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"I can't believe you dragged me to this," Crowley grumbles, slouched in his seat.
"Oh, hush." Aziraphale says, casting a fond look his way. "I know you have a soft spot for these sorts of things."
"I do not!" Crowley hisses, a little too loudly. Anathema casts him a withering look over Newt's shoulder, and Crowley shrinks down further in his seat, grumbling under his breath, "I do not."
"Of course you don't, my mistake." Aziraphale says easily, in a tone that suggests he does not believe Crowley in the slightest. Crowley has half a mind to shift into his snake form right here and scare the daylights out of the unsuspecting guests, but he has a strong feeling that he would end up as a specimen in Anathema's taxidermy room if he did that, so he refrains. "Beautiful ceremony, don't you think?" Aziraphale continues, smiling over at Crowley.
"Sure." Crowley grunts. "I'm surprised Device went for such a… heteropatriarchal style, though."
"Device-Pulsifer." Aziraphale corrects him. "And well," he looks around at the large white tent encasing the reception, then at the crisp tablecloths with polished flatware, then at Anathema's shimmering white wedding dress. "Sometimes you just want something nice, without having to think too hard about the societal implications. I must say, she looks stunning in that dress."
She does, actually. "Yeah," Crowley quietly admits. "I suppose." Aziraphale gives him a knowing look. "What?" Crowley demands. Aziraphale simply shrugs and takes a bite of his cake. Crowley's ears burn with the feeling of being caught, so he brings his champagne glass to his lips to take a sulking sip.
The First Dance ends, and the newlyweds share a sweet kiss in the silence between songs. As the next song picks up, their mothers are invited onto the dance floor for the mother-child dances. Aziraphale watches them with a look of wonder on his face, and Crowley finds himself watching Aziraphale. The angel actually teared up when the humans went through their vows, dabbing delicately at his eyes with the handkerchief Crowley subtly Miracled for him (if Crowley were to be perfectly honest, some emotions were stirred in him when calm, composed Anathema got choked up saying her vows, but neither the forces of Heaven or Hell could get him to admit to it).
Aziraphale always has been a sucker for weddings; any time they've gone to a show with a wedding in it, the angel, without fail, cries when the couple says their vows. He simply loves love, in all its forms, and declarations of love especially get to him.
(Another thing that Crowley will take to whatever eternal grave awaits him is that he himself gets choked up over tragic love stories where the couple gets torn apart by things outside of their control. As much as he prefers Shakespeare's comedies, the man's tragedies do pull at a spot inside him that he would rather pretend doesn't exist.)
Crowley starts to wonder - if Aziraphale were to find someone he loved in such a way, would he want to marry them, with a ceremony and everything? He probably would; he'd probably want to get as close to screaming his love from the rooftops as he could. Or would he want something quiet, intimate, with just the handful of humans they've grown close to since stopping the apocalypse?
Crowley realizes with a start that he has inserted himself into this scenario, and not as Aziraphale's best man, but as his- his-
Well, fuck.
And, of all things, the next song begins with Freddie Mercury and a chorus asking, "Can anybody find me somebody to love?"
The piano starts up, and Anathema and Madam Tracy are in front of them, insisting they dance.
"Oh, I would love to!" Aziraphale says, getting up.
"He can't dance." Crowley warns. "The only one he knows went out of style over a century ago."
"I'm sure I can manage." Aziraphale says primly, adjusting his jacket. "An old dog and new tricks and all that."
"I believe it's 'you can't teach an old dog new tricks.'"
"Well. Regardless." Aziraphale holds his arm out for Madam Tracy, saying, "Shall we?" The two go off to the dance floor, leaving Anathema looking at Crowley expectantly.
"I don't dance." Crowley says.
"That's not what I hear," Anathema replies, with the smirk of someone who knows things she shouldn't. "From what I've been told, you dance 'quite charmingly.'"
Crowley scowls.
"Come on." Anathema holds her hand out to him, says, "For the bride."
"You're the one that decided to go and get hitched to that fool." Crowley says, even as he takes her hand and allows himself to be pulled up.
"Like you haven't done worse for love." she says cheekily, dragging him out to the floor.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Crowley says as they arrange their arms and begin to sway, rotating with small steps. To the side, Aziraphale and Tracy are doing some odd version of dancing that involves a lot of bouncing and spinning.
"Oh, of course not." Anathema says easily. "I'm sure you saved the world for totally unselfish reasons."
"Careful, Device." Crowley says, but there's no real heat in it, and they both know it. Anathema just laughs and pats his shoulder.
"Relax, Crowley." she says. "Your secret's safe with me." Crowley huffs in response, taking her hand and lifting it above her head so she can spin. Near the center of the floor, he can see the Them stomping around and playing air guitars, Dog hopping excitedly at their feet.
"Rather nice turnout," he admits. "So, what's next? A gaggle of little Pulsifers?"
"Maybe." Anathema says enigmatically. "We'll see."
"You'll be a good mother." Crowley says, shocking himself with how sincere it is. Anathema's eyes widen in surprise, then she smiles softly.
