Milliways Fluff: A/C
Aziraphael leaned back against the counter, and sipped his tea, and watched Crowley. It really was one of his favourite things to do - not just because Crowley was, when it came down to it, really rather attractive, but because of the faces he pulled when he believed himself to be unobserved.
The demon had entirely too much control. It was enormously frustrating to know that he knew precisely how he looked at every moment, and that he had planned it for greatest effect. To know that he hadn't quite relaxed, in your company.
It was also frustrating that he never smiled. He smirked, sneered, sniggered and snorted, crooked the corner of his mouth slightly in a way that was both intensely annoying and... well, prompted thoughts that Aziraphael really wasn't supposed to have... but he never seemed to smile. There was never honesty in his expression. Which was only to be expected, in all probability.
But these moments when he believed himself to be unobserved were what the angel particularly liked. When he reacted to a book and not to the the knowledge of his audience, or when he was completely absorbed, as he was now, in a crossword at the kitchen table. He was staring at the clues, unseeing, chewing absentmindedly on his lip and tapping his pen against the edge of the newspaper, an inverted constellation of inky black stars.
Aziraphael smiled, slightly.
And Crowley looked up, and caught him looking, and smiled back
The demon had entirely too much control. It was enormously frustrating to know that he knew precisely how he looked at every moment, and that he had planned it for greatest effect. To know that he hadn't quite relaxed, in your company.
It was also frustrating that he never smiled. He smirked, sneered, sniggered and snorted, crooked the corner of his mouth slightly in a way that was both intensely annoying and... well, prompted thoughts that Aziraphael really wasn't supposed to have... but he never seemed to smile. There was never honesty in his expression. Which was only to be expected, in all probability.
But these moments when he believed himself to be unobserved were what the angel particularly liked. When he reacted to a book and not to the the knowledge of his audience, or when he was completely absorbed, as he was now, in a crossword at the kitchen table. He was staring at the clues, unseeing, chewing absentmindedly on his lip and tapping his pen against the edge of the newspaper, an inverted constellation of inky black stars.
Aziraphael smiled, slightly.
And Crowley looked up, and caught him looking, and smiled back