It's been a few weeks since the subject came up during their (first) picnic in St. James Park, but Aziraphale still hasn't fallen asleep, let alone dreamed.
Angels don't sleep. And although he is far from a typical angel, Aziraphale has never felt the desire to try it until recently, and it doesn't come naturally. Even curled up in post-coital bliss with Crowley, he doesn't drift off. He'd rather watch his beloved sleep instead, features smooth and peaceful in slumber. Eventually the angel's attention drifts to the pile of books on the nightstand (his or Crowley's, a good number of his books have found their way into the demon's flat). Just a few pages, he tells himself, and before he knows it, the light of dawn is creeping in through the windows and his thoughts turn to that delightful bakery on the corner with the exquisite pain au chocolat.
He really would like to have a dream, though, if only to understand what sort of spell it can cast, how it managed to coax Crowley into growing his hair out long. So, in the middle of the afternoon, in the back of his bookshop with the sign on the door turned to 'closed', Aziraphale lies on his couch, preparing to take a nap. He's traded in his jacket for a comfortable cardigan, his bow-tie undone and shoes off. The desk and nearby table are cleared of books so he doesn't get distracted.
Crowley is there, though. Whether he proves to be a distraction or not is irrelevant. It won't do to wake up from a dream and not find his precious demon within arm's reach.
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Angels don't sleep. And although he is far from a typical angel, Aziraphale has never felt the desire to try it until recently, and it doesn't come naturally. Even curled up in post-coital bliss with Crowley, he doesn't drift off. He'd rather watch his beloved sleep instead, features smooth and peaceful in slumber. Eventually the angel's attention drifts to the pile of books on the nightstand (his or Crowley's, a good number of his books have found their way into the demon's flat). Just a few pages, he tells himself, and before he knows it, the light of dawn is creeping in through the windows and his thoughts turn to that delightful bakery on the corner with the exquisite pain au chocolat.
He really would like to have a dream, though, if only to understand what sort of spell it can cast, how it managed to coax Crowley into growing his hair out long. So, in the middle of the afternoon, in the back of his bookshop with the sign on the door turned to 'closed', Aziraphale lies on his couch, preparing to take a nap. He's traded in his jacket for a comfortable cardigan, his bow-tie undone and shoes off. The desk and nearby table are cleared of books so he doesn't get distracted.
Crowley is there, though. Whether he proves to be a distraction or not is irrelevant. It won't do to wake up from a dream and not find his precious demon within arm's reach.