Work Text:
On the second day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Two gentle kisses
And a chance to cuddle Crowley
13th December
“So what, exactly, Angel did you have in mind for this monstrosity, anyway?” Crowley asks, waving a hand in the direction of the tree he’d suffered dragging into the bookshop yesterday.
“Well, traditionally, the tree is decorated, Crowley,” Aziraphale replies, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. Crowley raises a single eyebrow. “With lights and baubles and tinsel and other myriad of things, according to my research.”
“According to your research... riiiight,” Crowley repeats slowly before shaking his head. “Well then, Angel, lead the way, he says as he gives Aziraphale an exaggerated bow, even going so far as to add a little flourish by offering a hand for his Angel to take as though they were at a ball.
Not that Crowley has ever offered to dance with Aziraphale at an official function such as a ball or party since, after all, he is a Demon and Angels are the enemies of Demons. It would also be far, far too nice of a Demon such as Crowley to offer to dance with someone like Aziraphale.
Of course, that doesn’t stop Aziraphale from actually taking Crowley’s offered hand and tugging him upright as the Angel steps forward so they’re stood flush against each other.
And, of course, that doesn’t stop Crowley from blushing at his Angel’s brazen behaviour even if he is a Demon and Demons do not blush. [*]
“What are you doing, Angel?” Crowley asks in what—to Crowley at least—sounds like a reasonable tone of voice but—to Aziraphale and anyone else who heard it—clearly conveys the panicked confusion of someone thrust unexpectedly into a situation they didn’t expect to end up in and doesn’t know whether or not to admit they kind of like it, actually.
“I’m in the mood for a dance, my dear,” Aziraphale replies smoothly—too smoothly to be anything but feigned—as he slides an arm around Crowley’s waist and snaps his fingers before curling his fingers into the material of Crowley’s jacket. Music begins to echo around the bookshop, a soft, crooning rendition of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas and Crowley’s blush deepens. “Won’t you indulge me a little, Crowley dear?”
Even as Aziraphale asks, the Angel has already begun gently swaying to the music, Crowley swaying with him and unable to refuse.
“I always indulge you, Angel,” Crowley points out to Aziraphale who laughs softly, the rumble of his laughter reverberating in Crowley’s chest and echoing the Demon’s heart.
“Hmm, you do,” Aziraphale admits, smiling at Crowley. “I wonder...” he begins before trailing off, gently moving around the open space between the—still—undecorated tree and the sofa beside the fireplace.
Crowley angles his head to peer at Aziraphale’s face. “You wonder what, Angel?” He asks, curious as to whatever it is Aziraphale is thinking about.
“Well,” the Angel begins, pausing for a moment as he shifts their position to the music. “I wonder if you might indulge me with another tradition?”
Crowley snorts a quiet laugh. “Why not?” He says, smirking at his Angel who smiles brightly at his response. “Might as well, ‘tis the season an’ all.”
“Wonderful!” Aziraphale exclaims as he brings their gentle swaying dancing to an end just as the music fades away into the silence broken only by the crackle-pop of the burning logs in the fireplace.
Crowley’s smirk softens into a real smile at the delighted expression on his Angel’s face.
“In that case, might you do something for me, dear?” Aziraphale asks Crowley who nods in response. “Wonderful,” he says, before he reaches up with a hand and gently captures Crowley’s chin, holding it just enough to keep Crowley’s head still. “Then please,” he continues, “look up.”
Crowley’s eyes flicker upwards just as Aziraphale gently pushes his chin upwards.
Above them, hanging from a rafter that absolutely had not existed ten minutes ago, Crowley’s gaze locks onto the sprig of mistletoe.
He opens his mouth but no sounds comes out beyond a little surprised squeak.
Soft lips press against Crowley’s own and his gaze snaps away from the mistletoe to lock with the bright eyes of his Angel caught in the act of stealing a kiss from a Demon.
It’s a brief little thing and it ends just as quickly as it began, leaving Crowley pressed against Aziraphale as they stare at each other in the quiet silence of the bookshop.
“That, Angel,” Crowley says quietly, voice hoarse, “was sneaky.” He flashes his Angel a smirk. “Let me give you a real kiss.”
So it was, on the second day of Christmas, that Aziraphale, the Angel of the Eastern Gate, received not one but two kisses from the Demon Crowley, the Snake that Snook into Eden.
Oh, and a cuddle, can’t forget about the cuddle!
[*] They do. Demons absolutely blush. Especially Crowley. But only around Aziraphale. For Reasons™.