Work Text:
There was no such thing as a good touch in Hell.
Crowley should have been used to it by now, having learned from experience over the millennia to keep his head low and guard up whenever he took a trip Downstairs. But even after all that time, it never really seemed to get any easier on his nerves.
The cramped and crowded halls, with their flickering fluorescent lights that fomented terrible migraines, were claustrophobic. Hordes of demons bumped into him with every step as they shambled along together, towards their next assignment. It was tolerable to an extent, though it made pain shoot through his hips and legs each time he stumbled after being pushed out of the way or—on one memorable occasion—shoved into a filing cabinet.
But that, ultimately, was nothing compared to running into a pissed off Duke of Hell.
See, there was nothing stopping them from grabbing hold of an unsuspecting demon, chaining them up to a wall or the rack, and taking their frustrations out on them because they had nothing better to do. Crowley would know; after all, he was unfortunate enough to have been the unsuspecting demon on many such occasions, and had subsequently been forced to serve as a punching bag until he was nothing more than a twitching pile of limbs and pain.
On those days in particular, he was reminded why he hated touch so vehemently. But then the world failed to end, and everything changed.
Now, he and Aziraphale spent their evenings nestled together on the plush settee in the angel’s backroom. Although it was a bit cramped with all the shelves and teetering piles of books, there were no flickering lights or shambling mass of bodies to push him around here. There was only Aziraphale, with his arm wrapped snuggly around Crowley’s waist, and Crowley leaning into the touch.
They’d been that way for hours, and while Crowley didn’t feel trapped or even particularly crowded, it had gotten to the point where he needed to breathe manually, as deeply and evenly as he could manage in order to keep from hyperventilating. Although, apparently, he hadn’t been doing a very good job.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Aziraphale asked, having noticed the change in Crowley’s breathing. “While you know I don’t mind cuddling, I know you don’t tolerate it very well for long.”
“I’m fine,” assured Crowley, with more force than necessary. “My hips just hurt today, that’s all. We don’t have to stop, I don’t want to stop.”
“Well…” Aziraphale had the grace not to immediately call him out on such an obvious lie. “If you’re sure.”
Crowley nodded. “I’m sure.”
And with that, he leaned more heavily against the angel, plastering himself to Aziraphale’s side, and closed his eyes. Despite the lingering discomfort prickling at the back of his mind, he willed his rigid form to relax.
But old habits died hard, and Crowley flinched when, without warning, Aziraphale shifted his weight and settled into a more comfortable position. In an instant, Crowley’s eyes snapped open, his already harsh breaths turned into unproductive gasps, and his body tensed up like a coil ready to spring into flight at any second.
“I knew you weren’t alright.” Aziraphale loosened his grip, pulling away enough to allow Crowley an exit if he wished to escape. “Oh, Crowley, why didn’t you tell me you were feeling overwhelmed? Shhh, dearest, breathe. You’re safe, just breathe.”
Crowley gasped, searching the angel’s face wildly in his panic. Steady, pale blue eyes met his unwaveringly, acting as a lighthouse in the midst of a raging storm. Normally, any form of eye contact while in such a panicked state added to his agitation, but it seemed to have the opposite effect this time around.
Instead, his breaths gradually slowed into something that weren’t quite gasps but also couldn’t be defined as regular, before finally evening out. His heart rate soon followed, calming until it no longer felt in fear of beating out of his chest.
“I’m okay now, angel.” Still shuddering, Crowley gave a thick swallow before daring to speak again. “Really. I should’ve told you I needed a break, but I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want to stop.”
With a steadying breath, he eased back into place against Aziraphale’s side, pillowing his head on the angel’s well-padded shoulder. He very nearly flinched again when an arm came back around him, assuming the same position it had before, but managed to stop it by snuggling closer, curling into the warmth and safety he knew Aziraphale’s arms offered.
It would take time for him to get used to this kind of treatment, but it would no doubt get easier now that they had all the time in the world to hold each other.