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Crowley's hair.
One of his features that Aziraphale had always admired.
Whether he was an angel or a demon, the color of his hair was as warm as a candle flame, always changing and always so fascinating that the angel always wanted to touch it at the risk of getting burned.
Whatever the length, the cut, the style, he always had the longing to run his fingers through it.
All the times Aziraphale had had to resist the urge to touch it.
The angel's dancing curls that followed his animated movements as he spoke of his beloved stars.
The long, wavy hair that flowed down his back when they'd seen each other on the wall, angel and demon.
The short curls under the golden laurel wreath in Rome that had made the angel want to follow the outline of each with his finger.
And so, over the years, just like his never-changing outfit, his desire to touch the demon's hair had never gone away, growing stronger each time they met.
Like when they'd discussed the evolution of the Antichrist on the bus, and Aziraphale had almost felt a tingling in his fingers at the urge to untie the tie that held Crowley's hair.
But that would have been inappropriate.
At no time would it have been appropriate, but the urge had always been there and Aziraphale couldn't deny it.
Even less so now that he could touch the demon's hair whenever he wanted, for no particular reason.
If Aziraphale had imagined a million times what it would be like to run his fingers through Crowley's hair, he hadn't imagined how much he would enjoy it.
Craving had turned into addiction.
The angel would always brush a strand behind Crowley's ear, twirl another between his fingers as they embraced, simply run his fingers through the red hair, or bury a hand in it and hold it tight as they kissed.
What made it even more addictive was that Aziraphale knew that Crowley liked having Aziraphale touch his hair as much as the angel liked touching it.
It was probably one of their incredible complementarities.
Touching and being touched.
They were on the sofa, and once again Crowley was lying on it, his head in the angel's lap. Aziraphale had long since put down his book and was content to stroke the demon's hair, watching in fascination as the light played on the red strands that slipped between his fingers.
"Angel? Can I ask you something?"
Aziraphale chuckled and replied, "You're never shy about asking me anything, so go ahead."
Crowley turned his head to look at him and asked quietly, "Why do you like my hair so much? I've noticed you touch it a lot."
Aziraphale, self-conscious, wanted to remove his hands from the demon's hair, but Crowley held them back and added, "I'm not saying that because I don't like it, far from it, but I guess I'm just curious to know why."
Aziraphale cleared his throat and said softly, his cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, "I used to want to touch your hair just because I felt an uncontrollable need to, a need I couldn't explain, it fascinated me, in fact it still fascinates me. But now, in addition to fascination and admiration, I'd say I want to touch it because it's part of you."
He slid a hand forward and caressed Crowley's cheek, which leaned into his palm. Then Aziraphale continued to run his fingers through Crowley's hair.
Crowley, his voice filled with wonder as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, repeated the angel's words, "Because it's a part of me..."
Aziraphale, brushing back a lock of red hair, nodded and replied, "Yes, because I love everything about you, not just a part of you. Your hair, like your eyes, your skin, your spirit, your playfulness, everything. I like touching your hair because it's something very intimate, because you let me, because you like it too, because you're not afraid to be vulnerable in my hands, for all those reasons."
Crowley didn't answer, but straightened up, and Aziraphale feared he'd said too much. After all, maybe Crowley had come to find it creepy. He didn't have to ponder too long, for the demon had sat down next to him and now leaned in to kiss him. ust as his lips touched the angel's, he grabbed his hands and placed them on his hair, letting him know that his fascination with Crowley's hair was fully accepted. After that, Aziraphale's hands were buried in the demon's hair, and the kiss lasted until they had to part to catch their breath.
When they had caught their breath, Crowley lay back as before, his head in Aziraphale's lap, his hands automatically resting on Crowley's head. In a now incredibly familiar gesture of intimacy, Aziraphale resumed his caresses of Crowley's hair, sliding the soft red strands between his fingers.
The demon said softly, in a voice clearly full of emotion, "You know, Angel, when you touch me like that..."
His voice broke and for a moment he couldn't continue. Seeing that Crowley was struggling to find his words, Aziraphale said nothing and simply continued to stroke his hair.
Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and kissed it gently before continuing, "When you touch me like that, it's like you're touching my soul. Whether it's my hair, my hands, or whatever you want, just keep touching me, because if you love to touch me, you can't imagine how much I love it when you touch me."
Since there was nothing more to say, Aziraphale said nothing, savoring the moment, continuing to run his fingers through the flaming strands and Crowley continuing to lean into his hands, which told him as much as the most beautiful of declarations, the love Aziraphale had for him.