There was suddenly something actively tickling his nose, warm and fuzzy, and no doubt the fault of the - there was no doubt about it, Crowley was cuddling - distinctly male-shaped being lying against him. Aziraphale opened his eyes to look at it and saw the red multi-pattern of...

"Tartan," he whispered, pulling Crowley closer with a second deep sigh, and brushed his lips against his forehead. One hand rubbed slow, deep circles along the demon's thigh, the connection as comforting as the stubborn entanglement of limbs.