"One can only hope." she says. "Thank you, Crowley." Crowley shrugs, avoiding eye contact.
Mercury's voice starts to fade from the song, and Anathema leans in, her eyes gleaming. "This is my favorite part." she says. She starts spinning them faster, and Crowley can only go along with it as the tempo slowly picks up, and all around them the room picks up energy. They spin and spin, taking turns twirling each other, and across the floor, Crowley catches sight of Aziraphale, and almost stumbles with how struck he is by him. Aziraphale has such an open, joyous look on his face as he's swung around by Madam Tracy and Newt, and it's absolutely stunning.
They keep spinning, and Crowley finds himself craning his head to keep track of where Aziraphale is. He quickly loses the angel in the crowd, but then the music is swelling, and Anathema is releasing him with a gentle shove, and he bumps into someone who catches him easily and spins him to face them, and Aziraphale is smiling up at him, spinning with him slowly as Mercury softly sings, "somebody to… love…" Mercury continues to croon as the song winds down, but Crowley is only distantly aware of it, too caught up in Aziraphale's quiet smile and the spark in his eyes. Crowley, not for the first time in his immortal life, is nearly overwhelmed with the desire to kiss Aziraphale. Unlike all those other times, however, he doesn't quash the emotion and bury it, but instead lets it wash over him, inching closer to Aziraphale as they sway to the music. There's this look in Aziraphale's eyes, one that has Crowley starting to lean in, that has one of his hands reaching up towards Aziraphale's cheek, that has him casting aside six-thousand years of tiptoeing and being careful and holding himself back from what he's wanted to do since the bloody Garden of Eden .
Some American pop song starts blasting through the speakers, effectively shattering the moment, and Crowley jerks away, icy mortification flooding into his veins. Aziraphale is giving him a look of utter confusion and slight hurt, and Crowley cannot do this, so he scrambles backwards, bumping into multiple people as he makes his less-than-dignified escape.
He can hear his name being called, but he very much does not care as he pushes his way out of the tent, stumbling down to the nearby river and propping himself up against a tree as he takes in large gulps of air he doesn't technically need. There's a pounding in his ears, drowning everything out, and Crowley realizes with a sinking dread that it's his heart doing its level best to beat its way out of his ribcage.
What got into him back there? He watches a couple of humans celebrate their love and dances to a song about love and suddenly he's throwing away an entire lifetime of very carefully not kissing Aziraphale.
Fuck, fuck.
"Well," says Anathema from behind him, "that could have gone better."
"Leave me alone, Device." Crowley snaps - or, at least, he tries to, but it comes out more as a desperate plea.
"Fearless demon Crowley…" Anathema hums, slowly approaching him. "Drove through fire, faced the four Horsemen, Lord Satan, and Heaven itself… but he runs away when he finally is about to get what he wants."
"I've tried to run away plenty of times." he reminds her.
"'Tried to.'" Anathema echoes. "But you never actually did. You're not actually as much of a coward as you profess to be, Crowley."
"Yeah?" Crowley says, turning to glare at her. "Try me."
Anathema stares him down, severely unimpressed.
"If you won't do this for yourself," she says, "then do it for Aziraphale."
Crowley rounds on her, snarling. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I do."
"You can't know!"
"I know things, Anthony J. Crowley." Anathema snaps, her voice crashing against him like thunder when lightning strikes the ground. She strides towards him, step by step, and Crowley finds himself backing up against the tree, pinned in place by her fierce gaze. "I know you would rather tear everything apart than risk being happy. I know you have pined and wanted and agonized for six-thousand years. I know you are terribly, achingly afraid. And I know that you don't have to be." Her gaze softens, just a bit, and gently, but still with authority, she says, "Aziraphale loves you, Crowley. Not just as a friend, and not just in the way that angels tend to love all things. He has been waiting for you for just as long as you have been waiting for him." She shoves something into Crowley's chest, which he catches clumsily. Anathema stares him dead in the eye, with a look that could turn a man - even an immortal one - to stone, and says, "Do not keep him waiting any longer." With that, she spins on her heel and stomps off back to the tent, dress fluttering elegantly behind her. Crowley slides down the tree, landing heavily on the grass below. When he looks down, he finds her bridal bouquet clutched in his hands.
That Anathema Device-Pulsifer is one terrifying force of nature. She is also infuriatingly right.
"Crowley?" He glances up, finds Aziraphale dithering a few feet away. "Um. Anathema encouraged me to come talk to you. Are you- are you alright?"
"Peachy." Crowley says hollowly.
Softly, Aziraphale says, "May I ask what happened?" Through his shades, Crowley meets Aziraphale's eyes, and guilt seizes his chest. Aziraphale looks so incredibly torn, the worry coming off him in waves, and Crowley knows the angel deserves an answer.
"I almost kissed you." Crowley says. Aziraphale's hands twist nervously, but he doesn't seem surprised. "I don't know what comes next."
Carefully, Aziraphale steps closer and takes a seat next to Crowley on the grass. "Well," he says, "I suppose you could tell me why you stopped."
"Why do you think?" Crowley shoots back hotly. Aziraphale says nothing, just looking at Crowley with a sad expression, and Crowley shrinks back, muttering, "Got scared."
