowley grumbled and scoffed at each new delight. A careful observer, though, might notice how his lips curled up in a faint smile. He made no move to pull away, to hurry Aziraphale past even the most elaborate shopfront display. When they came upon a toy village scene, cottages and churches and one cheery pub, he snapped his fingers and grinned.
“What did... oh.” Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s arm, moving closer to the glass. “Why, they’re darling.”
In one small plastic cottage, two tiny objects now rested on a windowsill. One was a white mug with the handle sculpted into wings. The other was an identical mug, only in black.
Human eyes would probably not have been able to discern that the white mug’s pretend contents were topped with a mountain of pretend marshmallows.
“Too many churches,” Crowley said breezily. “But an all right place to visit, I spose.”
When Aziraphale stepped back again, there was an arm already waiting for him. Crowley pulled the two of them very close together. His hand pressed tightly into the side of Aziraphale’s belly through the coat, while Aziraphale’s arm looped around his much smaller waist. Completing the circuit. Keeping them pressed to each other, knee and hip and chest.
“A very nice place to visit,” Aziraphale murmured. “One could be very cozy in a place like that. Warm and content and safe together.”
“Safe together.” Crowley’s arm tightened even more.
Aziraphale raised his free hand and drew something down. There was now an unseasonably verdant garden out back of the cottage.
Crowley’s throat worked for a second. “Still too many churches.”
He nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek, whispering three words against it and sealing them in with his lips.
“This human heart is yours, my treasure.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, laying the palm against his soft chest. “The other one, too. And even the two of them together aren’t enough to hold the love I have for you.”
Crowley’s throat bobbled again.
“Shall we go on?”
Crowley nodded.
There were more displays for Aziraphale to exclaim over, but Crowley’s protests at these were somewhat muted compared to the earlier ones.
The cafe was bustling but not overly crowded. They left their coats by the door, then got into line. Crowley cuddled up behind Aziraphale, arms around his middle, hands cupped loosely against his waistcoated belly.
“Too many layers,” he muttered. “Shirt, waistcoat, ridiculous topcoat, and then that bloody winter coat in the corner. Feels like I’m holding a sofa, sometimes. All mothballs and dust.”
Aziraphale leaned his head back against Crowley’s shoulder. “You know, I’ve never been compared to a sofa in such a nice way before.”
“Big and soft and in desperate need of some up-to-date slipcovers. Yeah. That’s you all over, isn’t it.”
“Really, Crowley —”
“Both also excellent napping surfaces.”
“If you’re going to insult my taste in clothing —”
Crowley’s hands squeezed gently. “Don’t worry, angel. You can make anything look good.”
“Besotted demon,” Aziraphale chuckled.
“Myeah, guilty.” Crowley turned Aziraphale around to face him, hands slowly moving over the width of his soft belly, coming to rest at last against his rounded sides. “Still right, though.”
Aziraphale pressed against him. “You’re going to distract me from ordering my coffee.”
“And your pastries.” Crowley leaned his head down, smiling as heavy arms looped around his neck. “Very important. Won’t have you wasting away.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t want that at all, would you.”
Aziraphale caught his lips before he could reply. The kiss was very brief, but Crowley made several interesting sounds before it was over.
“Come on, darling. We’re next.”
Crowley stumbled along behind him, grinning crookedly.
The person behind the counter rang up their order efficiently enough: one extremely decadent holiday-themed beverage, extra large; one plain coffee, medium; one apple tart, one slice of coffee cake, and one impressive-looking blueberry muffin. Crowley insisted on ferrying everything to a table by the window. They’d be easily visible from outside, he explained, which would raise envy levels in the area for sure. The Soho streets were busy tonight. Who knew how many humans would see him enjoying the company of the most gorgeous creature on Earth?
When a gentle snowfall started a few minutes later, huge white picturebook flakes drifting slowly downwards, the two of them also happened to be in an excellent position to view it. Aziraphale’s sharp look was met with an innocent smile.
“You’re incorrigible,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee-flavored beverage.
“Yep. Can’t be corriged, me. Cake thing?”
Aziraphale looked down at the plate, pushed toward him across the table by one thin finger. “Hmm. I think I’d like the tart first, actually.”
The thin finger rotated the plate.
“Thank you, dear.”
The sunglasses hid Crowley’s eyes completely in this light. There was no way anyone would be able to tell exactly what he was looking at, nor with exactly what expression. But if the same careful observer from out on the street had followed the two of them to this warm little space, they might have noticed how everything about his posture suggested grave attention. How he leaned forward slightly, hands held stiff against the table. How his still face turned toward Aziraphale’s like an oceanworn ship sighting home. And how, when Aziraphale lifted the first bite to his mouth, Crowley’s chest stopped moving, just for an instant.
No one had had followed them, so no one saw any of it. Didn’t see how, when Aziraphale’s lips curved around his retreating fork, Crowley started breathing again. Blue eyes closed, and the soft throat purred out a happy sound; Crowley’s face smoothed out, hands no longer tense. Aziraphale chewed blissfully, and Crowley leaned back with a grin.
“Good?” he asked, once that first taste was done.
Aziraphale sighed. “Absolutely delicious. I’m glad you tempted me into it.”
