England's pleasant pastures seen

Crowley drifted into consciousness to the muted sounds of London morning traffic. He shifted a little on the old-fashioned down-filled mattress; he still wasn't entirely used to Aziraphale's bed, which was no where near as big or luxurious as the one in his own flat. But there were some perks to it, namely the warm body resting beside him. He smiled lazily as a hand ran through his hair, and he finally opened his golden eyes to look at Aziraphale lying next to him, cast in the gentle glow of the early morning sun."Good morning, my love," Aziraphale said, still stroking Crowley's hair."Morning, angel," he replied, voice thick with sleep.---Crowley takes Aziraphale out for the day and overhears a conversation that melts his heart a little. Just some pointless fluff to brighten your day.