prompt from @drawlight‘s holiday advent calendar! i’m not going to be able to hit them all, but i’m excited to write as many as i can <3 will add to ao3 (username: leaveanote) soon! expect perhaps some pining, but definitely a lot of established relationship holiday softness <3
There hasn’t been a much of a snowfall, not yet. There’s only the silver bite of frost in the cliffside air, the sharp of it creeping into the doorjambs and windowsills before Crowley remembers to seal it out. The South Downs seems to teeter on the precipice of winter, and its inhabitants are in the throes of holiday decorating.
Aziraphale comes home from the village one afternoon to find that Crowley’s got the cottage strewn with fairylights. The front of it is all smothered in the worst sort, the garish multi-colored kind blinking in the most irritating patterns--but on the inside, he’s made a wonderland. Twinkling gold dots line a tree, wreaths of holly, the mantelpiece on which perches a magnificent silver menorah, the bookshelves too. There’s candlelight and he’s built a fire in the hearth too, and there’s Crowley in the middle of the kitchen, white up to his knobbly elbows in flour, sliding the cookie tray into the oven.
“This is quite something, darling,” Aziraphale says faintly, quite overcome. Crowley gets the oven going, pulls off his lumpy oven mitts and comes to him, an enormous smile on his face. The cottage smells like pine and chocolate chip, and Aziraphale is desperately, awfully in love.
“Hope you like it, angel, ‘cause none of it’s going anywhere.”
“I do, you sentimental thing,” Aziraphale replies. His arms go to wrap around Crowley’s waist, but to his surprise, Crowley seizes him by the shoulders none too romantically and looks up instead, sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth and shutting one eye as if to line something up. He walks Aziraphale backwards a few steps. “What in the--”
“There we go,” Crowley says, a hint of pride and mischief there in his voice, the ridiculous, gorgeous creature. It’s been quite overwhelming in the best way to see Crowley...happy. They’ll never be unguarded, free of divine or infernal danger, but they’re closer than they’ve ever been, and they’re taking advantage of it. Crowley is happier than Aziraphale’s ever seen him, and he knows why, and that feels quite holy, indeed.
“What,” he says again, “in the world are you on about?”
“Didn’t think you noticed one of my favorite decorations,” Crowley says. His grip on Aziraphale’s shoulders has softened, turned to a gentle, familiar clasping, tugging at his curls. “Wanted to show it to you properly.” He turns his glance skyward again, and this time, Aziraphale’s eyes follow him. They land on a small sprig of mistletoe, tied there to a hook in the ceiling Crowley appears to have fastened just for this purpose.
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale says, his cheeks warming. Crowley is beaming, his own cheeks quite pink as well. He moves to set his hands around Crowley’s waist again, and this time he does. “I love it. I love all of this, it’s beautiful. Very cozy. But,” he continues, nuzzling Crowley’s jaw, “you don’t need an excuse to kiss me.” He looks up, into Crowley’s bright eyes, gleaming there like fairylights, like the North Star, like a flame burning a lifegiving light, even when it wasn’t expected to. “Not anymore.”
Crowley pauses. Aziraphale watches him swallow, watch the muscles in his throat work. It’s taking some getting used to, this fresh new world they get to explore, together. Aziraphale is very much enjoying the process.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to take every chance I can get, angel,” he says at last. His smile has gentled, warmed.
“Good,” Aziraphale whispers. He threads his hands through his love’s holly-red hair. “Well,” he says, grinning. “Go on, then.”
