Work Text:
On the first day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A chance to cuddle Crowley
...
12th December (of whichever year you personally prefer, dear reader)
“Honestly, Angel!” Crowley exclaims as he tries to peer around the shape blocking his view. “It’s not like this is even necessary, why are you even doing—” Crowley waves his hands exuberantly on either side of the shape currently obscuring his vision “—all this anyway?”
Aziraphale, completely ignoring the way Crowley’s entire being radiated exasperation, replies brightly from the other side of the shape denying Crowley from seeing said Angel, “because it is tradition, my dear!”
Crowley rolls his eyes from behind his glasses, safe in the assurance that Aziraphale can’t see him doing so, and scoffs. “Tradition, right! Because that’s so bloody important nowadays.”
Again, Aziraphale completely ignores Crowley’s exasperation—and the added sarcasm—and agrees with the Demon. “Precisely,” he says, smiling as brightly as his tone of voice and inadvertently increasing the lighting of their surroundings whilst doing so. “Now,” Aziraphale continues, smile dropping and the lighting of their surroundings dimming back to regular levels, “be a dear and put your back into it.”
Crowley squawks in offence but dutifully ‘puts his back into it’ and shoves the disgustingly pointy and difficult-to-manoeuvre-on-a-good-day object until it finally crosses the threshold of Aziraphale’s bookshop, cursing and hissing the whole time.
“You could have just miracle’d it into place, Angel, decorations an-all,” Crowley complains once the monstrosity is placed in the ‘perfect’ spot—according to Aziraphale, that is, Crowley considers the ‘perfect’ spot to be on a bonfire but he won’t say that out loud with how fanatical Aziraphale seems to be at the moment regarding this thing—as he rubs his lower back. “Think I’ve thrown my back out ‘cause of that thing.”
“Oh really darling, it wasn’t that difficult,” Aziraphale says, shaking his head even as he gives Crowley a soft smile from where he’s stood beside the Demon, both of them standing opposite the item that has made Crowley suffer so. “Here,” he continues, snapping his fingers with a slight flourish. “As a thank you and apology for your poor back.”
Crowley sighs as a gentle flare of warmth spreads along the length and width of his back, soothing the actual ache of muscle, sinew, and bone that goes beyond mere mortal flesh. “Cheers Angel,” Crowley half says and half slurs.
It isn’t much a surprise that Crowley slumps against Aziraphale’s side, a puppet with strings cut, at the relief the Angel’s miracle causes the Demon.
It also isn’t much of a surprise that Aziraphale doesn’t hesitate to take on the Demon’s weight, arm curling around Crowley’s narrow waist creating another point of warmth and support for the Demon to sink into.
“You’re quite welcome, my dear,” Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley’s hair after the Demon drops his head down to rest on the Angel’s shoulder. “We can decorate the tree later,” Aziraphale continues, voice a soft, gentle sound that soothes Crowley’s soul. “I think a brief nap is in order for us both, hmm?”
Crowley hums in response, loose-limbed and relaxed and Aziraphale gently steers them both to their sofa near the fireplace only a few feet away. It takes only a few moments to settle down on the sofa—Aziraphale sat upright with Crowley laying along the rest of it, legs curled up with a blanket thrown over them, and the Demon’s head on Aziraphale’s thigh—before Aziraphale picks up a book from the side-table next to the sofa and cracks it open.
“Shall I read to you, darling, while you have a rest?” Aziraphale gently asks Crowley, smiling when all Crowley does is nod slightly in response. “Very well, then.”
Aziraphale’s other hand gently strokes Crowley’s hair and face, fingers carding through the copper-red hair that is so very distinctive of his Demon, as the Angel Of The Eastern Gate begins to read to the Snake that snook into Eden and befriended an Angel.
“’Twas the night before Christmas...”