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Snow Angel

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Like all people, Crowley had his observant moments. For instance, when it came to one adorable, plump, excitable, stuffy waiter at a retro diner, he was Sherlock fucking Holmes. With just the tiniest hint of desire, Crowley would turn into a bloodhound and sniff out whatever it was Aziraphale wanted, just to see the angelic man smile. (It didn’t hurt that his job had given him an abundance of experience with giving people exactly what they wanted.) It was like winning a game of some kind, especially given that Aziraphale detested outright asking for something. Rather, there were clues in his body language or tone of voice that Crowley would have to spend hours or sometimes a day or two deciphering until he got the correct message. So, when it came to Aziraphale, Crowley was incredibly observant.

With the weather, however, not so much.

It was a combination of these two scenarios that had him slipping through several inches of snow with an elegantly tied cake box tucked safely under his arm. He cursed the sky and Heaven and everything in between as he walked.

He didn’t care for the snow at all. As thin as he was, he was more susceptible to cold weather and dampness made him sore, but Aziraphale had mentioned this particular type of cake and how much he longed for a piece and Crowley longed for that delighted smile that Aziraphale gifted him with whenever he brought him a present. Correction: the right present.

Crowley cursed. His shoes were soaked through and he was losing feeling in his toes.

He paused in front of the diner, lingering in the shadow of a nearby building. From this viewpoint, the neon pink of the open sign was casting a gentle glow on the white snow. The booths at the window were empty, and much like the night of the rain storm there appeared to be no one other than Newt and Aziraphale inside, only this time his angel was standing behind the counter cleaning something while Newt swished back and forth on one of the stools. The street outside was silent but for the falling snow and the wind blowing, giving Crowley a moment to just observe.

There were things they didn’t talk about. Everything they’d done so far was light and casual. They didn’t mention Aziraphale’s ex, who apparently helped program the man to believe he was unlovable. They didn’t talk about Crowley’s slightly sketchy employment or what Aziraphale did when he wasn’t at the diner other than ‘run a bookshop that doesn’t sell books’. And then there was the matter of Aziraphale’s body language. Even now, as he finished whatever he was doing behind the counter and went into the kitchen, disappearing from Crowley’s sight, there was a reserv-retic- held backishness to his movements that closed him off from other people. Oh, he did a great job at pretending to be open and friendly, but there was something that always suggested other people keep their distance. It made Crowley want to chip away at those barriers.

A naughty idea occurred to him and set his lips twitching into a smile.

He took a step forward and tilted his head to the side, considering how he might get Newt to help him with it.

Even though Crowley was not a huge fan of the snow, Aziraphale was probably one of those sappy types who thought it was romantic and other sickeningly cute notions. If Crowley could just get him outside, they could do something like one of those romance movies. Like make a snow angel or, or-


Icy wetness glued itself to the sensitive flesh of Crowley’s neck, melting down into one of his ears. He was shocked to the core and it took him a moment to process what had happened. Then, he heard the giggle.

At the end of the alley between the two buildings stood Aziraphale, bundled up in a khaki colored coat with a warm tartan scarf around his throat, giggling to himself. He was forming snow into a ball between his palms, tan leather gloves keeping his fingers nice and toasty.

Never let it be said that Crowley didn’t give Aziraphale his every blessed desire. If the angel wanted a snowball battle, he’d get the best snowball battle there ever was.


“Dear boy,” Aziraphale laughed, shaking wet snowflakes from his downy curls. His cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and his eyes shone in the golden glow of the streetlamp. They were both freezing cold and soaked to the bone, but they were both grinning like lovesick loons. “You had a box. Wherever did it go?”

“Ahh, oh, s’over there,” Crowley said, pointing to where he’d abandoned the dessert he’d been so proud to acquire. “You said you wanted-”

“You remembered,” Aziraphale gasped sweetly as the logo on the box registered. “Oh, you absolute darling.”

Crowley shrugged, trying to keep his cool. “Eh, s’nothing, angel. I finished up work a bit earlier than usual and thought, well, I’m already out-”

Two strong yet soft hands gripped Crowley’s coat, pulling him roughly until their bodies were flush together. As the snow continued to sprinkle down around them, like a scene from a snowglobe, with the neon lights of the diner behind them and the streetlight overhead, Aziraphale pressed his lips to Crowley’s. It took a moment for Crowley’s frozen brain to register that the angel was here, in his arms, kissing him, but as soon as he was able to kick back online he sent messages to his arms, one to wrap around his waist and the other to reach up and cup his soft jaw. Aziraphale made a happy noise in the back of his throat.

“My dear, I’m still on shift,” Aziraphale murmured against Crowley’s lips eventually. “Shall we go inside and get warm? Perhaps get you a hot cocoa?”

“Coffee,” Crowley told him with a grin. He pecked a kiss to Aziraphale’s cold cheek. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

“Of course, dear boy. After you.”