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“Don’t laugh,” Aziraphale said crossly.
“Oy, I’m not laughing.”
“You’re smiling as if you want to laugh.”
“Only because I’m not used to seeing this.” Curious, Crowley circled his angel, who stood beside the bed in a dressing gown with his arms crossed. “You’ve got terrific bedhead.”
Aziraphale sighed and tried to smooth his curls with one hand. It briefly flattened, then sprang right back up as soon as he let go. “Is that better?”
All this time, Crowley had been trying not to laugh. He failed, a snort of laughter escaping before he wrangled himself back under control. “No, angel. It’s really not.”
“Oh, bother.” Aziraphale patted it a few more times, then apparently gave up. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas for how to fix it? Can I just brush it?”
“Nnnh.” Grinning, Crowley patted the top of Aziraphale’s head and ruffled his fingers through the soft fluff. It really was sticking up absolutely everywhere. “Honestly, I think you look pretty bloody just adorable like this.”
“Crowley! You’re not helpful.”
“I know,” Crowley agreed cheerfully.
“You awful old serpent.” But Aziraphale was smiling now, and no longer looked like he was about to flip out. “I’m not quite certain if sleep is worth it, really. What did you call this, bedroom head?”
Crowley managed not to laugh, then took Aziraphale’s hand. “Something like that, yeah. Wanna take a bath together? Could just wet your hair down and brush it, but…”
“Oh, a bath together really does sound like so much more fun.” Hair still sticking up everywhere, Aziraphale leaned over for a slow, tender kiss. “Thank you, my dear. You always know just how to cheer me up.”
“‘Course I do.” Still amused, Crowley led Aziraphale to the bathroom. “It’s my job as your husband, after all.”