(Untitled)

[a_fell]

The curtains in the bedroom are thick enough that he winces when he opens the door into the rest of the suite, slipping out quickly and shutting it silently behind himself. Without the gentle glow of the lamplight, by natural light pouring in through enormous windows, he'd half expected the room to be revealed as something slightly lesser. Expected

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[aj_crawley]

"Urgh," Crowley complains instinctively, flinching half-heartedly away from Aziraphael's feet in his sleep.

After a moment, though, he seems to decide they're not so cold as all that; he settles down again with a rustle of rich cotton sheets and heavy blankets, arm sprawling possessively across the angel's belly as he snuffles quietly into the pillows.

[a_fell]

Aziraphael gently brushes hair away from his face; it's all right when Crowley's asleep, he can be just as unattractively sappy as he wants.

The light spilling in through the barely open bedroom door highlights edges, reflecting on the line of Crowley's shoulder, his cheekbone, the sharp angle of his jaw. Everything else is rendered in shades of grey.

(It seems somehow fitting.)

He snuggles a little further down under the covers, resting his back against the headboard and reaching over for his cup of tea.

[aj_crawley]

The motion vacates a few scant inches in the bed, and by the time Aziraphael leans back, Crowley (as is his unfortunate habit) has slithered into them. His forehead presses against Aziraphael's arm, and the knuckles of his other hand rest gently against the angel's side.

A minute or three (or four) later, there's a faint, ticklish brush of something else against Aziraphael's arm, something other than Crowley's deep, steady breathing. A closer inspection reveals the source: Crowley's lashes, as the demon's one visible eye drifts open.

[a_fell]

"Morning," Aziraphael says softly, the somewhat embarrassingly wide smile on his face visible even in the half light. "There's coffee for you, if you'd like."