@roman-kun I .. was inspired by you, and I hope you like this little bit I wrote because of your adorable comic.
Aziraphale sat alone in his study, hunched over a book as he had for the past several hours, pen in hand as he jotted down notes in a new tidy notebook, specifically made for this moment. A treasure trove of knowledge, right at his literal fingertips, and the glutton inside him consumed every passage with ferver. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aziraphale heard Crowley come into his study and he readied himself to communicate when he came in by clearing his throat after hours of silence.
He didn’t bother to glance up right away, knowing that if Crowley wanted his attention, he would make it clear– that and well, Aziraphale may have been experiencing his usual bought of tunnel vision. Again.
“Angel?” Crowley called out from the entrance way.
“Yes Dear?” Aziraphale replied; an acknowledgement and a sign to proceed. He could hear Crowley approach and kept his ears pricked even as he continued to stare down at his book.
“I’ll be out for a bit, got demon things to do.” Aziraphale heard him say as he finished writing down the last of a particular train of thought.
“Mm alright,” Aziraphale hummed before adding, almost thoughtlessly, “I’ll be here.”
He vaguely registered Crowley’s poorly concealed chortle and smiled softly to himself. Trying to show a little propriety, he leaned toward the man and tilted his head ever so slightly but kept his eyes on his book, and wrote down another note as he asked, “Will we still be able to dine at the Ritz tonight?”
“Of course, don’t worry.” he said, and although he wouldn’t admit it, that did soothe Aziraphale. He felt Crowley’s arm brush behind him and presumably grip the back of his chair, a physical act of comfort to mirror his words.
In his peripheral vision, he watched Crowley bend down and so in turn, he tilted his head to meet him as the redhead kissed him goodbye and turned to leave. It wasn’t until he returned his focus back to his book that he realized he’d even closed his eyes, but the thought was a fleeting one and was very quickly trampled by the next paragraph in his book and his wrist flicked away as he jotted down yet another note.
“Won’t be long!” He heard Crowley call over his shoulder.
“Mind how you go.” Aziraphale replied in turn.
After he heard the door to his shop close via the merry tinkling of a bell, Aziraphale stretched, sighed, and reached for his mug of cocoa that had miraculously become just perfect once again. He took a long hot sip, the ceramic warm against his lips, but not nearly as warm as Crowley’s had—
Aziraphale spluttered, and whatever cocoa that was still in his mouth sprayed out over the carpet which he’d normally fuss over but he couldn’t, not now, because one small thought was growing larger and larger in his mind until he couldn’t even remember the title of the book laying before him (which was miraculously untouched by his chocolatey outburst, thank you for asking). An overwhelming heat rose up from his neck and siezed his cheeks and entire face, and he set the mug down with a little more force than necessary but congratulated himself for not dropping it entirely.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the angel, Crowley had just sidled into his car, revved up the gorgeous thing, and pulled out into the street before coming to a yellow light. He thought about gunning it but then imagined Aziraphale’s disapproving glare and slowed down. As he came to a stop at the now red light, he glanced around and licked his lips out of habit. They tasted faintly like peppermint chapstick and cocoa.
‘Now, why on Earth would they ta-’
Crowley didn’t finish that thought, mostly because he didn’t need to because oh, oh goodness- or badness, whatever, just– for the love of-
“Aziraphale.” He breathed, and the name alone ignited his entire chest and face with a burning, overwhelming, embarrassing heat, it was so potent he could’ve begged for hellfire instead right then and there.
The car, in all its sentient, sarcastic glory, chose that exact moment to start playing “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen even though it had been playing an entirely different song altogether (still the same artist, yes), and cranked the volume up enough so he couldn’t ignore it. Bastard car.
He gripped the steering wheel hard, knuckles white, as he replayed their interaction over and over again until all he could think about was how he’d ever so simply leaned in and kissed-
His mind blanked, and his lips tingled. Someone honked at him from behind. He pressed the pedal all the way down to the floor and didn’t say anything for about five seconds and then—
Thanks again you amazing artist, you!
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