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It was the night after the apocalypse that wasn't. Crowley and Aziraphale had talked and drank and giggled their way through most of his stash of Chateau Neuf de Pape. The newly-restored bookshop had suffered only nominal alterations, but the attending angel was willing to accept it, so long as it proved to be profitable.
Crowley chuckled to himself, refilling his glass and drinking it down in one gulp. Good to the last drop. He hadn't divulged as much as Aziraphale did about the impersonation game they'd played. While Aziraphale had returned, crowing that he'd requested a rubber duck and made an Archangel bring him a towel in his holy water bath, the demon was less forthright. He'd wondered himself why he'd played it the way he had. It would have been easier, not to mention funnier, to play up his friend's buffoonish qualities, to offer up a cowardly caricature of him in what were supposedly his final moments. He turned and gazed at the angel, a smile creeping up his face as he admired him from behind his tinted glasses. He didn't quite manage to quash the contented sigh that had built up inside him, Aziraphale must have noticed, because he gazed back and echoed it with one of his own. Still, the demon paced in his careless, staggering gait, as if he had something on his mind.
“Crowley, my dear, sit down. You're making me dizzy. I'm honestly shocked you're still able to stand at all,” the blond, fussy angel urged, patting the sofa cushion next to him invitingly. Crowley gave a noncommittal grunt and fell like a tree into the proffered seat. There was a cracking, creaking, tearing sound and a longer groan from the demon, Aziraphale felt feathers brush his face; he turned and gawked! There Crowley sat—lounged, rather, Aziraphale secretly doubted that Crowley could simply sit—with his wings spread luxuriously out. He gave him a devilish grin and slowly removed his sunglasses. Aziraphale smiled. It often had puzzled him why Crowley would bother with those things when it was just them. He supposed he wore them in public so as not to alarm the humans with his yellow slitted eyes, but..
“You have lovely eyes, Crowley,” he said plainly, his smile making his whole being sparkle. “I'm glad you're not hiding them from me.”
The demon scoffed, but was admittedly touched by the pronouncement. He'd wondered what he thought of them. He didn't think Azi would be put off by his eyes, but the sunglasses did an excellent additional job of disguising those long, burning gazes he'd fix on him. Aziraphale had no such means of hiding, but seemed baselessly certain that his expressions were perfectly inscrutable. As if Crowley would have been oblivious to those heart-piercing eyes and sparkling smiles. He hid behind his veneer of blustering indignation and pompous superiority as he scrabbled awkwardly at being what he thought he ought to be. He really was a lousy angel. He was the very best kind.
“Y'know, angel, since we got back...I wondered...” he trailed off absently. Aziraphale settled in for a long wait, knowing that marshaling one's words while intoxicated, celestial being or no, was much like watching oil tankers do three-point turns in the English Channel. Slow, clumsy, tedious, with tendency towards accidents. “Remember...that church back in 1941...with all those Nazi goons. I could barely stand to set foot on the floor, remember?”
Aziraphale nodded, sniggering as he recalled his friend doing the hot-foot tap-dance as he made his way up to him. “Like being on a beach with bare feet, I believe you said.”
The demon grunted a slurred agreement. “So how was I able to be in Heaven for that long? Or you?! Hell should've been agony for you, a pure celestial being like you. Should've been like shards of glass in your skin.”
With a moment's pause for consideration, Aziraphale's face looked puzzled, as though he hadn't considered it before. It was really all too easy, their charade. Fun, too! He smirked triumphantly again, grinning like a loon as he remembered the demons' reactions to his immunity to holy water. They were actually afraid of him! It was the most fun he'd had in years. “Perhaps...perhaps I'm not a pure celestial being anymore,” he suggested with remarkable clarity. “Maybe, over the years, we've...rubbed off on each other enough...enough to make Heaven and Hell bearable. I almost wonder if we could have actually survived holy water and hellfire at this point, without any...chicanery.”
“Go on,” Crowley snarled dismissively, ruffling his wings irritably before slinging them over the back of the sofa. “It sure felt good, though,” he admitted, recalling the soothing circle of flames. “Good for the aching muscles, y'know.”
Aziraphale scooted toward him, hesitantly, making shy eye-contact after each progressing inch...as if asking permission. “Yes, I quite agree. That holy water bath did me a world of good.” Again, there was a creaking, cracking, tearing sound...and white feathers joined black. He stretched them to their full span with a satisfied Ahhh.
Crowley grinned, “Feels nice to get them out, doesn't it?” He gave his an absent twitch, sneakily draping one around his friend. He smiled silkily as they slyly crept together.
