#squadronofdamned

Crowley couldn’t help himself and returned the smile, eyes halfway to close. He slipped back under the covers and wrapped arms around Aziraphale. “I think,” he mumbled in a hushed tone of someone who is prone to go back to sweet arms of Morpheus if he doesn’t get any attention, “that in the middle you wished it into something more comfortable.” After all it was Crowley’s apartment and that wasn’t supposed to be used for having guests of this kind or any kind, sleeping and when it comes to it wasn’t designed for living either.

There was a cracked and deformed sound of a TV from one of the neighbors, Crowley’s bet went on the weird fat dog keeping man whose mail often got confused with the Demon’s. But otherwise there was a silence for a solid minute. And then: “You are a real blessing from Heaven, Angel. In the good sense of those words.” He sighed and nuzzled Aziraphale’s neck, ending up with his face buried in the Angel’s shoulder. Dear Mother of all monster, was he cold, craving some warmth seemed just natural.

He probably shouldn't have felt so safe in Crowley's arms. Wrapped in such a lovely cocoon of slender limbs and blankets; the scent of tea drifting from the table besides them, still left untouched. The Demon's skin was cold against his back, maybe it was his former self seeping through to his human form. Aziraphale sighed, contently at that and ending on the lightest of laughs, because yes in fact he may have done a bit of miracling in the middle of the night that had benefited them both. Oh, his peers would be so ashamed at the abuse of power. Not that this was a new revelation, of course, but it was one which still amused him.

The Angel closed his eyes, linking fingers through Crowley's and with a small press of back into chest, Aziraphale warmed them both. Another little miracle to benefit them both. Not too warm, of course, just enough to let their minds wander into a lazy state. "You say that now, my dear, but what say you when the home office goes and invades your television set?" Truth of it was, Aziraphale didn't care what they thought. They had gone and helped stop the end of the world some two decades ago and still hadn't been properly thanked. Probably because both sides wanted a war.

Aziraphale just wanted to stay with his books and feed the ducks.

And maybe become a little more human and act on some more recent and personal feelings.

[meme]

Well, one could definitely say the evening had gone...unexpectedly. Not unwelcome, of course not, but it had been something he never thought in all his time in heaven or on earth he’d end up doing. And not just because it was Crowley. An entity he definitely should not be frolicking with so haphazardly.

He finds a chair somewhere, it was maybe a little miracle, pulls it to the other side of the desk and sits down. Then, irritated he can’t actually see Aziraphale over the table, he carefully relocates few piles of the books somewhere else. He frowns: “Do you ever clear this place? Half of the dust here has to remember Saint George.“

He puts his feet on the table and grins: “Depends on what do you call a plan. I have a… Not exactly a friend, you can’t really say colleague either. A fellow of mine, one of the few with rather adaptive thinking, got discorporated recently. It wouldn’t be much of a problem if he hadn’t left some… unfinished business back there.” The grin gets even wider as Crowley takes his shades off and stuffs them in his breast pocket. “And because he knows me as a man of many great talents, he asked me to fill in until he gets is sorted down there. However if I go, it means I have to let you stay here without my supervision and since I know you, when I return whole London is going to praise their Lord and savior and Covent Garden will be the biggest temple in Europe. So the only options I have here is to politely decline to help a brother in need, I don’t want to do that, or drag you with me, which I can’t say I find pleasing but it is not insufferable.”

Crowley gives it a moment to sink, then puts his feet down and clears throat: “It’s probably a week or maybe two in a small village near St. David’s,” he resists the urge to spit on ground, “a cottage and a garden. There are books, I have already asked.” He looks a little ashamed he has do add this little detail.

Aziraphale is pulled further and further away from the text in front of him as Crowley continues to make himself at home. The chair was one thing. But then he was going and touching his books and MOVING them. It caused his feathers to ruffle, an uncomfortable jolt to his insides. “No-- no, no-- If you please-- just don’t...” all of it either unheard or ignored and soon enough the Angel was staring the Demon in the face. Corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sight of his eyes as opposed to dark sunglasses. He’d come to appreciate those serpentine eyes. 

And then he was back to the matter at hand, “Let me see if I can understand this correctly. You’d like me to accompany you on a demonic retreat of sorts. Might I remind you what I am. Why on Earth would--”

But Aziraphale knew that Crowley knew the Angel didn’t have nary a care about the Humans buzzing about London. That he couldn’t care less what side they took so long as they left him alone in his little shop. Of course Aziraphale did the occasional good deed now and then, if only to make good with the Home Office, but mostly he was content just to not be bothered.