"Scared? Of what?"
"All of it." Crowley looks up at Aziraphale desperately, says, "Of what happens next; of you saying no; of you saying yes. This is why I don't let myself feel these things, Angel."
Aziraphale takes a slow, steadying breath, then says, "Could… could you try to? Let yourself feel them, I mean. Because I- I would very much like to kiss you, Crowley. And - if it's not too much trouble - I'd then like to spend the rest of my days with you."
Crowley swallows thickly. "I- I suppose I could. I could try." A small, timid smile spreads on Aziraphale's face, a cautious hope lighting up his eyes, and oh, there's that feeling again. The one that feels like every cosmic atom of Crowley's being begging him to kiss Aziraphale. He tilts forward, eyes dropping down to Aziraphale's mouth, but before he can get even halfway there, Aziraphale darts forward to kiss him, luring a startled sound out of Crowley's mouth as he scrabbles to grab onto the angel's lapels.
"Oh," Aziraphale breathes, eyes skittering away shyly as he pulls back a bit. "I suppose I- that may have been too forward, I-"
"Angel," Crowley cuts him off, quite breathless. "Do that again." Aziraphale's mouth drops a bit in surprise, then his gaze softens with what Crowley can no longer deny as anything other than love, and says,
"It would be my honor, my dear."
They collide, and Crowley lets himself be knocked down to the ground, the solid weight of Aziraphale on top of him. His hands come up to bury in Aziraphale's hair, effectively trapping the angel there ('trapped' being a rather strong word, of course, since the angel has absolutely no intention of going anywhere anytime soon). Aziraphale cups Crowley's cheek delicately, his other hand resting lightly on the junction between Crowley's neck and shoulder, fingertips idly dipping under his collar. Crowley has no desire to return to Heaven (especially not after that 'trial') but he'll more than happily take this bit of Heaven on Earth.
It is not long, unfortunately, before yelling voices break them out of their bubble.
"Gross!" Brian bellows from up by the tent.
"There's enough adults kissing today, don't add on to it!" Pepper shouts.
"I think it's rather sweet." Wensleydale can be heard saying.
"You should get a room if you're going to carry on with that." Adam calls down helpfully, looking entirely too smug. Dog barks in agreement. Crowley waves an idle pair of fingers their way, pulling Aziraphale back down for one last kiss before letting the angel up. Aziraphale smooths down his jacket, color high on his cheeks, and Crowley wonders how soon they can duck out of the reception without the angel fretting too much about being rude.
"Oh," Aziraphale says, looking down at the now crumpled bouquet lying in Crowley's lap. "Oh dear, I think we've ruined it."
An easy fix: a snap of Crowley's fingers, and the bundle of pink and white roses spring back to their former glory. A thought crosses Crowley's mind, but he's acutely aware of their audience. He casts a meaningful look over at the Them, and Adam rolls his eyes before beckoning his friends back inside. A smirking glance over the boy's shoulder tells Crowley that he owes Adam for this, and he waves a reluctant agreement.
"You know," Crowley says, picking up the bouquet once the children have disappeared. Nerves buzz through his veins, but he finds that after finally, finally getting to kiss his angel, he's entirely fed up with hemming and hawing and drowning in uncertainty. "There's a human tradition about the person to catch the bride's bouquet, isn't there?"
Aziraphale's eyes flick from Crowley's own down to the bouquet, and he lets out a soft, "Oh. Oh, yes, I- I suppose there is."
Crowley sits up properly, pulling off his shades and setting them aside before plucking out two roses; one white, one pink. "I believe," he says, as the pink rose shifts to a shade more decidedly in the realm of red, "humans put particular meaning in flowers in general. A bit over-sentimental, but, you know. When in Rome." He twists the stems together with care, then meets Aziraphale's eyes, which are already misty. "Oh, don't start crying when I haven't even asked you yet."
Aziraphale clears his throat, visibly trying to compose himself (and completely failing) before saying, "What was it you were asking?"
"Well," Crowley deflects, "you technically asked me first." Aziraphale gives him an exasperated look, so Crowley says, "Alright, alright- do you… y'know… I believe the kids these days are calling it 'getting hitched?'"
Huffing a laugh, Aziraphale says, "Crowley, are you asking me to marry you?"
Crowley's cheeks are burning. "Possibly."
"Rather forward of you, popping the question before even taking me out on a date."
"Oh, we've been on hundreds of those." Crowley realizes, shortly after saying it, just how true that statement is. They really have been dating for millennia without realizing, haven't they?
Aziraphale's eyes crinkle with how hard he smiles. "I suppose we have."
"So?" Crowley checks, "You going to give me an answer?"
"What was the question again?"
Cheeky. "Will you, Aziraphale the Principality, marry me, Crowley the demon?"
"Well…" Aziraphale says, as though thinking it over. "As they say: 'when in Rome.'" He doesn't physically pull Crowley in so much as Crowley just instinctively gravitates close enough for Aziraphale to kiss him, the angel murmuring a 'yes' against his lips as their hands twine together around the roses.