Summer is over. London streets are expecting the autumn rains, last trace of august dissapearing in nightfall gloom. Warm light from the little Soho bookshop windows reflecting on the wet pavement.
Angel and demon maybe have just returned from a nice walk in St James’s Park. They most certainly have a bottle of angel’s best wine in store for the perfect evening. Well, since the Earth didn’t end itself, every evening seems pretty much perfect for them.
If you want to imagine the future, imagine the smell of books and cocoa in Aziraphale’s bookshop, imagine Crowley’s Bentley parked outside, very old and brand new at the same time.
Imagine the pair of them, looking at each other and smiling.
Sharing a bed for the first time and spooning / hugging. Nothing too explicit but a lot of affection and comfort. I have this headcanon but I can't find any good fic about this
“You know, I’ve heard that the best way to warm up is body heat.”
Hope you enjoy this prompt anon!
***
The neighbours have noticed. The whole street has lost its central heating, the entire place is freezing apart from Aziraphale’s bookshop, and the neighbours have noticed. They aren’t pleased.
There are many cases in which Aziraphale has used his miracle abilities for selfish reasons, for his own comfort. There’s, of course, the whole situation with those nasty mafia type men wanting to buy his bookshop from him, who he’s… dealt with. There’s also all the customers he persuades not to buy any of the books, gently escorting them from the shop with an angelic smile till they find themselves outside, not knowing how they got there.
Today, there’s the central heating. It’s very easy, really, to keep the whole shop warm. And he might have been able to fix it for the whole street, but Heaven still aren’t very happy with him about Armageddon and he doesn’t want to attract unnecessary attention. And, what with the neighbours noticing how toasty his shop is and complaining and causing a fuss, it doesn’t seem worth the trouble.
So now, he’s lying in his bed, something he rarely uses- it also happens to have a duvet, which is helpful on this particular occasion- he’s wearing three jumpers, and he is still absolutely freezing. Lying in the foetal position beneath the sheets, he weighs up his options.
As far as he sees it, he only has one.
That is how, a twenty minute cab ride later, he finds himself at Crowley’s apartment building. After ringing the intercom, it takes a moment for anyone to answer. He dances a little jig on the spot, trying to keep warm, his breath pouring out of him in clouds of steam.
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