"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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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."