Co-habitation
Dec. 9th, 2019 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sohoangelDo I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches…I have stayed these years in my hovel because of you. I have taught myself languages because of you. I have made my body strong because I thought you might be pleased by a strong body. I have lived my life with only the prayer that some sudden dawn you might glance in my direction. I have not known a moment in years when the sight of you did not send my heart careening against my rib cage. I have not known a night when your visage did not accompany me to sleep. There has not been a morning when you did not flutter behind my waking eyelids…
Aziraphale’s eyes drifted off the page, his finger idly marking the spot where he’d stopped reading. The Princess Bride was a charming book, although for once he had to admit to himself that he preferred the movie. That likely had something to do with the demon sleeping next to him in bed, the demon who he gazed upon lovingly in the warm yellow light of his reading lamp.
That night of watching movies, drinking wine and cuddling was the moment things changed for them, although Aziraphale hadn’t known it at the time. A scant few weeks later and they were living together in the flat above the bookshop, falling into a domestic routine as easily as the Earth turning on its axis. Every evening, they changed into pajamas (black satin for Crowley, white cotton for Aziraphale) and curled up under the covers, kissing one another until Crowley’s eyelids drooped and he hissed out a sleepy yawn. Then the angel would carefully tuck him up against his left side and grab a book from his nightstand to read until it was morning.
The angel felt no desire to sleep, although he had to admit that Crowley made it look rather tempting. He had never seen the demon so peaceful, so utterly at rest, although he always kept at least one limb wrapped around the angel, clinging as only a wily serpent could. At this moment, he had his arm resting on the angel’s stomach and a bony ankle hooked over his shin, but Aziraphale was not the least bit uncomfortable. He felt warm and cherished, Crowley’s presence with him even while he slept.
He looked over Crowley’s face, at how the lines around his eyes were soft and untroubled, how his clever lips were slack, one corner turned up slightly as if he were smiling at some private joke. He looked over his fiery red hair, mussed against the flannel sheets, and felt his fingers itch to smooth back the bangs that had flopped over his forehead.
Why had he ever denied to himself how much he had wanted this since they averted Armageddon? Or before that, when Crowley rescued the books in the bombed-out church? Before that, when Crowley would visit the bookshop and spend hours drinking with him under the flimsiest pretense of their Arrangement? Before that, when the drinking was in pubs, taverns, and inns? Before that, before beds were even invented, when humans slept on piles of blankets and animal hides?
He couldn’t have asked Crowley back then. He knew that. But a small part of him wished that he had.
Giving into the impulse, he ran his fingers through the demon’s surprisingly soft hair. Crowley cracked open a yellow eye and grunted. “Whassit, angel?”
“Sorry,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling his hand away. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, darling.”
Crowley uncoiled his limbs, only to rearrange them in a firmer grip. “S’okay. You can keep doing it. What time is it?”
Aziraphale resumed petting Crowley’s hair while peering at the clock on his nightstand. “A little after 4am.” The demon made a satisfied sound and melted back into the mattress. “The bakery opens in two hours. I was planning to slip out and pick us up something.”
“Brilliant. Get the raspberry cronuts this time. They always sell out first.”
“As you wish, dear,” Aziraphale replied with a smile, but Crowley was already fast asleep. He kept his fingers running through the demon’s hair while he fanned open his book, intending to finish it before dawn. No, he couldn’t have asked Crowley to share a bed back then, but they had the rest of eternity to enjoy their nights together, and their mornings, and everything in between.
Aziraphale’s eyes drifted off the page, his finger idly marking the spot where he’d stopped reading. The Princess Bride was a charming book, although for once he had to admit to himself that he preferred the movie. That likely had something to do with the demon sleeping next to him in bed, the demon who he gazed upon lovingly in the warm yellow light of his reading lamp.
That night of watching movies, drinking wine and cuddling was the moment things changed for them, although Aziraphale hadn’t known it at the time. A scant few weeks later and they were living together in the flat above the bookshop, falling into a domestic routine as easily as the Earth turning on its axis. Every evening, they changed into pajamas (black satin for Crowley, white cotton for Aziraphale) and curled up under the covers, kissing one another until Crowley’s eyelids drooped and he hissed out a sleepy yawn. Then the angel would carefully tuck him up against his left side and grab a book from his nightstand to read until it was morning.
The angel felt no desire to sleep, although he had to admit that Crowley made it look rather tempting. He had never seen the demon so peaceful, so utterly at rest, although he always kept at least one limb wrapped around the angel, clinging as only a wily serpent could. At this moment, he had his arm resting on the angel’s stomach and a bony ankle hooked over his shin, but Aziraphale was not the least bit uncomfortable. He felt warm and cherished, Crowley’s presence with him even while he slept.
He looked over Crowley’s face, at how the lines around his eyes were soft and untroubled, how his clever lips were slack, one corner turned up slightly as if he were smiling at some private joke. He looked over his fiery red hair, mussed against the flannel sheets, and felt his fingers itch to smooth back the bangs that had flopped over his forehead.
Why had he ever denied to himself how much he had wanted this since they averted Armageddon? Or before that, when Crowley rescued the books in the bombed-out church? Before that, when Crowley would visit the bookshop and spend hours drinking with him under the flimsiest pretense of their Arrangement? Before that, when the drinking was in pubs, taverns, and inns? Before that, before beds were even invented, when humans slept on piles of blankets and animal hides?
He couldn’t have asked Crowley back then. He knew that. But a small part of him wished that he had.
Giving into the impulse, he ran his fingers through the demon’s surprisingly soft hair. Crowley cracked open a yellow eye and grunted. “Whassit, angel?”
“Sorry,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling his hand away. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, darling.”
Crowley uncoiled his limbs, only to rearrange them in a firmer grip. “S’okay. You can keep doing it. What time is it?”
Aziraphale resumed petting Crowley’s hair while peering at the clock on his nightstand. “A little after 4am.” The demon made a satisfied sound and melted back into the mattress. “The bakery opens in two hours. I was planning to slip out and pick us up something.”
“Brilliant. Get the raspberry cronuts this time. They always sell out first.”
“As you wish, dear,” Aziraphale replied with a smile, but Crowley was already fast asleep. He kept his fingers running through the demon’s hair while he fanned open his book, intending to finish it before dawn. No, he couldn’t have asked Crowley to share a bed back then, but they had the rest of eternity to enjoy their nights together, and their mornings, and everything in between.
