It was Crowley’s fault that Aziraphale was still reading and had been doing so all Sunday. The demon knew that. He had teased him about not knowing “Harry Potter” and once the angel had started reading the books he hadn’t stop.
Although he would never admit it, Crowley couldn’t blame him. He had read the books to Warlock when he had been his nanny and although he wasn’t a big reader, he had probably enjoyed them more than his charge – a secret fact he would take to his grave.
Although he was happy that the angel seemed to enjoy the books, he found himself wanting a little bit of attention. The angel had just started the third book and he didn’t seem to plan on stopping any time soon.
Since Aziraphale had convinced him to change into his snake form in front of him a few week ago, Crowley had been in this form rather regularly and he had to admit that it did help with the pain. At least it didn’t get so bad anymore with seemingly no reason. The cold still made it worse, of course, which he had noticed going out to water his plants, but otherwise he hadn’t felt better in a long time. For millennia he had refused to take this form unnecessarily, out of pride. He had always waited until the pain had been so bad that he had been unable to take it anymore and even then he hadn’t spent more time than absolutely necessary as a snake. It had felt like defeat and like something to be ashamed of. Whenever he had been a snake, he had felt humiliated.
But Aziraphale had not once treated him any differently in this form, he had never looked upon him in disgust, and slowly, very slowly, Crowley had become more comfortable. By now he was in his snake form a few times a week at least for an hour, often longer, and he felt so much better for it. He also didn’t panic anymore when Aziraphale came in. Of course he usually turned back when the angel was there, just because he wanted to spend time with him, but he didn’t do it in a hurry, trying to prevent Aziraphale from seeing him. Aziraphale was also allowed to touch him in this form – usually when he came home, he gently lifted Crowley’s head with both hands and pressed a kiss on the top of it and that did feel kind of nice - but he never approached him by himself and he never joined him on the sofa or the bed to be close to him. For this, he always turned back into his human form. His usual place as a snake was the armchair before the fireplace and the angel didn’t push. He seemed to understand that 6,000 years of feeling ashamed of this form could not be undone in just a few weeks. And Crowley was grateful for his patience.
Today, however, it was Crowley himself who was impatient. After the angel had obviously been more interested in Hogwarts than in him, he had sat down in his armchair, turned into a snake and watched him, his body curled up and his head lying on the armrest, his tongue flipping out now and then. Of course he wasn’t sulking, absolutely not.
Still, he soon regretted his decision to leave Aziraphale’s side, but he was also too lazy and too comfortable to turn back. He was almost completely pain-free right now, only a slight soreness from being in his human form. The only thing missing was Aziraphale.
He lifted his head, hesitated, then very slowly slithered down the chair and over to the sofa. Another moment of hesitation, then he got up, all the time watching Aziraphale intently, but the angel just kept reading, or at least pretended to. In any case, his lips twitched into a soft smile.
Still he didn’t look at or talk to Crowley.
It took him a while to gather his courage enough to slowly crawl towards Aziraphale, but he did and a few moments later, he had slithered up his back with his upper body and rested his head on the angel’s shoulder from behind, despite everything he was anxious of the reaction and remained completely still.
But when Aziraphale turned towards him, there was a soft smile on his face. “Hello, my dear boy. It’s quite nice that you finally decided to join me.” He gave him a quick peck on the side of his head and went back to reading.
Crowley didn’t say anything. In fact, he couldn’t. As many times before he felt overwhelmed by his feelings towards the angel and the fact that these feelings were actually returned.
He remained still for a while longer, content to be this close to Aziraphale, to feel this completely and utterly accepted, despite his nature, despite him not being 100 % fit all the time. Aziraphale loved him, he didn’t doubt that, couldn’t doubt that with the way the angel had acted around him for the last few months. And still he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
After what must have been an hour of comfortable silence, Crowley started to move once more and when he wrapped his long, muscular body so very gently around the angel he wasn’t afraid of rejection or even disgust … he knew it wouldn’t come.
And of course it didn’t. Finally the angel closed “The Prisoner of Azkaban”, put it aside and raised his arm, where Crowley’s head rested in the armpit, up to his smiling face. His blue eyes were sparkling with happiness which was there just because he, Crowley, had decided to finally be close to him like this, to trust him enough to know that the reaction wouldn’t be a negative one. Crowley was glad that snakes couldn’t cry, because otherwise he would certainly have burst into tears.
Slowly Aziraphale leaned back against the pillows, getting comfortable, without reading again or switching on the TV. His hand was still carefully holding the snake’s body just beneath the head. Right now, Crowley didn’t need any form of entertainment or distraction either. For tonight it was enough for both of them to be close to each other.
Crowley freed himself from the loose grip of his lover’s hand, lazily moved his upper body a little once more, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, gently nuzzling his neck. He heard the angel’s giggle as his tongue tickled the sensitive skin, taking in the familiar scent of cologne, old but well- preserved books and sweet cocoa, and Crowley couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Not even before the Fall. Not even among the stars.