Scooting the final inch, receiving no warning signs of opposition, the cautious angel draped himself against the demon's shoulder. “Mmm, I think mine could use a little hellfire.” There had been no questions; only walls that had finally fallen away. Both of them knew that they'd wanted this badly for the last six thousand years. Simply to nestle together, to love each other. Love...
If someone had told Antony J. Crowley this morning that he would have the Principality Aziraphale in his arms that night... He met him halfway, wrapping his arms and wings around him in a cozily demonic cocoon. He slid back, slouching further down the seat to draw his beloved angel as close to him as he could. He chuckled again, nuzzling blond curls, pleased with how seamless their coming together had been. All it had taken in the end was plain gravity. “My angel...” he purred. Aziraphale made a self-conscious sound, looking at him now with the barest touch of uncertainty in his eyes. The demon tsked, stroking his oldest—only—friend's cheek. “Now, now, angel. Not to worry. You've always trusted me, haven't you? I won’t let anything happen to you, no matter how much trouble you get yourself in. I'll never forget how happy you were to see me when I rescued you from the Bastille. Now there was a face that could launch a thousand ships.”
Aziraphale spluttered at the praise. “Me? Launch a thousand ships? Silly.” He breathed his counterpart's scent deeply, finding himself snugly surrounded by it. He'd half-expected a burning smell, something indicative of his fallen state. Crowley smelled like fine leather and sweet, fruity wine. Just beneath that, he detected a faint electrical smell, like lightning. He wondered what he smelled like to him. Crowley was right, of course. He always trusted him. He wondered how many other angels would feel safer in the company, in the arms of a demon than back in Heaven.
Black wings furled closer still, and Crowley smiled benignly at him. “You are adorable,” he confirmed shortly, still staring his fill. True, Aziraphale wasn't what one would call textbook handsome. He was what some people might call goofy-looking, he was a bit chubby, he definitely had one-of-a-kind fashion sense, but that was all part of his unique charm. And he had such lovely eyes that Crowley felt he could just dive into, and that smile...when it was for him, he was the happiest demon in all Creation. People—angels, demons, what have you—might underestimate him because he looked soft, but Crowley knew he had his own secret strength. That was what he chose to play when he impersonated him at his execution. Stalwart, unflinching, brave to the bitter end.
“I breathed fire at them, you know,” Crowley confessed abruptly as he played with Aziraphale's hair. The demon chuckled, recalling their faces. How totally out of their depth those self-satisfied angels all looked.
“You didn't!” It wasn't exactly scolding, not with that laugh breaking through.
“They deserved worse, the way they always treated you. And like you didn't take the opportunity to sass, Mr. Rubber Duck?” This brought on more giggles. Sluggishly, they both straightened up, but didn't move out of each other's space. “What are we going to do now? Heaven and Hell don't want either of us.”
“I don't think I want Heaven anymore, either, to be honest. Why do we have to do anything? Why can't we just...stay like this?” Aziraphale suggested breathlessly. “You have to admit, this is...quite nice.”
Flipping a hand through blond curls, Crowley slurringly crooned, “You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now.”
Aziraphale sighed heavily, leaning back into his beloved. “I'm sorry, my dear. I'm afraid I wasn't always very good to you.”
“I figured it went with the territory. Angels are all a bit stuck up,” Crowley grimaced, with no evidence that he held this trait against him.
But the angel in question was not to be soothed, his conscience still pricked him. “I denied you! Pretended you meant nothing to me, threw our differences up in your face. As if what we were mattered more than what we are. What we've always been.”
“I knew better. I always did. You were always my best friend.” Once again, he remembered that awful time he spent in this very bookshop as it burned to the ground. Screaming his beloved's name, straining, aching for an answer, certain that he was gone forever. He clutched at him extra tightly after these reminisces. He placed a hand to his cheek and drew him in, offering a soft kiss on those oh-so-tempting lips. They both gasped and grinned awkwardly at the sensation, still not sure what to expect from each other. Still, it was...nice. Enough to try it again, this time with Aziraphale leading it. Both of them seemed pleasantly surprised by the night's progression. It certainly wasn't anything they could have planned.
With a nervous chuckle, Aziraphale simply brushed his face against Crowley's angular cheekbones, his rail-thin shoulders, like a cat loving its owner.
The demon wasn't finished brooding, but was obliged to voice his train of thought while ensnared in angelic cuddles. “I...I thought I'd never see you again. I can't tell you...how glad I was to hear your voice come out of that lady's mouth. I damn well nearly kissed you then.”
“She was...most receptive to a spiritual encounter, but I don't think she would have enjoyed that.”
