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English
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Part 8 of Forever Is Our Today
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Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love
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Published:
2019-08-04
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3,612
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1/1
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Let Me Live Here Ever

Summary:

“My dear, I don’t believe I’ve ever asked,” the angel sat his book aside on the nightstand, sinking a little further into the quilt and pressing a soft kiss to the demon’s forehead. Crowley, for his part, let out a slight disapproving whine at his face being exposed to the air.

“When did you know?” Aziraphale asked, wrapping his arm around the demon’s waist tightly.

----
A few years post-Armageddon; a conversation they just hadn't gotten around to yet.

Notes:

  • Translation into Deutsch available: [Restricted Work] by Anonymous (Log in to access.)

I dunno what to tell you guys this is completely self-indulgent. It's just them, cuddling and kissing and talking in their bedroom at the South Downs.

I just wanted to write them being cuddly and happy. I'm so soft for these ineffable bastards.

Title is from The Tempest for no other reason than there's a storm and I like using Shakespeare quotes.

Work Text:

The rain pounding onto the little cottage brings to mind years previous, when London was engulfed in rain and the end was on the horizon. But they’d made it through that, so this wasn’t that bad.

From the window of their bedroom they could see the ocean, churning and dark. Wind whipping through the waves, tossing them about in every direction. Or they could, if they were paying any attention. Aziraphale had his hot cocoa, a good book, a comfy quilt, his nice tartan pajamas, and the love of his life by his side. Crowley had himself tangled around Aziraphale as much as he could, sapping any bit of warmth from the angel that his reptilian blood could muster. The demon’s head was barely visible over the edge of the quilt but for a shock of crimson hair, arms slung wildly around the angel, legs intertwined. He was, per his usual self, grumbling. Aziraphale wouldn’t have it any other way.

They’re in a little cottage by the sea. Their cottage by the sea. With a beautiful paradise of a garden and books stuffed into every nook and cranny of space the small house allows. It’s a perfect blend of the two of them. Just enough tartan and just enough modern. It’s home.

“Crowley, my dear, you must be grateful that I don’t need to breathe,” the angel said peering over the side of his book at the demon plastered against him, “For I do believe you’d have strangled me by now.”

“’S cold,” the demon protested sleepily, “You’re not.” He liked seeing Crowley like this; bundled up in the quilts on their bed. Relaxed, calm. Happy, even.

“You wouldn’t be so cold if you wore proper pajamas,” Aziraphale tutted fondly, carding a hand through the shock of red hair, “Satin is cold, you silly serpent.”

That earned him a sleepy huff. The angel would never actually complain, they’d come a long way in these few short years since the Armageddon That Wasn’t. Heaven and Hell had left them alone and they’d decided to retire.

The bookshop was still in Soho, still with the little sign with the erratic hours1. It was more or less a storage unit at this point. Sure, they could miracle enough space into the cottage for all of Aziraphale’s books, but that might attract undue attention.

The past three years had been the most peaceful Aziraphale had known, and the happiest. The eleven years leading up to the Apocalypse-That-Tried-So-Hard-But-Just-Didn’t-Have-It-In-Them were anything but. If Aziraphale were honest, most of the six-thousand years he’d spent on this Earth had been very anxiety inducing. His only bright spots had been time he’d spent with Crowley.

He hadn’t known what name to put on that feeling for a very long time; realization had been more like a slow sunrise than a fall and a thud. The more time he’d spent with the demon, the more he’d appreciated his company. Looking back on his long life, he could say with certainty when he knew he was in love, but he’d be hard pressed to tell you when he actually fell.

It wasn’t something they really talked about. They tended to enjoy the time they were in these days, not discussing much of the time they had wasted. But Crowley was sleepy and adorable, and Aziraphale couldn’t help wondering about his companion's thoughts on the matter2.  When had Crowley decided he loved the angel?

Well, now Aziraphale was curious, and that just wouldn't do.

“My dear, I don’t believe I’ve ever asked,” the angel sat his book aside on the nightstand, sinking a little further into the quilt and pressing a soft kiss to the demon’s forehead. Crowley, for his part, let out a slight disapproving whine at his face being exposed to the air.

“When did you know?” Aziraphale asked, wrapping his arm around the demon’s waist tightly.

“Know what?” Crowley asked, attempting to snuggle in closer, burying his face in the angel’s neck, “Six thousand years there’s a lot to know, you’ll have to be more specific, Angel.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, practically able to hear the smirk in Crowley’s voice. He ran a well-manicured finger along the curve of the demon’s ear, earning him a slight shiver. Crowley would never admit to something as low as being ticklish, but the angel knew better.

“When did you know what you felt for me, my dearest?” the angel asked, pressing another soft kiss to the demon’s temple.

