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Soft light from the east had slowly filled the room over the past couple of hours, making its way steadily across the floor and onto the bed, before finally shining down on an angel and a demon curled up together.
Crowley watched the colors changing from black shadows to deep blues to the first gentle wisps of yellow and pink. He was propped up on his left elbow, gazing down at where Aziraphale was tucked into the pillows and blankets, snuggled up close to him. The light and shadows shifting over Aziraphale's face as he slept - in Crowley's arms! - for the first time were fascinating beyond compare. They illuminated his face in ways that felt entirely new, like Crowley was seeing him for the first time all over again. This face that was so beloved, old and familiar, was softened by sleep and morning light creeping slowly in.
He'd never witnessed Aziraphale so relaxed. His uptight angel was thoroughly at peace, and the fact that it was in the circle of Crowley's wings was almost too much to comprehend. All Aziraphale's worries were smoothed off his brow. When Crowley had brought out his wings on a hunch the night before, he'd hoped it would be reassuring. Aziraphale had reacted with so much awe to the sight and sought out the safety of them. They had spent much of the evening under the mantled wings, and now in the early morning hours, he let himself draw them back a bit, until they were loosely cradling Aziraphale's sleeping body to the side, one swooping around behind the angel's head and back, the other settling protectively over his legs under the bedding.
His curls were in disarray, delightfully so, and Crowley's fingers twitched with an unexpected urge to coax them back into place. Instead he held still and let himself admire the view. Later he would get his hands back into Aziraphale's cloud of hair, but it wasn't worth waking Aziraphale from his slumber just yet.
Aziraphale's lips parted a bit, looking plump and inviting. Crowley's thoughts drifted back to the kisses they shared the night before, mere hours ago. To how sweet Aziraphale's mouth had tasted, how soft it felt against his own, how he kissed with tenderness and hunger and passion. To the first giddy realisation when they'd pulled away that Aziraphale was breathless because of him. The memory of that moment was going to stay with him forever, he was certain of it.
Crowley let the back of his right hand skim along Aziraphale's bare forearm. A tingle of warmth spread through him at the brush of his knuckles against skin. At one point in the night Crowley had assured Aziraphale that they would lie much more comfortably in clothes designed for sleeping. Aziraphale agreed to trying out pajama bottoms but he wanted to keep the skin to skin contact, so Crowley left them both shirtless. Now, he let his eyes linger over all of Aziraphale’s skin on display. There was so much of him to hold onto, to caress, to love.
Aziraphale's upturned nose caught an errant ray of sunshine, looking particularly kissable. Crowley almost snorted to himself at that thought - he, the Serpent of Eden and original Tempter - having fantasies of kissing his lover on the tip of his exquisitely formed nose.
His lover. Could he call Aziraphale that now? It seemed absurdly sentimental but Crowley's heart ached with long-resisted hope fulfilled. It swelled in him, more joy than he could fathom rising like a tidal wave. But he wasn’t being dragged under; this wasn’t drowning. It buoyed him up instead and he was soaring on this wave of love. Whatever they chose to refer to each other as, they had chosen each other, that much was clear. Maybe “lover” wasn't a strong enough word for what they were. How could he capture the depth of what Aziraphale meant to him in one word? It was impossible. Aziraphale was his everything.
He was Crowley’s guardian from that first curious meeting. His companion through ages past. His confidante, his partner in crime, his nemesis, his best friend. The most irritating, ridiculous, petty angel. The cleverest, most fascinating, most compassionate person he knew. Their lives had been in each other's orbits almost since the beginning of time, dancing closer and closer but never fully aligned. Now, at last, they were spinning in sync, and Crowley would traverse the entire universe with Aziraphale at his side.
Before he got too lost in ruminating on the meaning of love, Aziraphale stirred. Crowley didn’t see him move, but some sense that was fine-tuned to Aziraphale’s state told him he was waking.
"You're staring," Aziraphale said, his voice raspy and slurred with sleep.
"Not staring," Crowley said. He was absolutely 100% staring at his pretty angel.
Aziraphale's lips turned up at the corners, though his eyes remained closed and he didn't shift his position. If anything he seemed to sink even deeper into the pillows.
"It's unnerving, dear."
Crowley had never seen Aziraphale with fewer nerves in all his life.
"Demon. Part of the job description. Master of unning-nerves, me.”
“That’s not a word, darling.”
Crowley’s blackened heart skipped a beat. Darling. He forgot to respond.
“But you wouldn’t be making up words just to annoy me on such a lovely morning, would you?”
“I could get out of bed if you’re so bothered by me.”
“Don’t even think of it.” Aziraphale still sounded too sleepy to be irritated, but Crowley doubted Aziraphale thought his threat to leave was meant seriously anyway. He curled his hand over Aziraphale's arm, a small reassurance that he was staying put.
Aziraphale scooched forward, tucking in until the top of his head pressed against Crowley's chest.
"Do you know," he murmured, "I might have a lie-in for a bit longer. It's rather nice."
Crowley drew the wing behind Aziraphale's back closer until it rested along his body, folding the angel into his dark plumage. A sigh escaped Aziraphale, a gentle release of breath that was filled with contentment. "Go on then, angel. Sleep as long as you'd like. I'll be here when you wake."