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4 for Crowley/Aziraphale?
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4: neck kisses
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He's still giddy with it, all these weeks later. All of it. Earth, safe. Freedom won. Bookshop still standing.
Aziraphale.
Aziraphale, stirring awake beside him of a morning. Aziraphale soft and bleary over his tea as they wake up together. Aziraphale dusting and writing in his diary (there are hearts around every instance of Crowley's name in the recent entries, he's checked) and shooing the occasional customer before they can develop the impression that he actually sells books and peering through the window at Nina and Maggie, finally, tentatively getting their act together. Makes perfect sense, now that they've got a good example to follow.
Aziraphale existing. Just like he always has. Still fluffy-haired and soft and a perfect warm ray of angelic sunshine. In the same space as Crowley. In the same universe. He's so lucky. He's so lucky they're here and he doesn't care what it took to arrive. It was all worth it.
He's on his feet before he really decides to get up, striding across the bookshop, slotting himself seamlessly into Aziraphale's space.
"Crowley?" he asks. But it's not a squeak now, like it would have been once. There's curiosity in the curve of that question, and anticipation, too.
Crowley bends, just a little, and presses a kiss just above his miraculously neat collar.
Aziraphale giggles. Giggles.
He's so good. Everything about him. Crowley loves him so much.
"What was that for?" Aziraphale asks, a blush rising to his cherubic cheeks.
"That was for you," Crowley says, hooking his chin over Aziraphale's shoulder, draping himself over him. "For existing."
"I've existed a very long time," Aziraphale says.
"You have, haven't you?" Crowley smiles, and then turns his head to brush another kiss over Aziraphale's neck. "I'd better start catching up."