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Living without, Living without, Living without you Chapter 3
Fandom: Good Omens (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)
Additional Tags: Post-Apocalypse, Anxiety, Snuggling, sleeping, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Drinking, Nope'geddeon, 'married' fights
"I think I have an idea." They’ve cloistered themselves away in Crowley's flat once again. Crowley has pulled back the blankets to his bed, maneuvering the angel to sit on the luxurious sheets with a firm hand and steeling himself for a very odd fight.
Modesty was not something angels or demons originally had, and often they simply dressed to match whatever humans they were interacting with. It was only the pair’s long exposure to humans that had given them any sense of humility or propriety over the centuries. And Crowley knew that his request was going to butt up against Aziraphale's self-developed sense of decency.
He dresses himself in his own usual sleep clothes; though honestly he rarely wore them if he was sleeping in his bed. They were more for wandering his flat or sleeping on the wall. It was an injustice to his sheets to wear clothing to bed. However, this could go sideways fast, and while Crowley wasn't actually against the idea of sharing his bed with Aziraphale with neither of them dressed in anything, that was something to be shelved for a different night.
"I'm gonna teach you to sleep, angel. so... imgonnaneedyoutoundress"
"Crowley, this is a terrible idea; I don't sleep. I never have. Can't we just-"
"You never ate anything once upon a time either. And there was a time when you didn't know what the point of humans writing things down was for. You didn't used to care about clothes, and you didn't always collect snuff boxes either." Crowley kneels on the floor, his head resting on Aziraphale's knee, trying to ignore the way the angel went rigid under his cheek. He could hear Aziraphale thinking, trying to find his equilibrium. And Crowley would normally let his friend find his balance before moving on, but this was difficult enough, and Crowley was looking it more like a proverbial band aid - rip it off quickly and get it over with.
"I think... I think once you figure it out, it'll just be another human thing you like. Never as much as books or sushi or wine, but I think you'll like it. And you need the rest, Aziraphale. You need to turn off that head of yours for just a little bit. Just to hit pause for a while so you can have a moment of peace."
Aziraphale's face twists in hurt and self-loathing, but he didn't offer an argument in his defense.
"Just, let me teach you how. Just try it, please."
"Wily tempter," Aziraphale whispers finally, looking more cross with himself and with no heat to the words. He rests a shaky hand on Crowley's head, thumb toying with the red strands.
"Please?"
Aziraphale steels himself, not too unlike the expression he wore facing off against Satan, and nods, "Okay." Because it's you asking, he didn't say, but Crowley hears him anyway.
Crowley sits back on his haunches, taking Aziraphale's hands in his, and resting his forearms on the angel’s knees. He won't ask if Aziraphale trusts him. He doesn't have to. "Take your clothes off."
There’s a faint blush to Aziraphale's cheeks; Crowley won't let go of his hands, implying the angel will need a miracle for this one. It would be too sensual, Aziraphale undressing the human way. That wasn't what tonight was about.
The angel doesn't have an effort tonight either, looking at Crowley with a bite to his lip to see if he would be judged for it. Honestly, it makes this less awkward that he doesn’t tonight. His clothes fold themselves on the nightstand. "Pyjamas?" he whispers.
"Not this time,” Crowley shakes his head, looking almost regretful. “Once you know how to sleep, then I'll buy you the softest, most extravagant, sleep clothes that you can possibly imagine," he promises, moving to stand up.
He guides the angel into the bed, following after until they are both tucked between sheets and quilt, heads resting on their own plush pillows, facing each other. There’s a soft wildness to Aziraphale's too blue eyes, and Crowley takes the angel’s hands in his own once again, looking intently at their intertwined fingers. "When you are ready, I want you to close your eyes."
A few uneasy moments linger heavy between them, before finally, Aziraphale takes a steadying breath and does so, teeth worrying at his lips since Crowley was holding his hands still.
"The hard part is you have to stop thinking. And that really is hard, I know. Especially for you. So, when you start to think about things, I want you to focus on what you’re feeling right now instead."
Aziraphale's brow furrows, and Crowley can see the questions starting to form, "Keep your eyes closed. Visualize the dark. But also, focus on what my hands feel like."
That gets him a small smile, and Aziraphale tightens his hands encouragingly.
"Remember, the point is to not think about anything but right now. Listen to my voice, not just what I'm saying but how it sounds in the air," Crowley does not possess the most rumbling of voices, but tucked in this close Aziraphale can feel it in his bones, a soft humming quality that vaguely reminds him of holding a purring cat.
"Focus on how the sheets feel against your skin." And oh! Crowley has nice sheets. Soft as goose down, and just the right cool touch against his skin in contrast to Crowley's mellow warmth beside him.
"Feel the weight of the quilt." Aziraphale has never dreamt before, but the soft far away tone Crowley's voice has taken on must be what writers meant by dreamy quality.
"The cool air on your face." He feels grounded and adrift all at once, a juxtaposition that felt quite nice; paradoxes were meant to be unsettling, but somehow with Crowley they always felt wondrous.
"The warmth where we touch." The words are more breath than anything else, and the warmth of that too is lovely
Crowley can feel how Aziraphale seems to get a little heavier in his hands, the angel no longer consciously supporting his own hands, and they loosen a little where they hold each other. He keeps a slow litany up, and inches by inches, Aziraphale drifts off. The angel burrows closer as he does, giving Crowley an armful of angel, near colourless tight coils of hair along his neck as Aziraphale's head moves to rest against his shoulder instead of the pillow.
Their legs twist around each other and the sheets, and Crowley risks letting go of Aziraphale's hands completely to pull him close.
Once he's sure the angel is truly asleep, he shuffles the quilt around, making sure to keep it tucked around Aziraphale, but giving him the room to stretch his own wings out into the room. His right wing remains tucked close to his back, still mostly under the blankets, but he maneuvers his left one free, and wraps it protectively around Aziraphale, tucking him in closer. Aziraphale hums into his neck, his curls tickling Crowley's jaw, but he's relaxed into Crowley in a way the demon hasn't seen since their celebration at the Ritz.
Crowley will not sleep that night. He will remain awake and vigilant the whole time, as he always does when Aziraphale allows his own guard to drop even a little. But this is a reward worth his sacrifice, to at last see the stress of not just the confrontation with their respective head offices finally and truly melt away, but the long held rigidity that the angel thought he must hold himself too.
This is the angel that lights up whenever a clever human finds a new way to make a tasty dish, or the telling of a new story - or even an old story with a new twist.
This is the angel that unapologetically loves humanity. The one who Crowley loves and is loved by in return.
Here, sheltered under Crowley's meticulously groomed feathers, tucked away safely at Crowley’s side, Aziraphale sleeps.
But life still goes on
I can't get used to living without, living without
Living without you by my side
I don't want to live alone, hey
God knows, got to make it on my own
So baby, can't you see?
I've got to break free
thank you to Hikaru9 for not only encouraging me to finish this up, but for looking it over and making sure it actually makes a lick of sense.
title is also a shout out to Queen. i dare you not to keep singing the rest.
