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In the flat above the bookshop, two bodies lay in a too-large bed under thick blankets, pressed close and tangled together messily. Chilly night air sweeps in through the cracked window, carrying the dim sound of night life down on the street below. Aziraphale, having taken quite enthusiastically to the whole ‘sleeping through the night’ thing — an excuse to hold his dear Crowley close for hours at a time in a comfortable space, really — breathes deep and slow, his breath puffing out against the mess of red hair atop Crowley’s head. The demon’s grown it out a bit since armagedidn’t, and strands of it curl along his jawline in fiery tendrils as he tips his head back against the pillow to peek at Aziraphale’s sleeping face in the silvery moonlight. His pale lashes fan out against his cheeks like fine gold, and his lips are parted ever so slightly. Soft snores make their way out with every other breath, and Crowley feels his heart swell in his chest until it’s lodged in his throat, choking him with a warm affection that he isn’t quite sure what to do with. He nuzzles forward, burying his face in Aziraphale’s throat and pressing tender little kisses to whatever skin he can find there. The angel’s breath catches, just enough to tell Crowley that he’s aware, and the arms slung loose around his torso tighten and pull him against the soft warm of Aziraphale.
“Cr’ly,” Aziraphale murmurs, only half coherent as he slides his hands over Crowley’s back in encouraging little circles. Crowley pulls back, his heart, his blessed heart, doing backflips at the unbridled look of pure love filling his angel’s eyes. He presses forward to kiss him full on the mouth, fingers curling against Aziraphale’s pale chest at the feeling of those soft lips against his. It’s warm and tender, and Crowley can’t help the way he leans in for another after Aziraphale pulls away, and another after that, and another after that. Aziraphale huffs out fond little chuckles between each kiss, and Crowley can’t help but match the grin he can feel stretching across his angel’s face with his own little smirk.
His chest feels close to bursting, this little vessel inadequate for the enormity of his feeling, and he presses their foreheads together to just look at Aziraphale a moment, to let Aziraphale look back at him. He makes no attempt to hide what he knew his eyes would betray, and was rewarded by a little catch in Aziraphale’s breath as he saw the raw emotion sitting there, just for him, in this precious space between their atoms. A hand cards loosely through his hair, and he leans back into it, baring his throat ever so slightly. He feels lips press against the newly reachable flesh, and can’t contain his shudder as Aziraphale sets to work lavishing feather-light kisses over his pulse, down his throat, nudges aside the black silk of his pajama top to kiss the dip of his collarbone, and Crowley thinks the sheer amount of emotion bubbling up inside him is going to make him discorporate, pop right out of existence as a whole, if he doesn’t let it out somehow .
“I love you,” Crowley gasps helplessly, eyes fluttering shut as teeth scrape along his clavicle. “I love you, I love you, I love-- mmph ”
Crowley’s babbling is cut abruptly short by lips against his, arms pulling him closer until he’s half on top of his angel, hands coming up to rest on either side of Aziraphale’s face with a tenderness he reserved for him and him only. It’s slow, languid, easy, a movement familiar and exhilarating all the same. It’s safe, it’s home, and it’s six millennia of dancing around each other, of pretending they weren’t ever so full of love, finally over with. It’s the promise of an eternity of making up for it, and it’s almost overwhelming.
Aziraphale presses his hands against Crowley’s back, grips his hips and slides his hands up his sides to fit his fingers in the spaces between his ribs beneath his shirt, and Crowley presses into each and every electric touch, Aziraphale’s emotions seeping into his skin to mingle with his own. He presses back, pushes his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth to let him taste what he’s too occupied to say, and the noise he pulls from his angel makes his shudder from head to toe.
“It’s three in the morning, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs when Crowley pulls back to pant unnecessarily. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Just wanted,” Crowley hums in response, eyes flicking down to where Aziraphale’s fingers have curled loosely around his wrists.
“Wanted?” Aziraphale prompts further.
“Yeah,” Crowley says unhelpfully, prying one of Aziraphale’s hands away to take it between both of his own and press his lips to the pads of his angel’s fingers. “Wanted you, a little bit.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale says, a little twinge of something like flint in his voice that sparks against something like steel in Crowley. The demon just laughs, though.
“Not like that, angel, not right now,” he murmurs, dipping his head and wrapping himself around the angel as well as he could in this form. “Like thisssss .”
He feels Aziraphale soften against him, feels a hand sweep up the arc of his back and bury itself in his hair. Gentle lips press against his hairline, and the affection clouds Crowley’s mind until he sinks into a half doze.
“I love you,” he breaths, only half aware he’d said it aloud. Nails scrape gently against his scalp, sending a pleasant shiver down his back.
“I love you, too, darling,” Aziraphale whispers back, reverent and saccharine, and Crowley’s mouth twitches up into a sleepy little half grin as he drifts off again.