Sunflower-yellow eyes flickered open, turning up to look at the angel with more love than Aziraphale would have ever thought possible. Crowley leaned up on his elbow and Aziraphale was almost annoyed at himself for causing the loss of contact. “Haven’t I told you that already, Angel?”

“No, dearest, I don’t believe you have,” he smiled up at his demon.

Aziraphale tumbled that thought around for a couple of seconds. His demon. Never would he have imagined (and one must believe, he had imagined many things involving Crowley) that they would be here, together and happy and free. Free to be who they were, to be with each other, to love as loudly as either of them dared.

The look on his face must’ve been amusing, as Crowley broke out into a wide grin and leaned down to kiss him properly, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you looking at me like that, Angel.”

“And how, exactly, am I looking at you then?” Aziraphale moved his hand and entwined their fingers together, bringing Crowley’s hand to his lips and placing gentle kisses on each of his knuckles in turn.

Crowley smiled so bright it made Aziraphale wonder how in all creation a place like Hell could’ve ever contained him, “Like I hung the blasted stars.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, dearest, but I do believe that you did,” Aziraphale said, running his thumb along the demon’s, still enjoying the simplicity of being able to hold hands without fear of their respective sides, “Don’t change the subject, I’m curious, I want to know.”

“Why?” Crowley plopped back down onto the pillows, lying on his back, “Not that I don’t want to tell you, just wondering why all the sudden?”

“Idle curiosity, my love,” the angel said as Crowley brought their joined hands to his face this time, pressing a light kiss to the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist that made his heart flutter. “Indulge me, I know you love to,” the angel smiled as innocently as he could when he said this. This was a facet of their relationship he’d been long familiar with, and in the past had thoroughly enjoyed putting through its paces. Even before this new addendum to “the Arrangement”.

“Bastard,” Crowley scoffed, but there was no heat behind it, only fondness. He pressed another kiss to the inside of the angel’s wrist. Aziraphale didn’t think he could ever get tired of this still-new outpouring of affection.

“You love it,” Aziraphale said as he scooted closer, laying his head on the demon’s chest.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Crowley said, softly carding through Aziraphale’s hair with his long fingers. Aziraphale could purr at the contact if he had half the mind to do so. “Fine, fine, if you really wanna hear the story of how the handsome, devilish rogue fell for the stuffy, uptight bookseller.”

“Hey,” Aziraphale said, swatting Crowley lightly, “I’m not stuffy.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, and he relented, “Fine, yes, maybe a bit stuffy. But I’m not uptight, not for a long time.”

Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple, “You know I can’t resist teasing you, Angel.”

The demon went silent, contemplating the place to start. Six thousand years was a long time to filter through, so Aziraphale waited, listening to the sound of the demon’s not-necessary-but-still-existent heartbeat and reveling in being able to do so. It mingled nicely with the sound of the rain and the storm, lulling the angel into an almost dreamlike state.

In a contrast to the last six thousand years, once their relationship got going things had moved fairly fast. They discovered early on that being apart for any stretch of time was just not something they wanted to do; so, they moved in together. The small flat above the bookshop, at first, slowly blending their lives. Something about the retired life just seemed to naturally lead them here, to the South Downs.

They had bought this little cottage, with too many bookshelves in places they shouldn’t fit and too many plants in places where there shouldn’t be enough sunlight; a vegetable garden in the back and two creaky rocking chairs on the front porch. A little kitchen where, despite Aziraphale’s insistence that he didn’t have to, Crowley had been learning to cook anything and everything he could read in a cookbook.

Just another way to show I love you, Angel, he had said. And really, could Aziraphale argue with that3?

Crowley’s fingers were still tracing their circle pattern in Aziraphale’s hair, and he’d almost forgotten he’d even asked a question.

“Suppose if I had to pick,” Crowley said, bringing Aziraphale out of his reverie, “Would’ve been Rome. And the oysters.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him, and Crowley was beaming. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Crowley was blushing, but he knew what pointing that out would get him and now really wasn’t the time for that. The hand not running through Aziraphale’s hair covered his own where it lay on the demon’s chest.

“All the way back in Rome?” The angel was a bit astonished, that had been so long ago. Almost two thousand years.

“Yup,” said Crowley, popping the ‘p’ at the end as always, “You tried to tempt me.” He moved from stroking through the angel’s hair to running his fingers along Aziraphale’s ear. Retribution for the earlier tickle, no doubt. Aziraphale tried and failed to suppress a giggle.

“As soon as you said ‘that’s your job, isn’t it’ I knew I was a goner,” Crowley shifted, wrapping his arms around the angel again, “Knew I’d spend the rest of my life chasing after you if I needed to, just to be near you a bit longer.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, voice full of reverence, “You had to wait for me for so long.”

