un_fallen | (no subject)

(no subject)

Morning sunlight creeps gently through a crack between the curtains, illuminating a table, a comfortable-looking chair, a soft rug on the floor. And somehow, it manages to seek out the one position in the room where it can sweetly illuminate a single, peacefully slumbering face.

"Mngk."

He squints without actually opening his eyes, and flails slightly in discomfort. One hand makes contact with something very close by that's solid and faintly warm. Unthinking, Raguel rolls toward it and buries his head in the corner between Warm Thing and the mattress, escaping the nefarious sunbeam.

That's better.

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"You're never too old to try something new."

"I'm set in my ways," he says loftily.

"Anyway, I'm not used to this at all. I mean, I have a bed, but it's not like I sleep in it."

Raised eyebrows speak louder than words.

Raguel is oblivious to any suggestions implied by this. As usual.

"Sleep's just not something that generally appeals to me," he grumbles.

"I sort of... fell into the habit. Crowley's fault."

"Hm," he says in his best 'disapproving' voice.

"And you're sure you want to wake him up? Sounds like a bad influence."

"Yes." Very serious, just for a moment. Naturally it doesn't last for long.

"He may be a bad influence, but he's my bad influence. And I can't say I'm particularly against being persuaded into some revoltingly indulgent dessert at the Ritz, on occasion."

"I don't know," he says, grinning.

"You're aware of what they put in those things, right?"

"Crowley takes great amusement in telling me, but I really don't care a jot. It's not as though they'll do me any harm now, is it?"

"I guess not," he allows. "It could be worse. You could have been badgered into smoking."

"Ha. Pot, and indeed, kettle."

"Hey, I'm dragging nobody with me into my dark pit of vice."

"...you have a dark pit of vice?"

He laughs, louder than he'd meant.

"I don't think even Crowley has one of those, you know. If he pesters you to borrow it, be sure that it's returned in the condition it was lent."

"It's not that dark." He sounds just a little embarrassed.

"More... murky, I think. Smoky. I doubt it would meet his standards."

"It's probably for the best," Aziraphael tells him reassuringly. "You don't want to encourage him."

"Oh, of course not." He clears his throat, going for 'prim,' but that expression just doesn't seem to fit on Raguel's face.

"Except I did let him show me how to fight dirty, the other day. Think that counts?"

Aziraphael sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Of course it counts. I'd expected better of you, Raguel. If you two are going to be playing together I will be hoping for a better example set, in future."

He tries to keep his laugher silent, but doesn't quite manage it. It's relatively quiet, anyway.

"Afraid you might be disappointed there," he says when he can speak again. "Like I said. Bad influence."

"When he wakes up."

But his voice is a little more serene than before. Because he will.

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