in which crowley likes cats and aziraphale doesn’t
[Read on AO3]
“Um, Crowley? Could you come here a moment, dear?”
“Coming, angel,” Crowley popped into the back room, mug of hot cocoa for Aziraphale in one hand and mug of tea for himself in the other. “What seems to be the, oh.”
Aziraphale was staring at his chair in the corner of his back room, his comfy reading chair with the distressed leather seat and warm blanket tossed haphazardly across the back. More accurately, he was staring at what was in the chair. That being a small black cat, blessedly asleep and purring absently. Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley expectantly.
Crowley handed Aziraphale his mug and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that appears to be a cat.”
“I know what a cat is, Crowley, I was there when they were created. Why is there one in my chair?” Aziraphale gave Crowley a rather stern look.
Crowley scratched at the back of his head, “Ngh, well, you see, um, the thing is- really I mean it’s quite a long story, and-”
“Crowley?”
“It was cold this morning,” Crowley said, “I found her sleeping up under the wheel of the Bentley.”
“So you pulled her out,” Aziraphale said mildly, “and then you brought her here, to my book shop, where I don’t allow pets.”
“She’s not a pet,” Crowley insisted, “she’s just a stray.”
“You checked for an owner, then?”
Crowley said nothing, looking a little guilty.
“Crowley!”
Crowley put his hands up defensively, tea sloshing out over the rim of his mug. “Well I wasn’t just going to leave her there while I went inside to check the lost and found pets Facebook page now was I?”
Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “My dear-”
“Look I know how you feel about them, but just give me a couple of days to see if she has an owner and if not I’ll turn her over to the humane society, alright?”
Aziraphale gave a long suffering sigh. “Fine, but get it off my chair.”
Crowley put down his tea, mostly forgotten by this point, on Aziraphale’s desk and approached the chair. He made a small noise, crouching down. The cat blinked its eyes open, making an inquisitive ‘mrrp’ noise. “Hello darling,” Aziraphale heard Crowley say very quietly, quite possibly quiet enough he wasn’t meant to hear. The rest of his words were mumbled as he outstretched his hand. The cat stared at Crowley and then at his hand before deciding he wasn’t a threat. Crowley scratched her chin and then bundled her up in his arms. “...good…you…”
“You know,” Crowley said, standing up with the cat cradled to his chest, “Cats are good for catching mice.”
“So are snakes,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley carried the cat out of the room, muttering too low for Aziraphale to hear, but the tone of it was fond.
*
That night in bed, the cat safely tucked away downstairs and away from Aziraphale’s things, Aziraphale let his hand trail fondly up and down Crowley’s spine. “I didn’t even know you liked cats.” He said into Crowley’s temple.
Crowley huffed against his neck, eyelashes fluttering along the sensitive skin. “Clever creatures,” Crowley said, “Smart, independent; not like a dog that needs you to be there for it every minute of the day. They domesticated themselves, you know that? Bloody smart, clever little things. Why don’t you like them?” Crowley poked his bony finger into Aziraphale’s sternum, making him grunt.
“They shed,” Aziraphale said, “and they make a mess. They’re noisy and they tear things up when you don’t pay them enough mind. They’re spiteful. I get enough of that taking care of you.”
“Hey!”
Aziraphale patted Crowley’s shoulder, kissed his temple and the top of his head. “Not that I mind, with you.” He added.
Crowley grumbled, kicking his leg over Aziraphale’s hip and pulling him closer.
Aziraphale rubbed his knuckles over the vertebrae in Crowley’s spine, more there than a regular humans, pressing his palm down flat when he came across a cluster of scales at the base. Crowley dug closer in, like he was trying to press them impossibly closer. It was endearing. Aziraphale smiled into his hairline, trailing kisses over the parts of skin he could reach.
“Angel, let me sleep.”
“I’m not stopping you.” Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over smooth black scales until Crowley shivered.
Crowley pulled his head back, annoyed. “You are, with your,” he made a vague noise.
Aziraphale stilled his hands, “Would you like me to stop?”
“Yes,” Crowley said, then furrowed his eyebrows, “No. I don’t know. Just let me sleep.”
“Alright.” Aziraphale wound his fingers in the hair at the back of Crowley’s head to pull him back down against his neck.
Crowley sighed and slumped against him, fingers digging into Aziraphale’s silk pajama top. He was quiet for long enough Aziraphale thought he’d fallen asleep until he said, “The black ones get adopted less, you know?”
“Hm?”
“The black cats,” Crowley mumbled, “People don’t want them. Think they’re bad luck. She might stay in a cage, angel, if I give her up.”
Aziraphale groaned, clutching Crowley closer. “Not this,” Aziraphale clucked his tongue, irritated, “we’re not keeping it. Go to sleep.”
“Angel-”
“My love,” Aziraphale’s hand slipped down to Crowley’s bare hip, “sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Fine,” Crowley mumbled, and finally drifted off to sleep.
*
Crowley breezed into the shop about midday, scarf tucked around his face and jacket zipped all the way up. He shoved his gloves into his pockets with a viciousness they didn’t deserve before unwinding the scarf. “Bloody winter ,” He spat.
“Any luck?” Aziraphale asked, taking his scarf to hang up in the back room.
Outside, the streets of London were covered in a fine bit of sleet. The view from Aziraphale’s shop window was a dismal gray, the sidewalk outside a dirty brown. The ice was barely enough to keep customers from invading his shop, though now with Crowley back Aziraphale decided to close early and flipped the sign to closed.
