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It had all happened so quickly.
The evening had started out normally enough, if your definition of normal includes an angel and a demon frequenting their second concert of the week in December of 1975. Crowley had insisted upon seeing Queen on Thursday, having been adamant that Aziraphale would “love them”, and Aziraphale had agreed - contingent upon Crowley agreeing to go and see Elton John with him on Saturday.
Unbeknownst to Crowley, ‘Zira and Elton were quite good friends; good enough that Aziraphale called him “Elton” and Elton called him “Zira”. They were such good friends, in fact, that they got to watch the show from backstage, where there was an impressive array of nibbles. Crowley enjoyed the nibbles, but he did not enjoy Elton - the show nor just how chummy he seemed to be with Aziraphale.
While the two of them spoke animatedly and Aziraphale complimented him on his latest stage costume (which made sense, Crowley supposed, since they were both walking fashion faux pas), Crowley found himself feeling something... gnawingly familiar. It took him a few minutes and several mini quiches to figure it out, but he eventually got there.
This was Oscar Wilde all over again. Honestly, you take one century-long nap and suddenly your best fri- your adversary has a new best fri- ...acquaintance. Although, Aziraphale and Wilde had certainly been more than just “acquaintances”. Were he and Elton more-than-acquaintances, too? It wouldn’t have surprised Crowley. Musicians rarely gave back-stage passes to just anyone.
Gritting his teeth, his serpentine tongue threatening to flick out with irritation, Crowley began to realize that he was jealous. He was jealous of how easily this flash-bastard-in-sunglasses was able to coax a smile from Aziraphale and make him laugh. He was supposed to be the only flash-bastard-in-sunglasses who got to do that. Really, that’s probably the best explanation for why Crowley did what he did next.
He fainted. He full-on passed-the-fuck-out, and he made a grand show of it, too. He’d been clutching a flute of fizzing pink champagne which just-so-happened to splatter all over Elton’s elaborate, sparkling white costume when he pitched forward, the glass shattering on the floor as it fell from his grip. He also landed square in Aziraphale’s arms.
Elton had thrown a fit over his ruined costume, as he was known to do over the slightest inconvenience back then, but Aziraphale had been too stunned to even splutter out an apology before the diva stormed off. He and Crowley weren’t human; they didn’t faint. Not unless something was seriously wrong with their corporation.
(Did crippling jealousy which induced a splitting headache and a pounding heart count as “seriously wrong”? If so, then yes, something was seriously wrong with Crowley’s corporation.)
When Crowley finally came to, he realized three things: 1) that he was most definitely in the backseat of the Bentley, if the roof he was staring at was any indication; 2) his sunglasses had been pushed up into his hair, which explained why the pale moonlight was making his slit-like pupils dilate; and 3) he was sprawled out over said backseat with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, the angel’s fingers gently combing through his hair. Okay, Crowley realized four things when he finally came to, the fourth being that Aziraphale doing that to his hair felt bloody marvelous.
“What in H- Heav- ugh. What in Somewhere’s name happened?”
“Ah, you’re finally awake,” Aziraphale mused when he realized that Crowley had rejoined the land of the living, but he didn’t stop toying with his hair. After dragging Crowley’s unconscious corporation out to the Bentley, he’d sat like this with him for a good hour-and-a-half while he waited for him to wake up. In that time, he’d come to the realization that the demon had exceptionally soft hair.
Realizing that the aforementioned demon was waiting on an answer, Aziraphale cleared his throat before explaining, “You fainted... straight into my arms.”
“I what?” Crowley squeaked, his yellow eyes widening, and Aziraphale exhaled a rather breathless chuckle. Truth be told, even now that Crowley was awake, he was still worried. This was hardly normal behaviour.
“You fainted, my dear. I was in the middle of telling Elton how frequently I’ve listened to ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’ since his latest record came out, and the next thing I knew your nose was smashing into my chest and I was the only thing keeping you from hitting the ground.”
Cracking the smallest of smiles, Aziraphale teased, “You know, if you wanted my attention, dear boy, you didn’t have to go to such extremes. We’ll certainly never get back-stage passes again after your little performance.”
Aziraphale had no idea how close he came to hitting the nail on the head regarding Crowley fainting “to get [his] attention”, and the demon clamped his jaw shut to keep from doing something stupid, like saying so aloud. Aziraphale’s smile slipped as quickly as it appeared, though, and he quietly added, “You gave me quite a fright.”
“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, not putting much inflection into the sentiment, and he felt his eyes flutter shut of their own volition as Aziraphale’s fingers began combing through his hair again. Despite his best efforts, a tiny noise of enjoyment escaped him.
“Are you feeling quite alright? I’ve never seen you faint before. If there’s something wrong with your corporation... Well, perhaps you should contact your superiors-”
Scoffing at the notion, Crowley shook his head, finally forcing himself to sit up, righting his sunglasses as he did so. Once they were safely back on his nose, obscuring his eyes from view, Crowley stated, “It’s nothing. ‘M fine, angel, really. Just haven’t slept in a few days; y’know, what with the concerts. This body’s used to sleeping. I guess I sort of... crashed.”
“Well, come here, then.”
Blinking behind the thick lenses of his sunglasses, Crowley furrowed his brow as he looked over at the angel sitting beside him. They were parked a few metres away from a street lamp, and Crowley found himself noticing for the first time since regaining consciousness that Aziraphale was basked in a sort of... glow, both from the street lamp and the moonlight shining down from high above. If you looked at him just right, his halo was almost visible; it was always more palpable at night, when the sunlight wasn’t there to obstruct it.
“What?” Crowley finally asked, the response rather delayed, and he gave his head a shake when Aziraphale opened his arms and beckoned him forward. “Nuh. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you back and then go home - unless you want to stay?”
He refrained from making a snide remark about Elton, but oh, how he wanted to.
“You are the one who’s being ridiculous, my dear. If you ‘crash’ while you’re driving, then we crash, quite literally. I don’t know about you, but I rather like this body. I think I’d like to keep it a while longer.”
“It’sssssss a nice body,” Crowley agreed, awkwardly clearing his throat to clarify, “Y’know... by human standards. Blond isssssss... pretty.”
To Crowley’s surprise, the angel didn’t snort at the compliment(s); rather, he looked to be... quite chuffed by them.
“Oh, come here, you silly goose,” Aziraphale sighed, smiling as he took Crowley’s hand and gave it a tug - with an unrelenting amount of Angelic Force. Instantly, he found himself with his face pressed once again to his Adversary’s chest, which was remarkably comfortable despite the hideous tartan sweater currently covering it. As soon as the angel’s arms wound around him, he forgot himself, melting into the embrace like a snake unraveling from being tightly coiled.
“There, now,” Aziraphale hummed, giving Crowley a small squeeze. “Get some proper rest. I’ll wake you when the sun comes up and I want to go home.”
Crowley didn’t need to be told twice. Being wrapped up in Aziraphale’s arms, and subsequently in his Angelic Grace, wasn’t unpleasant (like it should have been) but rather felt like being swaddled in a warm blanket (which it definitely shouldn’t have been). He was asleep within seconds, breathing softly against the angel’s chest.
To tell you the truth, Aziraphale didn’t really mind all that much that his conversation with Elton was cut short. An evening spent with Crowley, no matter what they did, was always an evening well spent.