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Crowley was not in bed when Aziraphale woke up.
This double occurrence was odd enough that Aziraphale was unsettled and briefly unable to process it. Aziraphale slept, of course, once in a while, and every so often he emerged from a reading stupor to find that life had gone on around him and Crowley was no longer in bed with him anymore, but the two so rarely coincided. Aziraphale stared at the ceiling, taking stock of his surroundings, and the third strangeness hit him:
The children were not at home.
Junior had his new home. Rosa was…doing Rosa things. Angelica was at school. Clem and Datura still lived at home, of course, but at present were both away, and for the first time in around a decade—or perhaps for the first time ever—Crowley and Aziraphale had the place to themselves.
The realization left Aziraphale feeling bereft.
He hauled himself from the covers and staggered upright, doddering around and looking for his dressing gown before finding it in the laundry and pulling it on regardless of the funk that had certainly never dared to accumulate on Aziraphale’s clothing before the incident with the egg prank wrecked his priorities irreparably. He resisted the urge to call out. He was not an infant, nor was he in any real distress. He was simply tired and confused and perhaps in an uncomfortable adjustment period, but not thinking about it. Aziraphale instead thought wistfully back to hearing the sounds of thundering enthusiastic feet on the stairs as his signal that morning was to begin, to breakfast table grunts and half-conversation before dropping off the children who chose to attend school and beginning the tutelage of those who didn’t. He could almost smell burnt coffee and toast made by eager, though inexpert, little hands and tails, could almost hear the rushed “love you, Azirafather!” before the front door slammed shut...
“Crowley?” Aziraphale called, half-hating himself for it, and half-hated himself a little more at the unclenching in his chest when Crowley’s “here, angel” answered him from the kitchen. He shuffled in his slippers and his dressing gown and his bedhead into the kitchen and paused in the doorway to compose himself, putting a hand over his heart at the sight that greeted him.
Crowley was perched on the counter, wearing one of Aziraphale’s overlarge squashy jumpers and aught else, a mug of steaming coffee held in his half-covered hands, his lively hair gathered in the messiest and laziest of buns. The morning sun glinted through the flyaway curls and burnished Crowley’s eyes golden. He smiled at Aziraphale and set his mug down, then opened up his arms, the sleeves sliding back from his fingertips a little. Aziraphale had to take a moment to remember how legs worked, but once he did, Crowley’s arms and legs were wrapped around him in no time and Crowley’s mug-warmed hands were pressing him as close as two beings could get when one was sitting on a countertop and the other was standing.
“What’s got you so worked up, then?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale tried to ignore how his own hands were shaking as he gripped Crowley tight but knew it was a lost cause.
“You weren’t there when I woke up,” Aziraphale murmured. “It felt…lonesome.”
Crowley nosed against Aziraphale’s temple and kissed the sensitive skin near his ear. “Sorry. Wanted to enjoy a quiet moment to myself for a bit.”
“It has been a while, hasn’t it.” Aziraphale’s fingers clenched without him quite meaning to. “We…we used to live alone, after all. Go centuries without seeing each other. I imagine the past few years might have been…stifling.”
“No.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face in his wonderful warm hands and pushed him back a little, forcing Aziraphale’s eyes to his. “Not stifling. Never, ever that.”
Aziraphale didn’t understand why he was feeling so fragile this morning, but he did appreciate the opportunity to kiss the pad of Crowley’s thumb when it strayed too close to his mouth. Crowley huffed a shivery little breath and his legs tightened around Aziraphale’s waist.
“It’s just,” Crowley said, “before…before the kids…well. We got pushed into parenthood headfirst without much of a chance to just…be together. To enjoy that part of it. It’s been—it’s been wonderful, I love our life and would never trade it or the kids, but—”
“We did rather put the cart before the horse, as it were,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley huffed again, this time more of a laugh. “We had children together before we even properly said we loved each other or got married. What a backwards shotgun arrangement, indeed.”
“Exactly,” Crowley grinned. “Downright scandalous, it is.”
