( it almost feels like aziraphale is still dreaming. still awash in desires and wants just slightly out of reach. how could it not? how could it not feel like a saccharine dream when he's surrounded by dark feathers like the all-encompassing night sky? when his body feels warm and comfortably, tucked snugly into the fluffy duvet?
a sweet smell compliments the room.
then there is the hand in his, the one that fits so perfectly that it might as well have been designed to slot together with his. his fingers curl against crowley's before groggily tugging their joined hands together.
aziraphale presses the back of crowley's hand against his face, letting it rest against his lips and part of his cheek as he admires the coolness of his skin.
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a sweet smell compliments the room.
then there is the hand in his, the one that fits so perfectly that it might as well have been designed to slot together with his. his fingers curl against crowley's before groggily tugging their joined hands together.
aziraphale presses the back of crowley's hand against his face, letting it rest against his lips and part of his cheek as he admires the coolness of his skin.
it's still a very nice dream. )