Work Text:
Angels should not hold hands with demons.
Admittedly, technically speaking, angels should also not go for walks with demons. Or dine with demons. Or fraternize with demons, period.
However, these other technicalities are things Aziraphale long ago became accustomed to rationalizing away and/or avoiding thinking about. Holding hands… that is, or at least it feels, different. The only hand-to-hand contact between an angel and a demon should be hand-to-hand combat.
On the other hand (no pun intended), it’s a chilly enough day that few people are out to see them. And their gloved hands keep accidentally bumping together as they walk (at least, Aziraphale tells himself it’s accidental). It would really be simpler, more comfortable, and rather warming if they were to let their arms swing together instead of separately.
He doesn’t realize he’s made a decision until his fingers close around… something. Something that is, indeed, quite comfortable. Something that closes around his fingers in return, applying a light — and, yes, warming — pressure.
Out the corner of his eye, Aziraphale catches a glimpse of Crowley’s awed, delighted smile.
It’s all right. They’re not really holding hands, after all; there’s absolutely no hand-to-hand contact involved. They’re both wearing gloves.