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Aziraphale shifts in his sleep. A small, gentle movement, evidence perhaps of a step taken forward in a dream. Crowley feels it; strange as it seems, given the respective habits the two of them have picked up over six thousand years, Crowley is the one awake here at midnight.
Awake, most likely, because he doesn’t think he’d miss this for the world. Aziraphale - every ounce of his glorious warm weight - is snuggled up against his chest. Crowley has him cradled safe and close in his arms. Those fluffy white curls tickle his lips, tucked up underneath his chin, like they’re just begging him to press a kiss to the top of his angel’s head. And oh, Crowley is warm - arms and chest filled with Aziraphale, his soft roundness, the rich honey of his breath. No chance of missing this. No.
Aziraphale shifts again. His eyelids crinkle like softly folded pages. Crowley’s heart fills when he sees it; every tiny piece of Aziraphale is so beautiful. Crowley moves his arm ever-so-gently, stroking Aziraphale’s cheek and then running his hand over the soft, tartan-clad shoulder.
“What are you dreaming about?” he murmurs.
In silence, with nothing but another tiny crinkling of his eyes, Aziraphale burrows deeper into Crowley’s chest, arms tightening around his waist.
Crowley’s throat constricts; warmth rushes through him like a flood. Sometimes Crowley still thinks he’s going to discorporate with the weight of all the love Aziraphale lavishes on him in this newborn world. How is it possible that he’s lying here, arms so beautifully filled with this most loving and gentle of angels? How has he gained the favor of the universe such that this incredible spirit is sleeping on his chest, trusting him with his unguarded head, giving himself to Crowley to hold and to cherish and to protect? It’s more than he can comprehend.
“Can you see the stars, in your dream?” Crowley whispers. “Can you fly up to them?” He gives in and kisses Aziraphale’s head, relishing the warm scent of his hair.
Aziraphale’s forehead seems to smooth out, for a moment, as if he’s on the edge of a smile suddenly. As if Crowley’s words have worked their way into his unconscious mind, and now he’s seeing the universe spread out before him, all the beauty of suns and galaxies and free, floating space. Crowley feels like he’s going to burst again.
“They’re all yours,” he says softly. “Every single one.”
A real smile plays around the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. It’s not the kind of half-embarrassed smile that would accompany such a ridiculous proclamation, were Aziraphale awake - in his sleeping state Aziraphale seems to hear the truth behind the words, and he lets out a tiny, contented hum on his next breath.
“What about the Earth, hmm? The forests.” Crowley kisses Aziraphale gently on the forehead. “See all the trees? Some of them thousands of years old, almost old enough to be our siblings, if you really think about it.” He runs a hand through Aziraphale’s hair. “All of them that still make leaves or fruits or flowers. They’re yours.”
Aziraphale looks like he can see it. He looks like he can taste fruit on his tongue. What kind of power do Crowley’s words have, here in the dark, to give his angel everything he wants? Crowley wants to tell Aziraphale for the rest of time all the millions of things he’ll give to him, if he’s asked. He wants to spend eternity whispering the million things he’ll do for Aziraphale if Aziraphale will let him. He wants - oh, he wants so badly to hold this soft body in his arms and love it, gently, softly and sweetly, forever.
“I’m not leaving you, you know,” Crowley says. “Now that I’ve got you. I’m never letting you go.”
Aziraphale’s wonderful head presses down harder into his chest, and suddenly Crowley can hear his own heartbeat, just below Aziraphale’s ear. Pumping close enough to the surface that he’s sure Aziraphale can feel it, through shirt and skin and through the world of dreams he’s lost himself in.
“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice is low and rough. “You feel that? My heart? That’s yours too.”
He doesn’t see Aziraphale’s face in response to those words, but he hears a deep sigh, feels that angelic breath spill out onto his chest as Aziraphale continues to cuddle him. He knows, with a knowledge deeper than any fruit tree could provide, that Aziraphale hears him. He knows that Aziraphale knows.
“Yours,” he says, still, because he needs to say it. “Always been yours, always will be. Don’t know how it’d beat without you.” He feels that flooding warmth again, and there aren’t any more words to say what he means - so he just lets himself lie there, his angel with him, letting himself love and be loved. He takes it.
“What are you dreaming about?” he wonders aloud, tenderly rubbing Aziraphale’s back. “I might join you, if it’s a good dream.”
There’s no response to this.
“Who am I kidding.” Crowley laughs softly. “I’ll join you whatever kind of dream it is.”
And he closes his eyes, and his breathing slows, and in another handful of moments both the angel and the demon are asleep, clasped in each other’s embrace.