Work Text:
Aziraphale, with a puffy powder blue apron, was kneading the bread dough in the little kitchenette of his bookshop while he was singing softly an old operetta.
The first time he had baked bread, it had been a necessity, due the closed shops during the lockdown: he had made his own sourdough starter using some yeast he had discovered in his tomes and it worked perfectly.
The angel was rather surprised by his baking skill: he had practically no experience beforehand but his loaves were rather good.
It had been a rather pleasant experience having some fresh baked bread whenever he wished.
But Aziraphale had fully enjoyed baking only after his lovely demon woke up from his long nap: he adored making bread and sharing it with Crowley.
Baking bread felt like love.
Aziraphale's loaves had the same taste as those carefully made by humans for their loved ones.
That certainly wasn't angelic at all but Aziraphale didn't care about Heaven's policy anymore.
And neither did Crowley (well, he never did).
At that moment the angel cared only for his Wiener Kaisersemmel (handmade Kaiser rolls) he was preparing.
The angel smiled when he heard the little doorbell ring and a familiar voice coming across his closed bookshop.
"I found out there are many seeds used as a topping for your bread, angel - Crowley said from the entrance - and I couldn't decide which…"
When the demon came into the kitchenette, he started giggling happily, rattling the little jars in his bag.
"You're whiter than usual, angel," Crowley explained with the littlest grin on his lips, "you've got some flour on your left cheek."
"Oh, bother," Aziraphale mumbled whilst he dusted off the misbehaving flour with his hand. However, judging from the bigger smile blooming on his lips, he was sure he had just added more powder on his face instead of removing it.
So Aziraphale smiled and turned his head to make it easy for Crowley to reach his cheek.
Crowley, leaving the bag on the table, sauntered smiling closer to his angel and tenderly caressed his face, using a touch softer than a feather.
Crowley lingered a little more on the angel's cheek even if it was already clean and Aziraphale enjoyed every single moment of that.
He was so pleased, the angel missed Crowley's fleeting smirk that could have tipped him about the fact that there was still some flour on him (to be more precise, on the tip of his cute nose) but that was practically the opposite of a problem (more cuddles for everyone).
Together they prepared the rolls, putting on top every kind of seed they had (poppy, sesame, pumpkin, sunflower and others they didn't even know) and making the five cuts on each one.
While the rolls were being cooked in the oven, the angel and the demon spent their time chatting and cleaning the mess they'd done, until they were able to savour their creations.
Looking at Crowley, Aziraphale thought how much he loved baking (and cleaning) with his lovely demon: it felt so domestic.
It felt like home.
The angel was sure he would like to have that every day of his life with Crowley until the end of the universe.
And, looking at him, Aziraphale was sure that the feeling was mutual.