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“You know, uhm, Crowley, I was thinking that that beard doesn’t really suit you, you know? Aziraphale began, fiddling with his hands nervously as he paced the small bookshop. Crowley sat perched on a chair, feet kicked up on a first edition copy of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. Aziraphale had let it go. He didn’t really like that Whitman fellow much anyhow.
“What d’you mean? A rugged lumberjack straight out of those awful hipster magazines? Angel, it is the look of cenciet this decade,” Crowley said, tilting the wine bottle back as he drank the rest sloppily. Aziraphale eyed the bit of wine that spilt over, disappearing into the facial hair. He tried not to think about it running down his throat. Aziraphale cleared his throat. Best not to think of such things, not now.
“Look, I’m just saying, go for a bit of that ah, what’s that gentleman’s name? The double oh seven-”
“Eugh, I always knew you had a thing for John Dee back in the sixteenth century. Why are you so obsessed with his ‘cultural legacy’ anyways?” Crowley said derisively.
“I haven’t even thought of him in over a century. You’re the one who keeps bringing him up, almost as if...as if you’re jealous,” Aziraphale said, feeling his hands get clammy. Really, what was it with this physical vessel and getting so nervous all the time? Especially around a demon? Well. That figured. They were technically on opposing sides, afterall.
“Fine, but if you shave my beard then I get to do something to your whole dandy look. Deal?” Crowley said, leaping up from his chair. The chair slammed to the ground with a bang, but Crowley was already hopping about the place.
“Settle down, I need to get my supplies,” Aziraphale commanded, after Crowley had nearly sent another set of books knocking to the ground. He was always so jumpy when they talked about that Dee fellow. He didn’t get it, Mr. Dee had been dead for a long time now, and he was fairly certain he was being tortured in...well, down there at the moment.
“Fine, as you wish,” Crowley said dramatically. He elbowed yet another copy off of a shelf, almost intentionally as he righted the chair and sat back down. Aziraphale disappeared quickly, returning again with a ivory and pale gold shaving kit. He set it on his counter along with a bowl of water.
“Why you got one of those? You’ve never grown facial hair,” Crowley said.
“I have it in case I ever change my mind about my...looks,” Aziraphale smiled hesitantly.
“Pah, as if,” Crowley said, grabbing the towel and tossing it over his shoulders. He settled back in the chair, his eyes half-closed as he followed Aziraphale about the room.
Aziraphale puttered around for a moment, preparing the cream and the straight razor. He glanced at Crowley, frowning. The demon appeared to be blissfully unaware of being watched, his eyes now shut. He was humming a tune, something along the lines of Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. He never understood his fascination with that Queen group. Not that he ever said no to going to a concert with Crowley in the first place. He pursed his lips. How was he going to admit that he only knew how to deal with three day old stubble?
He was open to a miracle. He didn’t want to hurt Crowley, after all. He snapped his fingers and turned away, picking up the razor.
“Yknow, if you wanted to straddle me in a chair you didn’t have to do the whole razor trick,” Crowley teased.
“Oh, no no, that’s ah, not what I wanted to do. I just want to practice shaving on someone else. Yes, that’s all,” Aziraphale rambled. He glanced back. There was the same old demon he knew, just a little bit more scruffy and...rough about the edges. Yes, he would fix him right up.
“Just don’t cut me. Or I’ll have to cut you back,” Crowley said, opening one eye to glare. Aziraphale huffed, waving the blade in front of his face.
“If I wanted to cut you I would of done it a long time ago, now be quiet,” He ordered. Crowley went back to his humming, and Aziraphale set to work.
He began at the least distracting spot, which he decided was his throat. Deftly he slathered Crowley’s face with the cream, dabbing away with the edge of a towel so it wouldn’t get too close to his eyes. The blade flickered in the light as he hesitantly pressed it at the start of Crowley’s scruff. Crowley reminded himself to breathe. It wouldn’t be any good to accidentally cut Crowley if he passed out. Besides, if he was going to cut Crowley, he may as well be awake to enjoy it.
The blade glided upwards, leaving a swathe of bare skin behind it. Carefully, Aziraphale dodged around his adam’s apple, sweeping away to just under the ear. He absently dipped the blade into the bowl of water, watching Crowley’s adam’s apple bob with his swallow. Crowley’s humming continued.
Aziraphale worked across Crowley’s left cheek with care, dabbing the excess cream away and cleaning the blade as he went. He tried to ignore how close he had gotten to Crowley’s face as he focused. He just wanted a good, clean shaven look. It didn’t matter much if he could feel Crowley’s breath against his cheek. That was merely...details.
“You’re rather close for a barber,” Crowley said suddenly, making Aziraphale jump.
“I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to cut you, that’s all,” Aziraphale said. He leaned down again, to prove to Crowley that he wasn’t afraid of him, or anything. He still avoided his eyes, trying not to think about that this was his best friend that he had this blade to his throat.
“Aw, don’t even wanna nick me for old times sake? I’m sure your people would absolutely love-ouch! What was that for?” Crowley yelped.
“You kept moving your mouth,” Aziraphale said, dabbing at the cut on Crowley’s cheek. He glanced at his index finger, the bloom of blood making him feel a bit ill.
