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It had been an uneventful day. The almost-but-not-quite end of the world does that.
A light drizzle progressed into a heavy downpour, as it was wont to do in England. Although, this particular rain seemed to have a slight vendetta against the pavement, you see it felt awfully abused after all that weather changing in Tadfield, so it had plenty of time to plan its comeuppance.
A certain angel and demon were completely unaware of this, of course.
Within the calm cocoon of the bookshop, Aziraphale was very much occupied with a first-edition Wilde. Such pursuits rarely occupied Crowley for long so he had long since drifted into a restful sleep. Not that Aziraphale was aware, we remind the reader that it was a first-edition Wilde.
Crowley’s head rested on a pile of books, hair strewn over the cover, fiery locks pouring down the spines. His sunglasses sat beside the pile, folded and unused. He shifted in his sleep, the sunglasses fell. This is when Aziraphale realised that (a) Crowley was still in the bookshop, and (b) he really does look rather dashing with his long hair.
The temptation was too great, even for an angel. As surreptitiously as he could, Aziraphale walked over to Crowley, intending only to replace the glasses. He almost hesitated, except he didn’t; he took a lock of hair between his fingers and brushed it away from Crowley’s forehead. Then he planted light kiss on his temple. A feathered touch, that’s all it was, but Crowley’s eyes flickered open, uncomprehending in the haze of sleep.
“Oh, I do apologise, my dear! I didn’t mean to wake you. You see, your hair was going absolutely everywhere and well I thought you really oughtn’t get dust on there –”
“Angel,” Crowley interrupted before Aziraphale could fuss anymore, “I really don’t mind, probably shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place. It’s pelting down out there, gonna be a Hell of a trip back to Mayfair.” They both knew he could very simply have stopped the rain, to the vengeful rain’s grievance, mind you.
“Well…you don’t have to,” Aziraphale started “go, I mean, you could just stay here.”
Crowley lifted his head up, now fully awake, “Wouldn’t wanna take away your quality time with Oscar.” Crowley vaguely gestured towards the book in Aziraphale’s hand, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
“I – oh, you don’t mean that, do you? Only I thought you could stay. We could, I don’t know, we could do something, together.” Aziraphale’s imploring look only lasted so long before Crowley caved.
Crowley ran his hands through his hair, which had fallen around his face in his haste to awaken.
“Crowley, my dear, you really should do something with your hair. I must say, it looked rather nice back in Golgotha, with the plaits. I do confess it looked lovely…well I’d rather like if you’d let me do it for you.” Aziraphale inched closer to Crowley, settling himself comfortably onto the sofa, the book now abandoned.
Crowley pulled at the hairband on his wrist and began tying up his hair, the high-ponytail brushing the nape of his neck and his snake tattoo on full display.
“You know, angel, I was thinking about getting rid of it. Lot of work, you know and never comes out right when you miracle it. Not that I’d stop you from doing it the human way, if you wanted?”
“I – oh – how wonderful! I should simply love to. Come here,” Aziraphale turned to him as Crowley slid down to the floor and faced his back to Aziraphale, posture relaxing as Aziraphale moved closer, “I hope you don’t mind terribly, dear, but could you lean back a bit?”
“Of course not, dove,” an unguarded smile crossed Crowley’s lips as he settled further between Aziraphale’s legs which bracketed him, as he pulled off the hairband and allowed his hair to once again fan around his neck.
Aziraphale started by partitioning Crowley’s hair into small sections, running his hands through the locks as Crowley relaxed into him, practically melting as his eyes fluttered shut. Aziraphale’s hands grazed over Crowley’s forehead every time he gathered a lock and fanned it through his fingers.
“Mmm, that’s nice, angel.” Crowley sighed, feeling as though he could fall back asleep.
“Dearest, I haven’t even done anything yet. Though I suppose this is quite nice.”
Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s thigh as he continued to thread his hands through his hair, relaxing into Crowley as much as Crowley relaxed into him.
The rain continued to pour, and the pavement continued to plot its revenge. Not that a certain angel and demon realised, of course. We remind the reader, that a certain angel and his demon were perfectly content within the bookshop.