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there is something to say about sleeping.
Turning off his thoughts and actually to the act of sleeping, not so much. Sometimes he can manage, but not usually.
Instead, he rests, laying peacefully in the soft sheets and warm blanketed, reading well into the night. there's something soothing about washing up, changing into pajamas and slipping between the sheets, indulging in a few hours of light reading, and letting the world slip away for a while.
even more lately, now that instead of curling up in an armchair for the night in his shop, he's been whisked off his feet for an evening of indulgences, and rode the elevator to a tastefully and fashionably decorated loft apartment in Mayfair. as the hours slipped into darkness, he curled up in a decadent bed, with the dozing warm form of his dearest friend beside him.
Crowley didn't need to sleep anymore than Aziraphale did, but he enjoyed it, much they way they both of them enjoyed a good wine, a nice play, or a stroll though the park. And there was something quite lovely about just enjoying the closeness of the other, one they had not be able to export for the past six thousand years.
the time on his pocket watch tells him it's half past 3, and he closes his book finally, dimming his reading light as he sets the two items on the bedside table. his reading glasses follow, and for a moment he basks in the still calmness of the room.
finally, he sinks down into the blanked, Crowley's sleeping form re adjusting his hold from where he'd been hugging the angel around the waist, to circling around his shoulders and pulling them closer. he was drooling just a bit, moving to use a soft shoulder as a pillow and remained deep in slumber.
Yes. there was something to say about sleeping.
Turning off his thoughts and actually to the act of sleeping, not so much. Sometimes he can manage, but not usually.
Instead, he rests, laying peacefully in the soft sheets and warm blanketed, reading well into the night. there's something soothing about washing up, changing into pajamas and slipping between the sheets, indulging in a few hours of light reading, and letting the world slip away for a while.
even more lately, now that instead of curling up in an armchair for the night in his shop, he's been whisked off his feet for an evening of indulgences, and rode the elevator to a tastefully and fashionably decorated loft apartment in Mayfair. as the hours slipped into darkness, he curled up in a decadent bed, with the dozing warm form of his dearest friend beside him.
Crowley didn't need to sleep anymore than Aziraphale did, but he enjoyed it, much they way they both of them enjoyed a good wine, a nice play, or a stroll though the park. And there was something quite lovely about just enjoying the closeness of the other, one they had not be able to export for the past six thousand years.
the time on his pocket watch tells him it's half past 3, and he closes his book finally, dimming his reading light as he sets the two items on the bedside table. his reading glasses follow, and for a moment he basks in the still calmness of the room.
finally, he sinks down into the blanked, Crowley's sleeping form re adjusting his hold from where he'd been hugging the angel around the waist, to circling around his shoulders and pulling them closer. he was drooling just a bit, moving to use a soft shoulder as a pillow and remained deep in slumber.
Yes. there was something to say about sleeping.
