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[un_fallen]

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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[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"You know, he won't thank you for that."

Aziraphael's voice is tired, more than anything, still with hairline threads of stress running through it - but there's a healthy dose of amusement there, too.

[un_fallen]

Early afternoon. Raguel's got his head propped on one arm, doing his best to appear casual. Somebody's stomach rumbles menacingly in the silence.

"Um. Sorry," he says, suspecting it was his.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

There's a lamp burning by the side of the bed; winter afternoons never last nearly long enough but it always seems faintly off-kilter to think of fourish as 'evening'.

Aziraphael yawns widely, sliding a little further under the covers and tucking himself in closer to Crowley.

"Repetition, my serve. Or do you object?"

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael assumes every room he stays in to have certain necessities. Curtains, bed, easy chair, at least three clothes hangers (one of which is always inexplicably half under the bed), and tea. Whatever would the world be coming to, if there were no tea?

The Universe has yet to disappoint him.

Admittedly, he didn't actually get out of bed to make said tea. It might just have assembled itself helpfully on the bedside table. However, the accoutrements were in place, therefore the principle is sound; and he really wasn't ready to leave Crowley, just yet.

He takes a contented sip and rests the cup back on his blanket-covered chest.

[aj_crawley]

Somewhat embarrassingly, it'd been the rumbling of Crowley's stomach that had woken all three of them, sometime around midnight. He'd almost raised a groggy protest, when Aziraphael had slid out from the under the blankets and insisted on going to quickly fetch something to eat, but -

Well. He really is starving.

Conversationally, to Raguel:

"You know."

Pause.

Oh yeah.

"'F I wasn't still sssemi-delirious, this'd prob'ly be pretty awkward."