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"Now look," Crowley said to the rosebushes in a low voice, "I know you think I've gone soft because there's an angel around, but don't think, for one single second, that if I see so much as a tinge of yellow on any one of these leaves, that I won't rip—"
A gust of wind rushed past him, rustling the bushes and ruining his perfect threat.
Crowley turned and narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale, who was reading with his wings out. "Aziraphale."
Aziraphale looked up from his book. "Yes, dear? Did you say something?"
Before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale wiggled and flapped his wings again, sending another massive breeze through their little garden.
Crowley sighed. "Something wrong with your wings?"
"Oh, nothing's wrong with them, exactly, it's just," Aziraphale made a face, "trying to get them back in order."
"You're never going to get it flapping like that." Crowley shot one last warning glare at the rosebushes and got to his feet. "Here, I'll do it."
"You're busy," Aziraphale said, but he was already putting his book aside and looking up at Crowley with those big, pouty eyes. "I couldn't possibly impose."
Crowley walked behind him and took one wing in hand, rubbing his thumb along the feathers. "Never an imposition, angel."
Aziraphale shuddered and stretched out his wing as far as it would go. "Thank you, my dear."
Crowley ran his hands over the soft white feathers, partly to feel the texture and partly to feel Aziraphale shiver happily again, and then commenced actually inspecting the wing. Two of Aziraphale's primaries were overlapping, which was likely what had been bothering him, and Crowley rearranged them so they were sitting properly once again.
He made his way through the rest of the primaries and secondaries on the left wing, ensuring no others were overlapping, before he moved onto the coverts. Since he and Aziraphale had moved in together in their little cottage, Crowley had taken it upon himself to ensure Aziraphale's wings were properly groomed. In general, his wings were no longer the disaster they had been for the past six thousand years, but Aziraphale still had a bad habit of letting them go too long without bothering to take care of them. Probably because he knew Crowley was here to pick up the slack.
Not that Crowley minded.
He finished with the coverts and moved onto the smaller feathers at the top of the wing, scratching a little on the smallest feathers near the bend.
Aziraphale groaned. "Oh, that's wonderful."
Crowley smiled and scratched harder. "That's usually where my wings get a bit itchy."
"Don't stop," Aziraphale said, and then his wing dipped. "Or, oof, is there something to set my wing on? It's getting a bit heavy."
Crowley snapped his fingers, miracling the chair into a much larger bench, where Aziraphale could rest his wing along the back. "How's that?"
Aziraphale smiled up at him beatifically. "You're so good to me, my dear."
Crowley made a face at the pointed word. "Yeah, yeah."
He scratched a few minutes longer on the left wing before he moved over to Aziraphale's right and repeated the whole process, fixing the primaries and secondaries that had overlapped (how did Aziraphale have that happen; he didn't even use his wings that much) and then scratching his nails through the tiny feathers at the wrist joint. Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, bestowing on Crowley a smile that he would've called "drunk" if either of them had had a sip of alcohol in the last hour.
Crowley petted the wings once again and moved to the base of them, where they connected to Aziraphale's back, and rubbed the muscles there. The noise Aziraphale let out was positively indecent.
Crowley smirked. "Does that feel good, angel?"
Aziraphale sighed. "It's perfect. Thank you, Crowley."
Crowley's cheeks heated, and for his own part, he was very thankful that Aziraphale couldn't see it.
Aziraphale lifted a hand behind him and motioned to Crowley. "Come around here."
Crowley walked around the bench, and Aziraphale pulled him into his lap and swept his wings around him, wrapping them both in a feathery white cocoon.
Aziraphale reached up and brushed his fingers along Crowley's cheek. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."
Crowley's face was on fire. "You already said that."
That did nothing to dim the soft, loving looking Aziraphale's face. "And I'll say it a dozen times more. You've done so many wonderful things for me over the centuries we've known each other and I haven't been able to thank you nearly enough."
Crowley had to look away from the sheer force of Aziraphale's love. He knew it in his head, but after so many centuries of having to be subtle about it, he still wasn't used to having Aziraphale turn it on him full blast like this. It was overwhelming.
He reached over to trail his fingers along Aziraphale's underwing. Not that the feathers needed much grooming right now, but they were soft and it gave him something else to focus on.
"Mm." Aziraphale set his hands on Crowley's hips. "I do so love having your hands in my wings, my dear."
"Someone needs to have hands in your wings," Crowley said. "Hell knows you won't."
Aziraphale moved his hands from Crowley's hips to his face. "I am particularly happy that it's you."
Crowley tried to look away, but with Aziraphale's hands on him, it was impossible. "Angel."
Aziraphale stroked his thumb over Crowley's cheeks. "You love me so well, Crowley. Let me love you."
And what could Crowley say to that?
So he closed his eyes and leaned in, and let himself be loved.