Crowley locked the door for him, unzipping his jacket enough to pull the damned cat out from against his chest.
The pink collar about its neck was not an encouraging sign.
“She’s not chipped,” Crowley said, putting the cat down on the ground and scratching behind its ear, “and no one around Mayfair is missing a black cat. Best guess is that she’s a stray.”
“Hmm,” Aziraphale eyed the cat winding around Crowley’s feet. “Best take her to the humane society then.”
Crowley’s face fell, “Angel-”
“No,” Aziraphale shook his head, “Crowley, no. You said you’d take it to the humane society if you couldn’t find an owner.”
“You’ll barely even notice she’s around, angel,” Crowley said as the cat hopped up on a bookshelf.
Aziraphale eyed the creature with barely contained disdain. “I sincerely doubt that, my dear.”
“Aziraphale,” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling them snug together.
“You’re not going to sweet talk your way out of this one,” Aziraphale said, “I’ve made my mind up.”
Crowley pressed a firm kiss to Aziraphale’s neck and then trailed up to his jaw, tracing the skin with his tongue. “Aziraphale,” He said again, softly, squeezing the angel’s waist, “angel.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale said in warning.
Crowley hummed, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck with his nose, pulling up to kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
Aziraphale, stubborn to a fault but ever unable to deny Crowley anything, softened. He sighed, slumping into Crowley’s hold. “You’ve already named it, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Crowley murmured, “her name is Salem.”
Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in disgust. “It’s not sleeping in the bed.” He said.
Crowley tilted his head back and laughed.
*
Crowley was asleep on the couch, as he ever was when Aziraphale had inventory to do. Aziraphale sat as he desk, papers spread out ahead of him, glasses perched on the edge of his nose as a cup of tea went cold beside him. He cross referenced two of his sheets and heard the jingle of a collar. He looked up to see the cat dart into the room. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes as the creature hopped up onto Crowley’s sleeping stomach, turning to watch him with its bright eyes.
“Right then,” He said, “you stay there.”
The room was warm, courtesy of a little space heater Crowley had brought over from his flat. It was unseasonably cold for early winter so Crowley didn’t go anywhere without a jumper and his space heater. Aziraphale shrugged out of his jacket and went to hang it up on the coat rack. He turned back around and the cat had taken up residence in his chair.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said.
“Wazza?” Crowley turned his head, blinking sleepy eyes in confusion at Aziraphale.
“Your cat,” Aziraphale said, pointing at his chair.
“S’za cat, angel,” Crowley mumbled, closing his eyes, “just move her.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again. They both politely pretended it wasn’t a whine.
Crowley sighed and swung himself up off the couch. He stared down at the cat in Aziraphale’s desk chair, making eye contact with the little beast. After a beat, he said, “Get down.”
The cat started purring.
Crowley pointed his finger at it. “Down, now.”
The cat batted at his finger, purring louder.
Crowley turned around and shrugged at Aziraphale. “Nothing I can do, angel,” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek on his way out of the room, “I’m going upstairs to sleep in the bed. Feed Salem before you come up.”
“I-”
Crowley was up the stairs before Aziraphale could raise a complaint. Aziraphale turned back to the cat, holding it’s gaze. “Right then,” He said, gathering up his papers to do in the kitchen.
*
“I said,” Aziraphale mumbled against Crowley’s chest, “the cat doesn’t sleep in the bed.”
Crowley chuckled into Aziraphale’s hair. The cat was pressed up against Crowley’s other side, blessedly asleep and purring loudly. Crowley ran his hand over Aziraphale’s shoulders and back soothingly. “It was cold downstairs, angel.”
“The two of you test me.”
“You like her.” Crowley teased, “you like me.”
“Sometimes I wonder why.”
Crowley pinched Aziraphale’s side, making him yelp. The cat picked its head up in annoyance, hissing at them. Crowley made a shushing noise. “Don’t get sassy.” He pulled Aziraphale closer, mumbling exasperatedly, “Teenagers.”
Aziraphale huffed out a breath, amused.
The cat settled back down, a black void amongst their white bedding. Crowley settled a hand in her fur, rubbing absently. Crowley was almost asleep, pliant underneath him. Aziraphale pressed a wet kiss to the center of his chest.
“I guess she can stay,” He said, “but just for tonight.”
“Of course angel,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale could feel his lips press to the top of his head, “just for tonight.”
*
“Shut up.”
Crowley tried to hide his grin, hanging up his coat. “Why, whatever do you mean?” He asked.
Aziraphale gave him a dirty look. He was sat in his favorite chair, book in hand, cat in his lap. “Not a word, Crowley, I mean it.”
Crowley huffed out something that might have been a laugh and crossed the room to sit on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair. “I’d sit in your lap,” he said, “but that seat seems rather occupied at the moment.”
Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the back of his neck to kiss him, biting at his lips and making him groan. When Aziraphale pulled away Crowley looked down at him a little dazed. “She’s warm.” Aziraphale said, in way of explanation.
Crowley hummed, nosing at Aziraphale’s curls, reaching down to pet a hand down Salem’s back. “You like her,” Crowley said, voice full of honeyed warmth.
“We have an understanding.” Aziraphale corrected, tilting his head up.
Crowley brushed their lips together. “An arrangement of sorts?”
“Oh do shut up.”
