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“Do you ever still think about it? Leaving, I mean.” Aziraphale waves at the star sprinkled sky above them.
They’re on their backs in a field of heather and clover--on a blanket, of course; Aziraphale can’t abide grass stains--far from the city. The velvet sky stretched out above them feels so close, almost like they could reach out and touch any of the countless stars. Which, being what they are, they actually could, if they so desired. Hence Aziraphale’s question.
“Leave? Nah. Why would I leave? We saved the world, remember? Or we helped, anyway.”
Aziraphale turns onto his side, props himself on his elbow so he can see Crowley properly. “But the stars , Crowley. You love the stars. You helped create some of them, if I remember correctly. Which I’m quite sure I do.”
“I do, and I did,” Crowley agrees with a rather dramatic sigh. “But we’ve got a great view from here, don’t you think? Gets better when we leave the city, like tonight, but that’s easy enough.” He kicks a foot in the direction of the Bentley, pointing his toe to where it’s parked a bit away on a narrow dirt track.
“But it’s rather more spectacular from out there, don’t you think?” Aziraphale presses. “I mean, a nebula or a comet up close, that’s really something to see. Or so I’m told.”
Now Crowley gets up on an elbow, facing Aziraphale in the starlight. Taking off his sunglasses, he peers into the angel’s eyes. “Aziraphale, are you trying to get rid of me?”
Aziraphale starts. “What? No! I never!” He looks down, suddenly very interested in the weave of the blanket underneath them. Nearly too soft to be heard he says, “Quite the opposite, actually.”
They both go still, not even breathing. The sound of the countryside seems to intensify, until Aziraphale is certain there are enough crickets in this one field to carry them both away. He wishes Crowley would say something. Anything. Even laughter would be better than this awful stillness.
No, strike that. Not laughter. He doesn’t think he could take that.
Anything else then.
“I don’t need the stars,” Crowley finally says. “I’ll be upset if the humans muck up the atmosphere enough that we can’t see them from here, but I think we’ve got at least a few hundred years before that happens, don’t you? We can talk about it then.”
“We?” Aziraphale tries to keep the hopeful glee out of his voice. He’s unsure of his level of success.
“I don’t need the stars,” Crowley repeats. “It’s enough…” He moves to put his glasses back on, but Aziraphale stops him.
“Please don’t. Don’t hide from me.” Crowley stills his hand, so Aziraphale goes on. “What’s enough?” His heart thunders in his chest.
Crowley runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the bit at the nape of his neck. “Argh, don’t make me say it. It’s not the kind of thing I should say, me being a demon.”
The hand not in his hair is fisted so tightly Aziraphale is afraid he’ll draw blood or break a bone if he doesn’t stop. So he sits up and takes the fist gently between his own two hands. “Easy, Crowley. I’ve got you. None of that matters anymore, remember?”
Looking into up into Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley relaxes his fist until the two are holding hands. “Still,” he says, “six thousand year habits are hard to break.”
Aziraphale just smiles encouragingly and squeezes the hand in his.
“It’s enough to…” Crowley sighs. Then he says everything very fast, as if getting it out quickly will make it easier. “It’s-enough-to-have-you.” After a shuddery breath he looks right at Aziraphale and says, “I look at you and I see the universe.”
“Oh. Oh my. Oh my.”
Aziraphale’s brain seems to be stuck in some sort of loop. Did he really just hear Crowley say…
But then Crowley’s grip on his fingers tightens and he comes to himself again. The yellow eyes gazing into his are questioning, hesitant, waiting for a response, just like Aziraphale had been only a few minutes before. (Has it really only been a few minutes?)
“Well then,” says Aziraphale. “Right.” And before he can think too much he pulls Crowley up so they’re sitting face to face, threads one hand through his hair, and draws him nearly close enough to kiss. Crowley’s eyes are wide, his breath coming in short, shallow puffs. “Is this alright?” Crowley nods, and their noses bump together. They laugh, somehow both nervous and amused, and they are still smiling when Aziraphale closes the distance between them.
Crowley’s lips are soft, softer than Aziraphale would ever have expected of a demon. But then, Crowley has never been quite as expected, has he? The kiss is chaste, feather-light, and lasts only a few seconds, but it’s enough to leave Aziraphale gasping for breath. “Crowley,” he croaks out, his voice uncharacteristically broken and stretched.
“Yes, angel.” Crowley chuckles, but his eyes too are wide with wonder. “We’re going to do that again.”
“Agreed.” Aziraphale feels the heat rise in his cheeks as he thinks of other things, exploring kind of things, things for not on a blanket in a dark and damp field with crickets and badgers and heaven knows what else flitting about…
Something of his wandering, rambling thoughts must show on his face because Crowley laughs outright. “We’ve got time for all that,” he says. “For now,” he sprawls on the blanket again, pulling Aziraphale down with him, “I just want to lay here and look at the stars while I hold the universe in my arms. Alright?”
Aziraphale fairly tingles to be called “the universe.” Crowley kisses him on the top of his head, and the tingle becomes a shiver.
“You know, I can’t see any stars this way,” Aziraphale says conversationally. He’s on his side next to Crowley, head on Crowley’s chest so he can listen to his beating heart and the whoosh of the breath in his lungs. Their legs are a tangle in the starlight.
“Shush,” Crowley says. “You’ve seen the stars before. Just shut your eyes and I’ll tell you what I see. Better yet, I’ll tell you about their creation.”
Aziraphale understands the creation of the stars. It wasn’t something he’d personally worked on, but the concept is sound in his mind. This latest creation, though, this weaving together of two beings to create something altogether new...on that he needs a bit of schooling.
So he closes his eyes, breathes in the cool, spicy scent of Crowley, and whispers, “Tell me.”