#oh my gosh my heart
[prompt: eggs]
“I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”
“What?” Aziraphale half-laughed, rising up from his naked sprawl just enough to look at Crowley – equally naked, and equally sprawled, but at the other end of the bed.
“’S romantic,” Crowley said, waving a hand vaguely. “Want to do all that romantic bollocks with you now.”
“My dear,” Aziraphale said, flopping back down, because his well cultivated image of softness did, infact, go more than skin deep, and holding a stomach crunch was somewhat uncomfortable (which was precisely the reason he avoided them). “Do you even know how to cook?”
Obviously Crowley didn’t know how to cook. He made some dismissive noises. “Go on. I’ll make you a full English, or croissants from scratch. Whatever you want.”
“Mmm,” Aziraphale said. “Why don’t we start with something simpler.” Food didn’t tend to be one of those things you could assume into existence.
“All right, then,” Crowley said, clearly too fucked out to be a nuisance about it. “How do you like your eggs?”
Aziraphale let out a soft breath of a laugh. He heaved himself up and over to Crowley’s end of the bed.
“Deviled, of course,” he said, and kissed Crowley on the nose, before flopping down on top of him with a contented hum.