So much time we wasted, and we almost didn’t have any more, Aziraphale thought grimly. He wasn’t allowed much time for grim thoughts, though, as Crowley started kissing along his jawline. All the angel could do was sigh and be content.

“Worth every second, Angel,” the demon whispered against his skin, pulling him even closer, “Wouldn’t trade anything for this; for what we have now.”

“No, I don’t think I would either,” he was practically melting into the kisses at this point. Being an angel, Aziraphale was inherently tuned to feel love. He could feel love pouring from Crowley and was acutely aware of the love pouring out of himself. Over the past several months, this love had infused itself into the walls and floors and beams and all of the bric-a-brac that makes a house a home. Growing and swelling like the thunderstorm outside.

He wasn’t sure who actually moved to kiss who in that moment, but their lips met all the same. Aziraphale ran his thumb along Crowley’s jaw, bringing his hand to rest in that shock of red hair. Crowley kept his hands likewise occupied as they took their time. They had a lot of that now; time. They had silently agreed not to waste any of it any longer. Time was to be savored now, appreciated and loved in turn just as much as they loved each other.  

These small moments, in the quiet hours, were more precious to Aziraphale than any of his books4.

“Well?” Crowley asked, breaking the kiss after who knows how long.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale said, more whine than question, his face unconsciously chasing after Crowley’s. He was rather enjoying the kissing.

“What about you, Angel,” Crowley asked, yellow eyes searching blue, stroking Aziraphale’s cheek ever so softly, “You’ve never told me either, y’know”

“I haven’t?” Aziraphale blinked a few times, still drunk on the love and affection swirling around him.

“Nope,” Crowley said, kissing the angel quickly on the nose. Aziraphale didn’t dare think it was adorable5.

“Easy question, then,” Aziraphale said, matter-of-factly, “The church, with the Nazis, was when I knew. Well, more accurately, when I knew I had a chance; that you might care for me as well.” He could tell by the mischievous sparkle in the demon’s yellow eyes that this was not a good enough answer.

“Didn’t ask that, Angel,” Crowley nuzzled into the angel’s neck, pressing a few quick kisses there, “What I want to know is when did the perfect untouchable angel take a face-first dive falling for a demon.”

“Oh hush,” Aziraphale scoffed, “What nonsense, ‘perfect untouchable’, good Lord. I haven’t been either of those in a long time, as you well know, dearest.”

“Ngk.” That was the only response to that the angel received.  He'd managed to fluster the demon a bit, which he always reveled in when it happened.

“Besides,” Aziraphale sighed, twining his fingers back into Crowley’s hair, “If I’m honest, and I’d have to steal one of your go-to lines for this, it’s more like I sauntered vaguely into it.”

“Pssh,” Crowley punctuated this with a small nip to the side of the angel’s neck, “You’ve never sauntered in your life, Angel.”

“You old serpent,” Aziraphale said, wincing slightly at the small bite, “You know what I mean. It was, well, lots of small things. You were worried about the kids back at the ark; you were always kind to me even when I didn’t deserve it – don’t interrupt me, I didn’t, not at Golgotha. You made Hamlet a success just because I liked it, you saved me from discorporation countless times over the years and every time, I think, maybe I fell just a bit more for you. You must know I always thought you were lovely, the powers-that-be certainly gave you a tempting human form.”

Crowley stopped to look up, moment punctuated by a clap of thunder, his eyes softening, “Never noticed you looking, Angel.”

“Oh hush,” Aziraphale said, placing a kiss to the corner of Crowley’s eye, “Your eyes, too, I know you don’t like them. But I’ve always found them rather fetching. I was quite put out when you started covering them, even if I knew why.”

He could see the redness coming in on the demon’s ears. Crowley didn’t blush very often, but usually talking about his eyes could do it. Crowley hated them; the one mark of his Fall that he couldn’t hide with anything other than his dark glasses. Aziraphale thought they shined brighter than the purest gold.

“But, if I had to pick a point where I put the name to the emotion…” the angel hesitated for just a moment, “St. James in 1862.”

“Really?” Crowley narrowed his eyes and pulled back from him a bit, “The holy water? The argument where we stopped talking for eighty fucking years?” Even after all of this time that day was a sore spot for the both of them. Aziraphale had beaten himself up about it for decades. As if ‘fraternizing’ was all Crowley had meant to him. Anger was not a befitting thing for an angel. Neither was guilt, and yet there he had been, teeming with both.

“Yes, dearest, because that was the first time I felt what it would be to possibly lose you. To have to go through this without the one constant I could depend on. That’s when I knew I loved you. I’d already been gone for centuries, just too scared to put the name to it.”

