Crowley does dream when he sleeps well. Long sleeps, fitful sleeps, they don't produce dreams. But tonight, when his eyes finally slip shut as he's looking at the angel in his arms, he dreams.
He dreams of the stars. Of growing stars from his hands, of stretching them out, pulling them up from the ground and putting them into place. He dreams of building a universe. He dreams of creating stars in the shape of a very particular cherubic face, and blue stars the same shade as an angel's eyes. It's been a long time since he's dreamed of what his life as an angel was like----he can easily chalk that up to being close to Aziraphale, being in his arms.
He blinks his eyes open as sunlight streams into the bedroom.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-11-29 01:33 am (UTC)He dreams of the stars. Of growing stars from his hands, of stretching them out, pulling them up from the ground and putting them into place. He dreams of building a universe. He dreams of creating stars in the shape of a very particular cherubic face, and blue stars the same shade as an angel's eyes. It's been a long time since he's dreamed of what his life as an angel was like----he can easily chalk that up to being close to Aziraphale, being in his arms.
He blinks his eyes open as sunlight streams into the bedroom.
"Angel?"