“Pure selfishness, believe me. Gonna win that battle royale I’m planning, remember?” Crowley propped his grin on one hand. “Need to keep your pretty belly full and happy until then. No fun squeezing a sad belly.”
“Of course. How very nefarious.”
“Wheels within wheels, angel.”
By the time Aziraphale was finished the cafe was nearly empty. “Well,” he said, dabbing his mouth for the last time, “that was all simply wonderful. Did you enjoy yourself, love?”
Crowley’s lips twitched upward. “Always. All full? Don’t need anything else?”
“I suppose,” Aziraphale mused, hand sliding across the table, “I ought to get back to the shop...”
Their fingertips met. “Yeah?”
“There’s a lovely bottle of Richebourg Grand Cru I’ve been meaning to open for a while...”
Crowley’s hand flipped over as Aziraphale’s covered it. “Mmmhmm.”
“And I can finish that book I was reading when you interrupted me.”
Crowley took back his hand.
“Oh, I’m only teasing, Crowley.” Aziraphale got up, stepping around the table, reaching again for Crowley’s hand. “I actually thought we might curl up in bed for the rest of the evening. I can read, yes, but I believe you said something about a good napping surface...?”
“Best. Best napping surface.” Crowley slipped his fingers between Aziraphale’s and let himself be pulled to his feet. “Big and soft and warm.” By the doorway, leather jacket already shrugged on, he watched as Aziraphale donned and buttoned his coat. “Also, I can help with that again. Just say the word.”
“I daresay you’re more interested in helping yourself,” Aziraphale replied, not quite looking stern. “Wandering fingers.”
“Way I see it, it’s mutually beneficial, like.”
Aziraphale hopped up on his toes just long enough to kiss one thin cheek. “Let’s go home, beloved. I’m looking forward to a nice, quiet night together.”
Crowley pulled him close, leaning down to deliver a kiss which took somewhat longer and wasn’t quite on the cheek.
They walked back through the sparkling snowfall, snuggled close together against the cold. The locked bookshop door opened before them without complaint. Crowley’s leather jacket, sunglasses returned to the pocket, was miracled back to wherever it came from, while Aziraphale hung winter coat and topcoat neatly in their places.
“Bring plenty to read.” Crowley leaned against Aziraphale’s back, fingers not wandering for the moment, seeming content to murmur into the cloud of hair. “Think I’ll sleep for a week, as comfy as you look.”
“Ridiculous demon,” Aziraphale tutted.
“Soft little angel.”
“I,” Aziraphale replied with great dignity, “have never been ‘little’.”
When they eventually reached the flat upstairs of the shop, Crowley snapped up a set of rumpled silk pyjamas. “Bed,” he announced, falling onto it with a sigh.
“Good Lord, you look as though you’ve been asleep for a week already.” Aziraphale set his pile of books on the nightstand, then arranged himself primly seated on his side of the bed. “You miracled it with the buttons done crooked, Crowley, what is the point?”
Crowley slithered over to him. “‘M artfully disheveled. Very fashionable. Very cool.” He leaned his chin on the curve of Aziraphale’s belly, looking at him with half-closed eyes. “You going to change for bed? Or’m I going to have to nap on this bloody waistcoat again?”
Aziraphale smiled down at him. “I’ll let you decide, dear. New sofa slipcovers, whatever you’d like to sleep on.”
“Dress you up any way I want, huh? Time f’r something see-through with lace.” The words were slow and drowsy, though, and when Crowley snapped his fingers again, it was not to miracle up any lace.
Aziraphale looked over the crisp cotton pyjama bottoms, the same as he usually chose himself, when he bothered to dress for bed at all. The top was more unusual. “This looks an awful lot like one of your... ‘band shirts’, Crowley.”
“Lot bigger, though.” Crowley pulled himself up against Aziraphale’s belly, snuggling into it, arms loosely wound around his waist. “Lot, lot bigger. Been washed a million times so it’s soft. Almost soft as you.” He wriggled his head against the surface. “And no buttons t’poke a poor demon in the face.”
Aziraphale stroked his hair and smiled. “So you’re comfortable?”
“Mmmmm.”
Crowley’s breathing evened out almost immediately, deep and slow. For a few minutes, Aziraphale only watched him, the smile still on his lips.
“Love you, angel.” The words were mumbled but clear. Crowley lifted his head again, blinking his snake eyes at Aziraphale, and when a round hand ruffled his hair he grinned sleepily.
“I love you very much, dear heart. Sleep well.”
Crowley nodded. “One more thing.” He put a hand on the soft fabric clinging to Aziraphale’s belly. “Goodnight kiss. Yeah?”
“Of course.”
Crowley pushed the shirt up, revealing a pale stripe of skin. It bulged and curved outward, golden stretch marks scrolling delicately down its swell, and Crowley pressed his lips to each of these which could be seen.
“Pretty angel.” Crowley pulled the shirt back into place. “Love all of you. Always will.”
Aziraphale glanced over at his books for a moment. Looked down at the red head settling back onto his stomach, the thin arm going back around his waist. The smile that stretched across his face then was small, an almost secret thing, but infinitely tender.
“Dream of whatever you like best, my only.” Aziraphale turned off the light. “I will be here when you wake.”
He closed his eyes, relaxed into the arms around him, and filled his heart with the slow hush of Crowley’s breath.