Aziraphale felt his eyes watering. Sometimes these human incorporations were very inconvenient, with all of their functions so closely tied to emotion. He wasn’t sure if these tears were the ‘happy’ variety, the ‘bittersweet’ variety, or some other kind he hadn’t experienced yet. Soon enough Crowley’s hands were back on his face and his lips were kissing the tears away before finally finding his own again.

“I love you, Angel,” it was almost a whisper. A private declaration for their private world. Three words saying everything and yet nothing that any language known to humans could encompass, but they somehow managed all the same.

“I love you, too, dearest,” Aziraphale said with a reverence that most humans would reserve for praying. He kissed his demon again. And again, and again. For who knows how long, really. Time is a construct, after all, especially when you’re of immortal stock.

The sounds from outside had died down, the storm had passed for now. Crowley yawned in between the kisses.

“I think it’s time for you to get some sleep, dearest.”

“Ngk,” was the only response Aziraphale got before being kissed again.

“No, I know how you are, so get some sleep,” the angel said, a little more sternly this time, “I won’t deal with a grumpy snake tomorrow.”
Crowley smirked at him, “No grumpier than usual.”

“Darling, I assure you, that’s plenty grumpy enough,” Aziraphale said fondly before wrapping the demon back up in his arms.

“You love me,” Crowley said as he snuggled into the angel’s chest; words laced half with indignance and half with a fond disbelief.

“Always,” Aziraphale said before placing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head, “Always have, and always will, now get some sleep.”

He needn’t have said the last bit, as Crowley was already blissfully slumbering away. This was one of the nights, Aziraphale reasoned, it might be nice to get a bit of sleep himself. He snapped his fingers and the light on the nightstand shut off, and within a few minutes he’d drifted off himself.

-----

Sunlight streams in through their bedroom window. Early morning breaking over the waves near their cottage, casting dancing patterns in the dust floating through the air. It’s peaceful, it’s calm, and, against all odds, it’s home.

Home for an angel and a demon, a most unlikely duo.

Aziraphale doesn’t sleep much, never really has. It’s been a new pastime; one he feels like he truly missed out on. The sunlight through the window hits his eyes, waking him up well before he’s ready, though he’d never admit that. Almost on cue, he feels his stomach rumble. He turns his thoughts towards the new café that’s popped up in town and towards breakfast; but makes no move to unentangle himself from Crowley, still latched onto the angel like his life depends on it.

He likes to see the sunrise, or at least the first lights of day. It always feels good. They were so sure the days were ending; the sun is one more thing to be grateful for. Aziraphale lazily runs his fingers up and down Crowley’s spine, right where his wings would be if they were on this plane of existence. He feels the demon start to stir.

“Ngk,” the demon croaked out, wrapping his arms tighter around Aziraphale as the angel attempted to extract himself from them, “’S too early, Angel.”

“My dear, I’ve never known anyone as sleepy as you,” Aziraphale said, smiling fondly and running a hand through Crowley’s crimson hair, “And I have known a lot of individuals over the centuries.”

Crowley made a few inaudible noises as he attempted to snuggle up even closer to the angel, which only gained him a laugh.

“Crowley, my dear, I do need to eat breakfast at some point.” Aziraphale had thought the rumbling in his stomach loud enough to make that point for him.

“No y’don’t,” Crowley said, tilting his head and pressing a soft kiss to the angel’s chin, “Y’r n’angel, don’t have t’ eat. Just one more hour.”

Aziraphale sighs, resigned, and goes back to gently stroking Crowley’s back, relishing the little hum of affection it gets him.

“Hey ‘Ziraphale,” Crowley says, a slight lilt to his voice.

“Yes, dearest?”

“You can’t get out of bed yet anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” Crowley wraps his arms around him even tighter and entwines their legs together, “You’ve been possessed by a demon.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale says, rolling his eyes, “You’re so very sappy in the morning, dearest.”

“No. ‘M very evil,” Crowley says, punctuating his point with a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, “At all times of the day.”

“Yes, of course, my love.”

They’d stay in bed for a couple more hours, then get breakfast. Crowley would threaten the plants in the garden while Aziraphale curled up on the sofa with a book. They’d spend the day in the (mostly) quiet company of each other, like they’d been doing since they moved here. The domesticity of routine and of security and of love surrounding everything in their lives.

It was all going to be rather lovely, and it was all going to be theirs.

 

----

 

1 – The hours had, of course, become even more erratic than usual. For the shop to be open more than once in any given month-long period was deemed a small miracle in and of itself by the more bookish residents of Soho.

2 – Aziraphale tended to keep his most private thoughts about Crowley (adorable, cute, precious, nice) just that, lest he incur the demon’s very evil wrath. This wrath, of course, usually took the form of gratuitous tickling these days, but Crowley had assured him it was very, very evil.

3 – No, he absolutely could not.

4 – Yes, even the Wilde first editions.

5 – But it was heart-achingly adorable.

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