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They’d been officially dating for quite a while now. But Aziraphale still held a secret.
He’d been nervous about it for quite a long time—since he was created, in fact. Ever since he was placed to guard Adam and Eve, and thus first witnessed the Earth’s first act of procreation, he had known to himself, “You know, I don’t think I’m a fan of this whole ‘sex’ business God came up with. Not for me, I believe.”
Of course, he’d doubted himself instantly—Aziraphale had a habit of doing so, especially in the old days. Sex was God’s gift to humankind, after all, so why would he have an aversion to it? Surely this . . . discomfort he felt toward it would wear away with time. One day, it would all click, and he would see the appeal, perhaps give the whole thing a go himself.
During his time on Earth, Aziraphale grew to love quite a lot of things. Books, most importantly, and food (both went especially well when paired with a fine wine). Dancing, of course, and classical music. But sexual activity—no matter how many centuries passed, his discomfort stayed, and the appeal of it all alluded him. Even when the angel (while praying repeating for God to forgive him) flipped through an ancient volume of pornography, which displayed sex acts with couples of various genders and genitals, he felt only an intellectual curiosity of how some of those poses were possible.
And now, he was with Crowley. Officially, after all these years. Though he loved every minute of it, he knew sex would enter this relationship eventually—Aziraphale had read hundreds of romantic stories after all, so he knew it was expected sooner or later. Surely the demon had a more . . . promiscuous attitude toward procreation. After all, the angel still remembered Crowley’s pride at inventing the ironically named “missionary” position.
But one couldn’t dance around the issue forever (as much as Aziraphale did love dancing). No, he would have to tell Crowley of his . . . incapacity. So, after checking his calendar, he decided to break the news on their upcoming date: Friday, April 13, where they were scheduled for their weekly drunk reading session. They were set to start The 120 Days of Sodom—fitting irony, that—since it had just gotten back in print, and Aziraphale had made sure to secure a copy.
With that in his mind, Aziraphale decided to settle in for a nap until Friday. Best to rest his mind, and lessen any worries that might come up.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I mean, that’s just not right, is it?” Crowley muttered, taking a big gulp of white wine. They had just finished the Introduction of The 120 Days of Sodom, which would be quite difficult to read through under normal circumstances, and was an extremely challenging journey for two drunk individuals, even with unearthly powers. “What drives a man to write something like that?”
Aziraphale shrugged, taking a timid sip of his drink. “It’s difficult to say,” he told the demon. “Some humans use their gift of free will in, er, very interesting ways.”
“I’ll say.” Crowley finished his wine, then grabbed the book from the table in front of them. Aziraphale had marked their page with a flattened crow feather, and it fluttered to the floor as Crowley examined the cover. “Proves what I’m saying, about humans making their own temptations—I don’t do a thing, and they write something like this.” The demon grabbed the feather and shoved it back into the book. He turned to Aziraphale. “Marquis de Sade—he had to be ours, right?”
The angel coughed awkwardly. “It was always hard to tell,” Aziraphale admitted, taking another drink. “Even we weren’t truly sure until he passed away. But yes, he did turn out to be yours.”
Crowley grunted. “Perhaps I’ll give him a visit the next time I discorporate—sure he’s a charming guy,” he said sarcastically.
Aziraphale nodded. He cleared his throat. “While we’re discussing texts concerning sexual activity,” he said to the demon, “I have something I’d like to tell you.”
Crowley glanced at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright. Just let me sober up first.”
They both did so, letting the alcohol filter out of their bloodstreams. A moment later, Crowley sat up straighter in his chair (though, in his typical posture, a slouch was still present in some way), and faced the angel. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Aziraphale usually felt more confident in his bookshop, empowered by the pages surrounding him. But currently he was so nervous that, had he been human, he might have fainted dead away. “Well . . .” the angel managed to stammer, clearing his throat and miracling himself a cup of hot tea. “Well then . . .”
“What’s on your mind, Zira?” Crowley asked gently. He leaned in, taking Aziraphale’s hand.
The angel cleared his throat. “Well, my dear Crowley,” he began—he had to commit! To say it! He took a deep breath—“I have given things quite a lot of thought, and I don’t believe I can . . .
“I don’t believe I can fuck you.”
Both were startled by a swear—a swear!—leaving the angel, and Aziraphale slapped a hand over his mouth. “I mean have sex with you!” he shouted. “I mean—oh dear. . .”
He sighed and turned away from Crowley, his face turning crimson. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t think I like . . . sex.”
