Work Text:
Crowley slithers, approaching Aziraphale from the back, lifting his sweater and resting her skinny hands on their lover's belly, the angel's shoulders rose for a sec, surprised by the sudden cold shiver running down his spine
—Dear, are you cold again, the clothes you're wearing won't protect you from the cold
The angel scolds, looking at Crowley's not appropriate clothing for winter, it wasn't new, the demon did this every winter since the start of time but it still upset Aziraphale seeing his lover so cold
—...Ngk
The fallen knowing Aziraphale was right, didn't reply, pulling him closer and nuzzling her head on his neck, smelling the sweet sent of cinnamon which contrasted heavily with the rather unpleasant smell of the bookshop. A few hours later, as Crowley slept on Aziraphale's lap, the angel knitted a sweater that would keep his cold blooded partner warm for the cold of London's winter
—Maybe now you'll wear something warm
He whispered to Crowley's sleeping form, placing a kiss on her forehead before going back to knitting