Chapter Text
"The wingless fallen angel
Surrendered himself to the contract of evil.
In the past, they even loved each other.
He ended it by his own hand."
Dusk, in London. A stray, heartbroken angel was wandering the streets.
It was raining. Lamp posts faintly illuminated the dim alleyways with soft halos of light. Aziraphale moved through space wearily. His last miracle had been a little much on him. A lot on him, actually. At last, his knees finally gave out somewhere in the dark, and he collapsed into a puddle, rather dampening his coat.
He was still trying to steady his breathing when a figure appeared out of the shadows and into the fuzzy edges of his vision, enveloped in the yellow-orange glow. A figure with… beautiful eyes. Eyes like molten gold and ember, the customary sunglasses tucked in a jacket pocket. Black snake-skin shoes clapped against the pavement and just into his reach. An open hand reached down to him, and he clasped it feebly. Aziraphale looked up gently at his friend, and at the moment their eyes met, the pathetic angel fell for him. That is, if he hadn’t before.
The demon pulled him to his feet.
“Come on, Angel. My place isn’t far from here.”
He had before.
But now, he could feel the forbidden feelings growing inside of him, along with the exhaustion and the relief.
He felt it as Crowley helped him to stand, his arm over the demon’s shoulder. He felt it as Crowley helped him out of his coat and into the bed. Felt it as Crowley brought him a warm cup of cocoa in a winged mug and sat, rather alert, on the other edge of the bed. It was as if Pandora’s box had been opened.
His eyes flickered weakly to the demon. He knew there was worry lurking behind those dark glasses. Crowley’s face was uncharacteristically gentle, a soft, fond smile hiding grave concern. Aziraphale couldn’t help but stare. Those lips, they looked so ripe, polished to a shine by the nervous flicking of a forked tongue. Red as forbidden fruit.
God, how he wanted to take a bite. Wished for it. To bring that mouth to his own in sweetest sin.
But that kind of sin—that kind of love—was forbidden.
An angel couldn’t love a demon. It would be unholy in ways he couldn’t even conceive of. He wasn’t even sure if demons could love, to be perfectly honest.
Crowley gnawed on his lip with anxiety and sharp teeth. The angel remembered how he had miracled Aziraphale’s rain-soaked clothes dry and folded them, placing them gingerly onto a chair. How he had fussed about him “catching cold out there in the rain,” and “going off without telling him where or when or why, for someone’s sake.”
Yes, Aziraphale supposed they could.
His hand reached out softly for Crowley’s, stopping just short enough for their fingers to touch. After a moment, the demon clasped his hand, squeezing it gently. Aziraphale reached his other hand towards Crowley’s face. Crowley shut his eyes and took a breath as Aziraphale carefully pulled the sunglasses away. He folded them and placed them on the bedside table. Crowley’s bedside table. Next to Crowley’s bed. He should not be doing this.
Crowley’s eyes finally opened and Aziraphale’s were set on his. A silence stilled the room.
Aziraphale clutched the demon’s hand with the strength and desperation of a man drowning. Slowly, he brought it to his lips, and kissed the knuckles with a touch so feather-light, Crowley nearly thought he had imagined it. They were both surprised that they didn’t suddenly catch flame.
Crowley shivered. Then he coughed. He licked his lips and tried to look away, to anywhere other than the delicate vision of in front of him. He started to turn his head away and lowered their interlocked fingers.
“Angel, I don’t think you should—”
Aziraphale caught his cheek with his free hand and stopped the movement, gently pulling Crowley’s face back towards him. He had caught him mid-speech, and his thumb was resting on the soft cushion of Crowley’s parted lips. His breath was hot and shaky against the pad of Aziraphale’s finger.
Aziraphale alternated glances between Crowley’s eyes and his lips. They were in opposition, you see. His lips said “Do it, angel, do it now,” but his eyes warned him. “Please,” they were saying, “Please, love, think of what you’re doing.”
And so Aziraphale thought, and subsequently realized:
All he had to do was destroy everything.
And with that realization, the angel parted his lips and abandoned his pure heart, pulling the demon into a kiss that carried with it the weight of an eternity.
It was as intense and as brief as a flash of lightning, and it sent shock through Crowley’s mind as if he had been sweetly electrocuted. When Aziraphale finally opened his eyes, he saw a look on Crowley’s face that made his already frantic heart pound harder, faster than ever.
It was not a look of disgust, not of shock or horror, but of fear. A pure look of God-fearing.
Aziraphale anxiously bit at his lips, and Crowley put his hands on the angel’s shoulders to steady himself, as well as keep the two apart.
“Angel, you can’t—we, we can’t.”
“Crowley,”
He winced. There was too much tenderness in that breath. Far too much.
“Why ever not?”
“You’ll fall, Aziraphale!” He cried out, “You’ll fall, and it’ll be all my fault. I can’t do that to you, angel. You think I haven’t wanted to kiss you all these years? Haven’t wanted to hold you in my arms? But I made do. I waited. Because if I touched you, you’d burn, Aziraphale.”
A hand tipped his chin softly upwards.
“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, “If I’m allowed to live and love you, I will cut off these wings —”
“Angel,” Crowley warned.
“—without hesitation.”
“Angel.”
“I love you.”
It was silent again.
They weren’t sure who moved first then, just that their lips were suddenly on each others, embracing for all they were worth.
They had been gentle the first time, chaste and soft. This was different. They met each other with gasps and wet lips and nails that dug into clothing and skin. They wrapped their fingers into each other's hair and held on for dear life. Somewhere in the mix, there were tears.
“I love you.” Said Crowley, his voice tinged with something nervous and timid. “I love you, Aziraphale.”
“Then let me surrender myself to the devil.”
Aziraphale’s face was too calm for Crowley’s liking, as if he had made this decision a long time ago. He seemed at peace with it, but the notion made Crowley feel as if his heart were being broken and re-forged all at once.
“You don’t have to do this, Aziraphale. I would never ask you, you don’t—” Crowley felt a hand on his cheek again.
“Shhh, love. It’s what I want.” Already, he could feel a burning heat between his shoulder blades. He didn’t have much time left. In his final divine moments, he silently thanked God for giving him the grace of a few minutes before retribution struck. “If this is what it takes...”
“Angel, please.” Crowley was sobbing now, dampening Aziraphale’s palm as he cradled it to his face.
“I renounce Heaven.”