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The wind outside howled as it tore at the house and the grounds, leaking cold through all the tiny cracks and crevices around the windows and corners. It shook the bare trees, making them batter themselves, each other, and the glass. Crowley tried to ignore it, but the harder he tried to hang on to sleep, the more it felt like those sounds were scraping against his own skull- crawling into his ears to disturb his quiet.
He curled in on himself, pulling the blankets over his head, and shivered. He knew, even before reaching, that he would find the other side of the bed empty. But, he reached anyway: cold sheets. Somehow, he always knew when Aziraphale was gone, even when he was unconscious. The angel would be back, of course. This wasn't unusual; Aziraphale didn't sleep as much as Crowley did. Oh, he would drift off in bed with him. And he would stay asleep a while. He was awake again before long, though, a nap sufficing.
The smell of milky tea was the first hint of Aziraphale's return, closely followed by the gentle swishing of robes and the pad of bare feet on the floorboards. The gentle drape of the robe over the foot of the bed was the only real warning before the blankets lifted and colder air entered Crowley's cocoon. He hissed and curled away.
“Sorry, sorry,” Aziraphale whispered as he slipped in as quickly as he could and pulled the blankets over himself, “sorry I woke you, too.”
“s'alright, Angel,” Crowley mumbled into his pillow, reaching out blindly for him. He found... skin. What felt like miles and miles of soft, warm skin. Aziraphale, it seemed, had not bothered getting properly dressed.
“Alright?” Aziraphale draped his hand gently over Crowley's as it explored downward along his side and thigh before circling back up and curling around his belly, the rest of Crowley following.
“More than,” Crowley was wrapped around him now, feeling that softness along every inch of his own warming skin, “missed you, Angel.”
“I was only gone long enough to make a cup of-of tea,” Aziraphale's voice slipped into a lower register as Crowley squeezed even closer, his hands still gently roaming.
“In nothing but a satin robe?” Crowley pressed a grinning kiss against his shoulder, “that's proper scandalous, it is.”
“Hardly. No one is going to see me at half past midnight. Especially way out here,” Aziraphale sniffed defensively.
“Mrs. Abernathy could show up with another pie.”
“Not at this hour.”
“Maybe she doesn't sleep,” Crowley heard him grumble about how maybe he should sleep- with the fishes- but then there was a sharp intake of breath as his fingers teased lightly up the angel's thigh and squeezed, “why, if she were to see everything I get to enjoy... she may never go back home to Mr. Abernathy.”
“Don't tease.”
“Oh, I think we're well past that, you slipping in here like this.”
“You like it?”
“You're fishing,” Crowley's voice was muffled as he pressed kisses into his shoulder, “and I'll bite: you are my favorite work of art from the top of your fluffy head to the soles of your feet. Having you, all of you, here exposed for me? I feel like a glutton prepared to feast.”
Aziraphale wiggled happily under his still-roaming hands- he couldn't help it, there was so much to feel, to experience, and he never felt like he could have his fill.
“Even the soles of my feet, hmm?”
“'course, they're your feet, aren't they? Mad about your feet, I am.”
“You're sure?”
“Sure as sure, Angel. Why y'on about feet?”
And then he felt the soles of Aziraphale's feet slide up his calves. They were positively frigid, sending an icing feeling right up his spine. He couldn't help the yelp he let out which made Aziraphale start laughing until he was shaking the whole bed.
“Rude angel!” Crowley had rolled him on his back and was hovering over him, “Bastard.”
“Forgive me, love,” but Aziraphale's lips were still twitching in mirth, trying desperately not to bloom into a smile, “I feared I might get frost bite.”
“I'll bite you!”
“Oh. Oh, my dear. That's not a deterrent at all.”