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"I honestly don't know why you bother with it." The angel argued as he swept a layer of dust over one of the many stacks of books in his shop. He had learned early on that a shop with a clean, organized atmosphere tends to sell more and, since he was never very fond of people coming in and taking his books, he always made to dust and disorganize the place every once and awhile*. "I don't understand why anyone does, really. I know it's somewhat of a necessity for the humans, but I'm sure they don't have to obsess about it so much. Could you hand me those biographies, dear?"
"These?" Crowley gestured to the small stack of first editions. Aziraphale gave a sort of head waggle that meant 'not really, but it doesn't matter'. The demon tossed them over with the casual negligence he spent the better part of a century perfecting. He liked Aziraphale. He could talk to him in a way he just couldn't with most sentient beings. They got along well. He was probably the only being in existence with the same appreciation for human ingenuity and free will. Unfortunately, he had the old-fashioned tastes of someone's great grandfather. "People do it because it's fun. It's one of the world's grea-no. It is the world's greatest pleasure. It just makes you feel good."
Aziraphale hummed as he strategically placed the old, thick tomes at random on the bookcase marked 'romance'. When he was satisfied with the result, he selected the most explicit cowboy romance novels on the bookshelf (the ones with glistening man nipples displayed proudly on the front cover) and put them at eye level on the most prominent shelf in the children's corner. "If you say so."
"You can't honestly tell me you never tried it. Not even once, out of curiosity?"
"Never had a reason to." Aziraphale shrugged as he sprayed a special concoction mixed from some strange liquid he found at the back of his refrigerator and concentrated cat piss on the rug directly below the front door.
That was it. The demon leapt off the sofa. "Ok. Close up shop, you're coming to my place to discover the wonders of sleep. You'll thank me I swear."
___
"...How exactly does this work?" Aziraphale asked uncertainly, perching delicately on the edge of vastly expensive bed which, although marketed as king sized, could comfortably accommodate a minor deity. "I just... lie back and close my eyes?"
"You'll probably want to take off some clothes first," Crowley advised with a smirk.
Aziraphale wrestled off his shapeless sweater and shoes. After a moment of quiet deliberation, he decided to leave his shirt on, but undo the first three buttons. Then, with all of the grace of a newborn deer, he crawled into the middle of the bed.
"Under the covers."
The angel begrudgingly scrambled under the thick duvet and shuffled into his best impersonation of a wooden plank.
"You could relax a bit, you know."
Aziraphale melted into an impersonation of a wooden worm.
"Or not. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath and let your mind float away. I'll be back in a few hours." Crowley shut off the light and closed the door. But before he left, he realized that he was forgetting something. He swung the door half open. "Nighty night."
"It's two o clock." The angel shaped lump in the bed groaned. Crowley grinned and left to attend his plants.
___
"Rise and shine." Crowley sang, lightly prodding his angelic friend's shoulder.
Aziraphale rubbed the sand out of his eyes and groaned. "owlongaveibeenout?" He drawled, trying to regain control of his tongue.
"Just three hours." Crowley handed him a glass of water, which he gulped down gratefully. "What do you think?"
"I think I've just wasted three hours of my existence in bed doing nothing." Aziraphale growled, trying to shake off the strange heavy feeling that had taken up residence behind his eyeballs.
Crowley frowned. This wasn't the way this was supposed to go. He was used to things going the way he wanted, even if it took three tries, a coven of wannabe satanists and a very unfortunate goat to push it in the right direction. Thankfully, this issue seemed much easier to solve. He wrestled out of his absurdly expensive jacket and tie, and left them in a neatly folded heap on the ground. "Move over."
"Hmm?" Aziraphale mumbled as he began to shuffle through the strangely toasty blankets. "Whatever are you doing?"
"I've heard it's better with company." The demon buried himself to the ears in the soft heat of egyptian cotton sheets. He was going to convince his friend to enjoy sleep as much as he did if it took him the rest of the century. "And I just realized that I haven't had a good nap since the 60's."
Aziraphale sighed hugely. "Oooh fine. It's not as if I had anything else to do today." He curled into a cosy question mark shape against Crowley's chest and drifted back into a light doze. Crowley smirked devilishly into the angel's soft golden hair and followed him.
___
Crowley woke up to the feeling of something heavy and warm across his chest and something wet on his shoulder. He let consciousness slowly wash over him. It occurred to him that his left arm wasn't waking up with the rest of him. He considered the annoying possibility that someone had stolen it while he was asleep. The demon looked down to confirm his assumption and evaluate just how much revenge would be appropriate and found that it had been stolen by the softly snoring angel drooling into his shirt.
"Azi." He mumbled, not yet feeling up to pronouncing words over one syllable. He flopped "Azi, get off."
Aziraphale woke up with a loud snort and nuzzled into a drier portion of Crowley's shirt. "Yes, m'darling?"
"I said get off." Crowley grumbled, pushing at the hunk of wing crushing his torso.
"Mmf, sorry. They were getting rather cramped." The great avian appendage flexed, it's primary feathers brushing the far wall, then lifted as Aziraphale sat up.
"S'fine."Crowley winced as the feeling began to creep back into his arms, first in pins and needles then in daggers and swords. He considered the angel looming above him, with his hair mussed and his bare chest tangled up in sheets**. He looked very much like one of those paintings of naked babies with wings that old ladies like to put up in their bathrooms***. "You look well-rested."
Aziraphale smiled like the dawn breaking over a picturesque glade and stretched his arms, his wings joining in with a gentle flap that sent a light breeze through the room. "Mm. I feel... warm and fuzzy. Like my body's full of little baby ducklings."
"So basically... what you're saying is, I was right?" Crowley
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, folded his wings close to his body and flopped back onto the mattress. "Yes alright, Crowley sweetheart. You were right. I've been missing out on the joy countless of lazy afternoon naps and deep midnight slumbers and am so very grateful to you for opening my eyes to this mind blowing experience. I don't know how I'll ever-"
"Ok, ok. No need to get all sarcastic on me." Crowley fumbled out of the nest of rumpled blankets and chose a fresh, yet entirely identical, set of clothes to change into. Aziraphale rolled out of the opposite side of the bed, folded his wings back into the alternate dimension which they usually reside and searched the room for pieces of his shirt, which had been brutally defeated in a fight with his wings some time in the night. "Now get out of my apartment. I've got a few evil deeds that need doing." The demon grumbled as he located his sunglasses and slid them on, effectively hiding the hellfire in his eyes and completing his disguise as a corporate mogul, mob boss, occasional corrupt politician. He could never commit to just one persona.
"Of course, darling." With a flash of heavenly light, Aziraphale's shirt was restored. He shrugged it on and reached for his sweater. When his head popped through the lopsided neck hole he was no longer an ethereal embodiment of god's righteous will contained in human form. Only a blazingly gay bookshop owner. "Could we... do this again some time?"
"How about next wednesday?"