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It was a chilly morning. Spring had definitely arrived, but the weather was not, as yet, warm enough for Aziraphale to forgo the tartan shawl he kept to wear around his shoulders while he sat up to read in bed.
Aziraphale loved the early mornings, dawn and its immediate aftermath. The angel frequently left the comfortable bed he now shared with Crowley, tip-toeing out of their bedroom so as not to wake his slumbering love, to stand in the garden of the pretty cottage that they shared, cup of tea in hand, to watch the sun rise over the Downs and colour come back into the world. The angel had taken to sleeping—it was delightful to lie so close to Crowley’s warm body and let blessed unconsciousness take him—but he still generally woke early, sometimes to go out, sometimes simply to read. Today was a reading morning.
Crowley beside him remained firmly in the Land of Nod. The erstwhile demon slept heavily, often in strange, contorted positions that looked less than comfortable to Aziraphale with his more conventionally human corporation. Often the angel woke with Crowley wrapped, snake like, around him, his beautiful darling’s flexible limbs twined about his own sturdy roundness. Aziraphale especially liked those mornings; being held so firmly reminded him of how much, how fiercely he was loved.
This morning, however, Crowley lay on his side, back facing his bed mate, long arms wedged under his pillow. Aziraphale looked down at his slumbering sweetheart, his heart brim full of all the love he felt for this extraordinary person who was now his own.
It was the legs that went first. Crowley’s long legs began to twitch, then move more violently. His tousled head turned on his pillow giving Aziraphale sight of eyes screwed up, as if Crowley was in pain, and a clenched jaw that radiated unease. The movements of Crowley’s body became more pronounced, came quicker and were more frantic and were accompanied now by muttering, the tone of Crowley’s wordless utterances urgent and distressed.
Crowley was having another of his nightmares.
Aziraphale wasn’t unused to this phenomenon. Both of them experienced disturbed nights to some degree, the resurfacing of old terrors and bad memories coming to each of them now that they were safe and free, as if their brains were secretly working to eliminate that which had claimed their peace of mind over centuries of living.
Aziraphale put down his book and reached across to Crowley, gently touching his shoulder. When there was no violent reaction he moved closer to his love, shuffling down the bed to curl the warmth and heft of himself about Crowley’s restless body then placing a tentative arm about his lover’s slender waist.
‘Crowley darling,’ he said, low into his partner’s ear, ‘it’s alright, I’m here. It’s just a dream, dear heart.’
There was a moment, a split second when Crowley’s body stiffened, then he emitted a half groan, half sigh and relaxed into Aziraphale’s embrace. The angel, on feeling this, allowed himself to spoon Crowley properly, holding the love of his life carefully and with great tenderness.
‘Are you alright, my dear?’ he said in the same low, comforting voice.
‘Uh, yeah.’ Crowley lifted an arm, passing a hand across his face, then gripped Aziraphale’s forearm where it lay across his body, as if reassuring himself that the presence of his love was real. He turned his head on his pillow so that he was able to catch Aziraphale’s eye.
‘Horrible dream,’ he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and something else, a sadness that made Aziraphale’s heart contract. ‘Uh, I, I—we were in this weird sorta mix of the bookshop and, and a garden—’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ soothed Aziraphale.
‘No,’ said Crowley, more urgently now, turning in Aziraphale’s arms to grip him firmly around the waist in a fierce hug. ‘It was. It was horrible. I, I—binned the universe—some bollocks about starting again and making everything better—’
‘Doesn’t sound like you at all,’ said Aziraphale, mildly, reaching up to stroke Crowley’s hair away from his forehead, then carrying on, gently stroking, slipping careful fingers through the shiny strands again and again. Crowley closed his eyes and Aziraphale felt his body relax a little once more. He had no idea how Crowley might have done any such thing, even in his imagination, neither of them were powerful enough for that, but dreams, he knew, gave the dreamer all kinds of strange, illogical sensations, so he did not ask for any explanation, merely accepting Crowley’s statement for what it was.
‘Yeah,’ Crowley continued, opening his eyes again to look at Aziraphale after a while, ‘that was what made it so bad, it was me, in the dream, I mean, but it wasn’t what I would ever want. I didn’t even kiss you, for fuck’s sake—or tell you anything about how I felt—it was some strange time before we got together in this mental shitshow. I just, uh, condemned us both to death—to death! And, stupid bastard that I was, I didn’t even kiss you goodbye.’
Crowley’s face was etched with misery, his voice drenched with pain and regret.
‘Oh Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, desperate to make this better. He drew the fallen angel more closely to him, ‘it’s alright, you didn’t do that. You wouldn’t. You talked me into saving the world in the first place—remember? And you were brave in the end – magnificent. I was so proud of you.’
‘Yeah, yeah, we did do that, didn’t we?’ said Crowley, his amber eyes searching Aziraphale’s own as if looking for conformation of this comforting truth. ‘But, I dunno, it felt so real, like I was really there with you.’
He touched Aziraphale’s cheek, eyes still searching.
‘I want to kiss you now. I have to, just to, y’know, push that feeling out of my head. D’you mind?’
Aziraphale smiled warmly, moving his hand out of Crowley’s hair to cup his cheek.
‘There will never be a time I don’t want to kiss you, my beloved, but yes, of course I understand. And I know you would never, ever hurt me, dear Crowley.’
They stared at each other intensely for a fraction of a second, love crackling like electricity in the air around them. Then Crowley was kissing him, open mouthed and hungry, and Aziraphale was answering his passion with a hunger of his own. They kissed, frantic at first, clutching at each other, then long and slow, surrendering then taking, the balance between them finely wrought as it always had been, through the years.
‘I love you, angel,’ said Crowley, hotly, between urgent kisses, ‘always have, always will. And you’re mine, aren’t you? Mine for ever.’
‘Yes, oh yes,’ Aziraphale managed, flustered and aroused as Crowley kissed him and stroked his body with searching hands, ‘yours, only ever yours, my darling. For keeps, for always.’
Love swelled and grew around them, filling the room, their house, their lives.
It surrounded them, supported and sustained them, cradled them and made sense of everything, this great and all-encompassing love they had created.
For ever and ever, love without end.