He knows that Crowley is mocking him, but he doesn't care, too relieved that they've come to... well, not an Arrangement, because that implies things he's not ready to accept, but at least Crowley knows that if he's planning to do something that is evil only in the technical, 'my higher ups in Hell told me to make trouble' sense, he can ask Aziraphale for help. And he won't have to worry about Crowley risking his infernal life over a holy relic again.
The fact that Crowley owes him one is an unexpected and weird but also kind of nice bonus. "Well, if I ever find myself at risk of being discorporated, I'll know who to expect to swoop in and save me." As if. The amount of paperwork he'd have to fill out if he wasn't careful!
He's about to offer another round of balm and bandage when Crowley's head is on his shoulder again. Yay! he thinks before he can stuff that tiny voice into silence. He stares straight ahead, trying to ignore how warm Crowley is, concentrating on what he can say to make the situation less weird.
"Well, you're obviously worn out, so... you go ahead and rest and I'll... stay. Here. I'll stay right here."
"Oh, I'm sure things won't come to that point." How much trouble can an angel get into? Then again, we are talking about the angel who gave away his flaming sword. Perhaps Crowley had better start keeping a closer eye on him, now that they've got something of a deal in place.
He thinks about how Aziraphale would probably huff or roll his eyes and remind him that he's the one who was handling holy relics, and perhaps someone ought to keep a closer eye on him...and Crowley wouldn't mind if it was Aziraphale who did. He nestles closer, eyes closing, then opening again when the angel speaks, stammering out his intention to stay with him. To let him rest. Crowley almost doesn't know what to make of it, almost looks up at him again, but--if you're offered something, why not push for a little more? He is a demon, after all.
So he shifts himself around a little, and it's almost a natural motion to lay himself down in Aziraphale's lap.
"I'll sleep it off, then." He did offer, Crowley tells himself firmly.
"Of course not," Aziraphale replies with the confidence of someone who is doomed to screw up spectacularly. Just give him a few centuries to get there.
That very lecture does cross his mind briefly, that Crowley ought to be more careful, but the demon is too busy cozying up against him for Aziraphale to work up even the smallest of huffs. He can feel Crowley's attention on him after he speaks, but he doesn't turn his head, worried that Crowley will declare that he's not worn out, thank you very much, and find somewhere else to recuperate.
And then he has a demon in his lap and what.
It won't be several hundred years until Master Jobbes invents an Apple no man can eat, which is too bad, because "a system error has occurred" would be the perfect metaphor for Aziraphale's reaction. He simply freezes, not even blinking while Crowley situates himself, head resting against his thigh as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Slowly, he dares a look down, sees all that soft red hair against the cream of his tunic. Hopefully Crowley's eyes are shut, or else he might simply discorporate right where he's sitting, and then Crowley will have to sleep on the ground. "...um. Okay."
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The fact that Crowley owes him one is an unexpected and weird but also kind of nice bonus. "Well, if I ever find myself at risk of being discorporated, I'll know who to expect to swoop in and save me." As if. The amount of paperwork he'd have to fill out if he wasn't careful!
He's about to offer another round of balm and bandage when Crowley's head is on his shoulder again. Yay! he thinks before he can stuff that tiny voice into silence. He stares straight ahead, trying to ignore how warm Crowley is, concentrating on what he can say to make the situation less weird.
"Well, you're obviously worn out, so... you go ahead and rest and I'll... stay. Here. I'll stay right here."
no subject
He thinks about how Aziraphale would probably huff or roll his eyes and remind him that he's the one who was handling holy relics, and perhaps someone ought to keep a closer eye on him...and Crowley wouldn't mind if it was Aziraphale who did. He nestles closer, eyes closing, then opening again when the angel speaks, stammering out his intention to stay with him. To let him rest. Crowley almost doesn't know what to make of it, almost looks up at him again, but--if you're offered something, why not push for a little more? He is a demon, after all.
So he shifts himself around a little, and it's almost a natural motion to lay himself down in Aziraphale's lap.
"I'll sleep it off, then." He did offer, Crowley tells himself firmly.
no subject
That very lecture does cross his mind briefly, that Crowley ought to be more careful, but the demon is too busy cozying up against him for Aziraphale to work up even the smallest of huffs. He can feel Crowley's attention on him after he speaks, but he doesn't turn his head, worried that Crowley will declare that he's not worn out, thank you very much, and find somewhere else to recuperate.
And then he has a demon in his lap and what.
It won't be several hundred years until Master Jobbes invents an Apple no man can eat, which is too bad, because "a system error has occurred" would be the perfect metaphor for Aziraphale's reaction. He simply freezes, not even blinking while Crowley situates himself, head resting against his thigh as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Slowly, he dares a look down, sees all that soft red hair against the cream of his tunic. Hopefully Crowley's eyes are shut, or else he might simply discorporate right where he's sitting, and then Crowley will have to sleep on the ground. "...um. Okay."