He loves the way Crowley reacts to being petted--that he leans into affection, doesn't brush it off the way he so often does with compliments. Touch makes him happy, and he doesn't bother to hide it. And in the past few months he's been relaxing into it; the bursts of fear are still there, but he allows Aziraphale to comfort him, doesn't push him away. And as wonderful as their journey of mutual discovery is, Aziraphale finds that the quiet moments like this are every bit as delightful, that a single sleepy caress before bed can leave him smiling like a fool the next day.
His palms come to rest just over where wings would sprout on Crowley's back; his smile is wry.
"I will remind you," he says, "that I managed cherries jubilee without starting a second Great Fire, but if you insist on supervising, you can lounge around with your feet up giving a running commentary."
*
This is, in fact, almost exactly how things play out the next morning.
The warm words and touches grow slower as they drift into sleep together; Aziraphale wakes first, as he always does, and spends a little while just watching Crowley. Even in sleep he looks less troubled--not soft, he can be kind and good and incredibly solicitous but never soft, just... better. Healthier. More at ease. It's a beautiful sight.
He can't help himself. He kisses Crowley awake after a small eternity of admiring him.
They don't get out of bed for another four hours.
Aziraphale is nearly alight with energy as he cooks and dishes up the crepes; it's finally really registered that today is the day of his Big Surprises. He's only told Crowley about one of them, but he has three planned, with the other two to come after the ballet. Nerves are starting to creep in, but not the old kind--now, instead of fretting about how he's going to get away with all of it, what might happen if someone from the head office saw them out together, he just hopes he can get it all right. That what's in his heart will come through clearly.
He's fluttering through his last few phone calls: to the Ritz, to confirm tonight's dinner reservation; to the will call box at the theatre Artemis Warehouse has moved into, to make sure he has the curtain time correct. Surreptitiously he texts the young woman in charge of the other project to make certain she knows where she has to be and what her window of time is to get her job done; she texts back almost immediately with a photo of her assembled materials and a cheerful message to the effect of "just say when".
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timeasmymeasure
<3 Take your time!
Date: 2019-11-27 04:16 am (UTC)His palms come to rest just over where wings would sprout on Crowley's back; his smile is wry.
"I will remind you," he says, "that I managed cherries jubilee without starting a second Great Fire, but if you insist on supervising, you can lounge around with your feet up giving a running commentary."
*
This is, in fact, almost exactly how things play out the next morning.
The warm words and touches grow slower as they drift into sleep together; Aziraphale wakes first, as he always does, and spends a little while just watching Crowley. Even in sleep he looks less troubled--not soft, he can be kind and good and incredibly solicitous but never soft, just... better. Healthier. More at ease. It's a beautiful sight.
He can't help himself. He kisses Crowley awake after a small eternity of admiring him.
They don't get out of bed for another four hours.
Aziraphale is nearly alight with energy as he cooks and dishes up the crepes; it's finally really registered that today is the day of his Big Surprises. He's only told Crowley about one of them, but he has three planned, with the other two to come after the ballet. Nerves are starting to creep in, but not the old kind--now, instead of fretting about how he's going to get away with all of it, what might happen if someone from the head office saw them out together, he just hopes he can get it all right. That what's in his heart will come through clearly.
He's fluttering through his last few phone calls: to the Ritz, to confirm tonight's dinner reservation; to the will call box at the theatre Artemis Warehouse has moved into, to make sure he has the curtain time correct. Surreptitiously he texts the young woman in charge of the other project to make certain she knows where she has to be and what her window of time is to get her job done; she texts back almost immediately with a photo of her assembled materials and a cheerful message to the effect of "just say when".