“Hurry up and finish, I won’t talk anymore,” Crowley huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Aziraphale bit back a smile. He always enjoyed his fiery temper, even though it oftentimes led him into trouble alongside him. He held the edge of the towel to the cut until it stopped, and then continued with the shave.
In all the things that Aziraphale thought of his best friend, kissing was definitely up there. He chalked it up to familiarity. And, alright, if he had to be pushed to it, it was kinda fun to think of a little rebellious romp with Crowley. He was glad that Crowley had kept his eyes closed, or else he wouldn’t be able to explain away the blush on his cheeks. If he had any advice for the great literary authors of tomorrow, it was to learn that familiarity bred desire, especially if you were both facing eternity and one of you had an aficionado for tight jeans.
“You’re done,” Aziraphale announced, swiping the towel quickly across Crowley’s face before holding up his handheld mirror with a flourish. Crowley sat up, scrutinizing himself in the mirror as he rubbed his jaw.
“Almost good enough to kiss, eh?” Crowley joked, winking at himself in the mirror.
“Well, you always have been good enough to kiss,” Aziraphale said. It was the wine that was making him dangerous. That was all. He turned away, setting the mirror away carefully in it’s velveted case.
“Are you flirting with me, angel?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale cleared his throat.
“Of course not! What would that even cause? I can’t even imagine the paperwork,” Aziraphale laughed.
“‘To whom it may concern, the angel Aziraphale was quite a good lay, and might I say rather well hun--” Crowley began.
“Oh, shush! None of that,” Aziraphale said, clapping his hands over his ears. Crowley reached out and pulled Aziraphale’s hands from his ears, almost tenderly.
“There’s no rush at all, angel. I’m gonna be around for a long, long time, and that means my ass is never gonna quit,” He said, winking.
Aziraphale felt his jaw moving up and down, some part of him knowing that he was trying to talk. Already Crowley had turned away, and no, he didn’t want that. Not again. He reached out, grabbing his arm and whirling him around.
“Finally,” Crowley had time to answer, before Aziraphale crashed into him clumsily. He knew how to kiss of course, Mr. Dee had shown him how. But this was Crowley. Who tasted of aftershave and wine and a bit of brimstone. He felt a sharp pain in his lower lip, and he jerked back in surprise.
“Sorry, fangs,” Crowley said, flushed in embarrassment. Aziraphale touched his bottom lip gently, staring at Crowley for a long moment.
“Do that again,” he said finally. Crowley beamed, a bit of red staining one incisor as he practically pounced on Aziraphale.
Aziraphale nuzzled his nose into the crook of Crowley’s neck. His body hurt, partially from the activities, partially from the bites all over him. He should’ve figured Crowley was a biter, given that he was a snake and all that. Crowley stirred under him, reaching his hands up to run them through Aziraphale’s hair. He leaned into the touch, feeling quite a bit spoiled.
“Was it worth the six thousand year wait?” Crowley asked.
“There was a few other times,” Aziraphale admitted.
“No way. I would’ve remembered ravishing one of God’s favorite angels,” Crowley scoffed.
“We were very drunk, like now, and we just...let the memory go,” Aziraphale said.
“How did we do that? I wish I could forget many things,” Crowley said.
“It’s a miracle, you know,” Aziraphale tapped his temple with forefinger “except I didn’t want to forget, not really. I kinda uh, remembered as we went along.”
“Man, I probably used the same tricks,” Crowley groaned.
“No, I don’t mean I remember specifics, just that I feel like we fit when we do this. You know, a divine plan and all that,” Aziraphale explained, rolling off of Crowley.
“So we’re like a personal porn channel for God?” Crowley asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Don’t be absurd!” Aziraphale chucked a pillow at him.
“What else am I supposed to think? Some ineffable plan let us shag in the perfect way?” Crowley pressed.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Aziraphale rubbed the bridge of his nose, frustrated with how badly he was explaining things.
“I just like you a lot, that’s all, and I like to think that we’re that human expression of soul mates, alright?” Aziraphale burst out. He could feel Crowley staring at him, judging him. “I know it’s a stupid notion, I just always felt this way about you and that’s the only solution I can think of.”
“It could just be that we know each other so well that we’d naturally know how to push each other’s buttons,” Crowley pointed out, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale. He leaned into Crowley’s embrace, sighing.
“I just need to stop trying to find something in everything. I sound like a desperate Puritan wife,” Aziraphale laughed.
“Eugh, did you really have to bring up the Puritans when I have you naked in your bed with me?” Crowley complained, nibbling at his shoulder. Aziraphale laughed.
“Stop, that tickles, also, we need to lay some ground rules about biting. Even if I heal fast, you can’t go chewing on me all the time,” Aziraphale said, turning and pushing Crowley back on the bed so he was straddling him.
“Ohh, bossy, and how shall you tame my wily ways, angel?” Crowley teased.
“I know a thing or two about manners, don’t you worry,” Aziraphale said imperiously, “I’ll make a good demon out of you yet,”
He cut Crowley off mid-reply with a long, lingering kiss that led to something a little more interesting than their usual bickering.