“I'm glad you're yourself again. Much better-looking.” Crowley gave a little growl, flicking his eyebrows. Then, in a sudden change of mood, he turned serious again. Almost losing him might have had something to do with it. “Aziraphale,” he breathed, getting the angel's attention. He rarely used his actual name. “I love you, I've always loved you,” he confessed, his vibrant yellow eyes on the one he'd waited six thousand years for. “Being in here, watching your shop burn...and you were nowhere to be found...that was a thousand times worse than Hell ever could be. I never want to go through that again. Whatever happens to us in the future, I just want you with me. If...” he suddenly ran short of bravado. “That is, if you'd actually want to have me.” They'd just gotten properly engaged earlier that evening, but Crowley still couldn't be sure. Too many years of not feeling good enough for his angel. He was certain that Aziraphale would change his mind after truly considering the consequences. Still, it was nice, their moment. Most people, certainly most demons, never got that much.
The blond man scoffed at the ridiculous suggestion. “What do you mean, if I'd actually have you? The way I see it, I haven't been able to lose sight of you! Nor would I want to! Really, Crowley, I thought you were intelligent! Besides, what do you call this? Wrestling?” Aziraphale pulled him close again, he was really getting the hang of kissing! He could see why the humans made such a fuss about it. He released him, smiling his sparkling smile. “I love you, too, Crowley. You old snake. If you still don't believe me, here.” And he conjured up a pair of gold rings. If you looked closely, you'd see they each resembled a snake with wings.
“You great albino peacock,” Crowley shot back with a snicker, sliding his on and looking touched in spite of himself.
Angels and demons alike didn't actually need to sleep, being above such mortal physical requirements. Much like they didn't need food or wine, but they could still enjoy such Earthly pleasures. And so, sometimes such creatures, particularly those that spent perhaps a little too much time among humans, would find the occasion to sleep. Light and dark, rejected by their fellows, made a perfectly cozy nest in the back of a musty old book shop, cuddled together on a battered red sofa, and slept.
Aziraphale woke up first and stretched his wings. Something was different. The soft, illuminating light that normally accompanied them seemed...dimmed. Then, he saw. Sometime in the night, they'd become a slate gray threaded with silver. Crowley's eyes flickered open as well, grasping his lover greedily back next to him. Then, he saw as well. They both stared, but Aziraphale didn't look nearly as surprised. Almost as though he’d expected it. “It wasn't you, Crowley. It was through my actions and my choices. I’ve forsworn Heaven. It was my decision.”
Crowley nodded. “I didn't mean to fall, either, it just sort of happened. Look, it's all right, angel.”
“Don't,” Aziraphale requested sadly. His own choice or not, this outward sign stung him. He'd never seen angel or demon with wings this color, they were always one or the other. Now, he wasn't even sure what he was. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder at them, tsking and muttering, “I'll be damned.”
Crowley smirked and shook his head. “Nah, maybe a bit, but not quite. You're still my angel.”
Vanity finally came forward, and insecurity. “I just...I...I don't want to be a...a...”
“A demon? Well, if you were one, you’d be the most goody-two-shoes demon on the block. All the more reason to stay here. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, yes, that’s what we were discussing last night. Nobody wants us. Just staying here.”
“Together?”
“Of course together! Who would keep me out of trouble?”
Crowley stretched his wings back out as well, surprised that his were a matching shade. “Oh, now that’s odd. Looks like whatever we are, we’re the same thing. What do you make of that?”
This strange sight was enough to bring Aziraphale out of his self-pity. He gazed at Crowley as though he were the loveliest creature in the world. Same! We're the same! He couldn't help it, he pounced! Tackling his oldest friend back into the farthermost armrest of the sofa. “I...I don't care what I am, what we are. Oh...” and when words failed, he kissed him.
“Never cared before, either,” Crowley drawled mid-smooch. “You were good at pretending to, though. As if it actually mattered.”
“But, how??”
“Looks like we're meeting in the middle. I pulled you down a bit, you pulled me up a bit. Just...gravity. We fell toward each other. Think I'll need new outfits?” Crowley uttered carelessly, then brushed the notion aside with a dismissive shake of the head. Then, he posed, “D'ya feel any different?” Aziraphale thought, as though smelling the air, and nodded slowly. Crowley nodded as well. “Not saying I'm going to organize church picnics or that you'd take up petty vandalism, but...yeah...”
“Yes. That's... a thing,” the not-quite-fallen angel pronounced precisely, in an attempt at emulating the vernacular of the modern youth. Then, abruptly, he drew his wings back in, gave his neck a pop, and slipped into one of his suit coats. It did feel different! Less...constrained. He wondered if this was how Adam and Eve had felt after tasting forbidden fruit. “Well, perhaps as my first act as a quasi-infernal being, I can tempt you to join me for breakfast? I know the coziest little spot just down the street.”
With an ironic smirk, Crowley replied, “Temptation accomplished