“And…now we’ve something of an empty nest,” Aziraphale said, and the sigh that came out of him was gratified to hear its echo from Crowley. “Ten or so years is such a small span of time in all our days, but…what years they were. What busy, eventful years.”
“And…now we’re facing eternity with just us in this house,” Crowley nodded. “I can see why so many humans get divorces once the children leave the nest. Bit terrifying, isn’t it?”
“I suppose, when you rush into something like that without really knowing your partner as well,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “Not really a problem we have, do we?”
“Not exactly,” Crowley shook his head and let his hands trail down to Aziraphale’s chest, fiddling with the lapels of the dressing gown. “Though. I think we’ve grown up a bit ourselves, haven’t we?”
“I must say, I never thought we’d have to become parents in the first place,” Aziraphale said, stroking Crowley’s ribs through the jumper. “It’s been, just a little bit, like…relearning who you are all over again. And myself.”
“And now we get to find out who we are post-children,” Crowley said, and smiled. “What a thought, eh?”
“What a gift,” Aziraphale said, smiling back, “to spend forever getting to know you.”
This seemed to temporarily knock the breath from Crowley’s lungs and left Aziraphale feeling quite smug about it as Crowley flushed and his eyes got big. Aziraphale took note of the jumper sliding off his shoulder and utterly failed to correct the small dishevelment in favor of smiling and gently smoothing some of Crowley’s strays back into place.
“I might take up embroidery or basket-weaving,” Crowley said, when he could speak again. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Or we could do one of those…wine and pottery things. Together.”
“Dancing lessons, cooking classes—good lord, Crowley, we’re going to have to find hobbies,” Aziraphale said, and fairly giggled at the thought.
“Or we might never leave the bedroom,” Crowley said, his eyebrows wagging. Aziraphale smacked as close to his rump as he could reach with Crowley sitting and laughed. “All sorts of surfaces in this house we haven’t snogged on yet thanks to little eyes and ears.”
“Yes, I’m sure the children will be ever so pleased to know that their parents have spent retirement debauching their childhood home,” Aziraphale said, though his hands were trailing down Crowley’s thighs.
“We’ll sanitize it, they’ll never know the difference,” Crowley said, one of his hands going to Aziraphale’s hair, making his short curls stand up even more, Aziraphale was certain. “Nice hair, by the way. Looks properly slept on.”
“You tempt me to all sorts of degenerate behaviors, it seems,” Aziraphale smiled, fitting his thumbs under the hem of the jumper and caressing the skin he found there.
“Such as?” Crowley purred, his nose bumping playfully with Aziraphale’s as he pulled him closer.
“Sleeping in, for one,” Aziraphale said, and lifted Crowley from the counter, laughing loud and long when Crowley squealed and clutched onto him for dear life. “Come on. Back to bed. I rose far earlier than I meant to and I had no husband there to lull me back into sloth.”
“You know you’re perfectly capable of committing whatever sins you want without me goading you into it,” Crowley grumped, his arms wound around Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale shifted him closer and held him tighter as he strode back to their bedroom.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said, knowing Crowley would hear his smile, “but whyever would I want to, when it’s so much more fun with you?”
Crowley’s stammering blush came to a satisfying conclusion when Aziraphale unceremoniously tipped himself and Crowley sideways back onto their bed, and after more bickering and blanket-pulling and afterthoughted stripping of smelly dressing gowns, Aziraphale found himself back where he meant to be when he awoke: warm, arms full of demon husband, mouth full of smiles and laughter and bestowing increasingly drowsy kisses on Crowley’s equally smiling, laughing face.
“I do love you very much, my dearest one,” Aziraphale murmured as sleep pulled him back under.
“Love you too, angel,” Crowley whispered, and may have whispered it many more times, but Aziraphale was too asleep to properly hear. No matter. It was a refrain in his dreams that soothed away whatever soul-deep ache he’d awoken with before and had the promise that even if Aziraphale’s arms were empty when he woke up, his home and heart would never go without. He had Crowley, after all.