Finally, he had said it. There it was, in the open. And now that it was there, other thoughts came rushing out of his mouth. “I’ve never liked it,” Aziraphale admitted, “ever since the Beginning. Other angels at least admired it, understood it—I never have. And even though I’ve been on Earth for so long, the love humans seem to display for sexual activity has always alluded me. And now that we’re together, I think you deserve to know.”
The angel sighed. “I do apologize if I’ve led you on, or let you think that this relationship would be . . . of a sexual nature. But it’s not something I can fulfill.”
He waited, but Crowley didn’t reply. Aziraphale forced himself to face the demon, fearing the worst. Crowley was staring at him with a raised eyebrow, his sunglasses blocking most of his face—they did make it so hard to tell what the demon was really thinking.
“So . . . is that all?” Crowley finally asked.
Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?’” he asked.
“So you’re not a fan of sex—that’s not a dealbreaker for me,” the demon said, spreading out in his chair. He looked into his drink. “In fact, while we’re being honest, you should know I’m not a fan of fucking, myself.”
Aziraphale stared at him, clearly surprised. Crowley just shrugged. “Plenty of orgies in Down There, you know, especially in the old days,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I tried it. Felt . . . off, for some reason. Not to my fancy. So I avoided it best I could. Which is harder than it sounds, especially in hell.”
He cackled, slouching deeper in his chair. “That’s part of the reason they had me stay on Earth, you know. Thought being around humans might fix my sexual appetite, make me the debauched demon they wanted me to be.” He took a very long sip, and finished his wine. “Didn’t quite happen that way. Though I did try to fix myself—oh, did I try.”
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale cooed. He squeezed the demon’s hand. “There’s nothing to fix, my dear—you’re wonderful just the way you are.”
Crowley set down his glass and turned to Aziraphale. “You know that too, don’t you?” he asked.
The angel hesitated. “Well . . . I. . .”
Crowley gently rested his hand on his partner’s cheek, making Aziraphale face him. “You’re perfect, my angel, and don’t forget that,” he said softly. “You haven’t deceived me, you haven’t “lead me on”—I love you, sex or no sex.”
Aziraphale blushed. Crowley kissed him on the cheek, then released him, leaning back in the chair. There was silence for a moment.
“I’ve never told anyone this before,” Aziraphale admitted. “I didn’t think you’d take it well, being a demon and all.” He winced. “That probably sounds stereotypical, doesn’t it?”
Crowley shrugged. “I thought you might want sex from me, since God conceived the idea in the Beginning,” the demon said. “So I’m just as guilty.”
“I’m glad we were both wrong, then,” Aziraphale said, smiling.
Crowley grinned. “Me too.”
A thought seemed to occur to the demon, and he sat up, looking over at the angel. “You know there’s a word for it, don’t you?” he asked. “For human-ish beings that would rather not have sex?”
“Is there?” Aziraphale frowned, digging through his mental dictionary and coming up empty. “What is it?”
“Asexual,” Crowley told him.
“Asexual?” the angel repeated. The new word felt strange in his mouth—but it also felt right, somehow. “I think I heard that a century or two ago—I thought that was a word given to plants,” he said.
Crowley shrugged. “Language evolves. Now humans who don’t want sex have the word, too,” he said, smiling. Then, he quickly added, “Not that we need to put a label on you—on me—on us.”
Aziraphale gasped. He almost looked offended. “But I like labels,” he said.
“Oh, alright,” Crowley said, with mock anger in his voice. “Then you—we—shall have it.”
Aziraphale laughed. He took a sip of his tea (which had gone cold, but a quick miracle fixed that). “Asexual,” he repeated. He loved how the word made his brain sparkle, and gave a concrete name to a feeling that had always been inside him. It was nice.
“I’ll have to introduce you to some more words like that,” Crowley remarked, miracling himself a tea of his own, “since that one makes you so glad.”
“Oh, that would be lovely!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He leaned over, and rested his head against Crowley’s chest. “Thank you,” the angel said, sighing happily.
Crowley put an arm around him. “Of course. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
“Until the end of the world,” Aziraphale said.
“Until the end of the world.”
There was a pause. Then, Aziraphale asked, “So why did you invent the missionary?”
“Why do you think?” Crowley teased.
The angel thought for a moment, then guessed, “For you own amusement? Or for Hell’s sake?”
The demon smirked. “Both, of course.”
Aziraphale giggled. “Oh, you devil.”
They sat there for the rest of the afternoon, drinking tea and enjoying each other’s company.