Never Explain Anything: A Crowley/Aziraphale Good Omens fanfic

Chaos in her wake

It was a long and difficult night, and only the awareness that angels were supposed to keep their word kept Aziraphale in the bed.

Crowley's restlessness only seemed to ease when he latched on to something else, and Aziraphale soon realised that moving further to the right only resulted in being crammed on the edge while being chased by a sleeping demon. At one point, too precariously perched on his side with a demon flattened against his back, he actually fell out and got back in again on the completely empty left side. Crowley rolled straight back over and landed with his head on Aziraphale's chest, trapping Aziraphale's arm under him.

He sighed. It was all very well to tell himself that giving into an urge to snuggle up to someone who was asleep and had no say in the matter was a sinful thing to do, especially if one was acknowledging lustful feelings towards them, but warmth-seeking serpent behaviour seemed instinctive.

"Do get off, dear boy," he said, shaking Crowley's shoulder gently, wary of startling him awake and being flipped over again. "I'll be all pins and needles."

Crowley raised his head slightly, and golden eyes blinked slowly at Aziraphale. "Soft," Crowley said wonderingly, eyes closing again, and wriggled a bit so that his head was more on Aziraphale's shoulder.

The angel's arm instinctively curved around him in a less arm-deadening way. Crowley let out a quiet snore, and Aziraphale sighed. He wasn't sure if Crowley had in fact woken at all. But now Aziraphale had an arm draped across his waist to contend with, fingers brushing one well-padded hip, and his own hand on bare skin again. Crowley's skin felt warm against him, as if he had pulled heat from Aziraphale.

Wary of sleeping again, Aziraphale tried to pass the time cataloguing his new acquisitions in his mind. He wasn't going to risk waking in an even more compromising position again. Not until they had talked. And no, it was hopeless, he couldn't think of even books, not when his mind was far more interested in cataloguing every affectionate look and suggestive word Crowley had ever given him and trying to work out what added up to teasing, what added up to friendship, what was just general demonic chaos, and what might add up to something more.

With the coming of dawn spreading across those huge windows, a piece of parchment floated down from the ceiling. Aziraphale reached out his spare hand, caught it, and summoned all his courage to read it. Well, that was that. He felt a sickening plummet of loss, but then a huge sense of relief. He folded it as best he could with one hand and placed it in his pyjama breast pocket.

The movement finally woke Crowley, who muttered something inarticulate and pushed himself to a sitting position, as Aziraphale dropped the hand that had been absently cradling his back.

"Ouch," said Aziraphale, getting the full weight of a demon channelled through a hand on the soft area of his hip.

"Sorry. Morning, angel." Crowley peered around at the arm lying behind him, as if trying to work out what position they had been sleeing in, and Aziraphale held his breath. Crowley was flushed, and Aziraphale wondered if he was overheated. "I want a shower. Order breakfast for us? Lots of coffee."

He swung quickly out of bed and disappeared in the direction of the master bathroom before Aziraphale could gather himself enough to even think of starting one of the confessions he had been rehearsing in his head.

Aziraphale took his time choosing and ordering breakfast. Really, the bathroom was the best of this place, so he didn't expect to see Crowley for a while. The aromatherapy rain shower was extremely enjoyable, as Aziraphale had discovered the night before. He knew from experience that once Crowley found anything that had the magic hat trick of pleasurable, lazy and warm, it took ages to drag him from it, whether it was a sunny beach in Thailand or a hammam in the Ottoman Empire.