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“What in heaven’s name is all that?”
Crowley, who was driving but really not paying any attention, glanced over at the angel next to him. “What’s what? Oh.”
The entire street - Aziraphale’s street - was lined with gaudy blue and orange stripes. Crowley pulled over in front of what he thought was the bookshop.
Aziraphale got out slowly, his eyes never leaving the billowy horror. The sun was just setting, making the colors look all the more vibrant and ghastly. “What have they done to my shop?”
“Termites.” A man wearing a gray jumpsuit and carrying a clipboard approached. “Whole street’s got ‘em.” He squinted at Aziraphale. “You live in there? Didn’t you get a notice? They’ve been sending ‘em out for weeks.”
Aziraphale looked offended. “Well, I...I’ve been rather busy.” They had just saved the world, after all, and humanity with it. Some thanks this was.
“Uh-huh. Well, don’t fret, the tents’ll be off in just two short days.”
“Two days?!”
“Yup.” The man’s expression softened when he realized how distraught Aziraphale was. “Look, buddy, just think of it like a holiday, yeah? Free from all your responsibilities…you can go anywhere you like.” He nodded towards the Bentley, where Crowley still had his hand on the wheel but was hunched over so he could peer out the window at them. “Maybe your friend’s got a place for you to stay?”
He patted Aziraphale’s back and wandered off, leaving Aziraphale to stand alone before his completely obscured shop. “It’s hideous,” he muttered.
Crowley finally got out of the car and sauntered up next to him. “Come on, angel, it’s not so bad. At least you’ll be rid of the termites.”
“I didn’t even know I had termites,” Aziraphale whined. “You’d have thought the fire would’ve scared them all off.”
“Ah, but the fire never happened, remember?”
Aziraphale huffed. He and Crowley had just had such a lovely time, and now these awful bugs had made the humans put this horrible tent over his shop, and he can’t even go home and read that Oscar Wilde collection he’d been putting off for decades like he’d been planning, and…
Crowley watched with increasing concern as Aziraphale’s face processed these thoughts and finally settled into quite a depressed expression. It was awful to see the angel like this; though Crowley didn’t really understand why Aziraphale was so upset, he started feeling dreadfully sad, too. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend, his best friend, but he’d made that mistake before.
As he pondered what else he could possibly do to make Aziraphale light back up, the angel sighed. “What am I meant to do all night, with my apartment underneath that thing?”
Now that was tricky. Crowley knew exactly what he wanted to suggest, and the clipboard man had already brought it up, but he highly doubted Aziraphale would actually want to spend the entire night (maybe even two?) with him.
Still, when Aziraphale turned to him with the most miserable look in his eyes, he couldn’t resist at least trying. “Well, there’s always my place,” he said, casual as can be, focusing hard on the tent, which was looking rather spooky now that it was getting dark. He could feel Aziraphale’s hesitation. “We could crack open that bottle of wine you got me last century.”
Finally he looked back at the angel, whose brow was furrowed. Clearly he wasn’t convinced. Crowley had expected this, but it still hurt. “Oh, come on, angel. It can’t really be worse than wandering around the streets feeling sorry for yourself, can it?” He didn’t know why he even bothered. It was the same every single time.
In a small, soft voice, Aziraphale said, “Alright.”
Crowley blinked at him. “What?”
“I said, alright.” Aziraphale seemed nervous, but he had made his mind up. “I will come home with you tonight.”
Crowley didn’t mind that wording even a bit. “Well, alright then!” He opened the passenger door. “Let’s go. I’ll even let you pick the music.”
Ah, finally a smile from the angel.
“This is really what you like?” Crowley asked, eyebrows raised. The traffic was terrible, because of course it was, and it had given Aziraphale ample time to get halfway through the My Fair Lady soundtrack. Lord knew why Aziraphale was carrying the cassette tape around. Crowley could tolerate it for a few songs, but between that and being bumper-to-bumper, it was starting to wear on him. And it didn’t help that Aziraphale was blissfully humming along instead of talking to him.
“As a matter of fact, it is! You told me I could choose, Crowley.”
“I know, but I didn’t realize it would be so-”
“You’d better stop there, Antony J. Crowley, before you say something you can’t take back.”
Crowley started to argue, but thought better of it. “Oh, alright.”
Aziraphale sighed. He could see Crowley was becoming frustrated. He fiddled with the radio until he came across something he liked.
Crowley wrinkled his nose. “And what is this? Bubblegum pop? Really, angel, I would have thought you would have better taste than this.”
Aziraphale couldn’t even feel offended. Carly Rae Jepsen always improved his mood, and he didn’t care what some uncultured demon thought. “You’ll see, Crowley. She’ll grow on you.”
By the end of the drive, Crowley wouldn’t exactly say Aziraphale’s song choices had grown on him, but his annoyance had somewhat faded after seeing Aziraphale completely brighten up and bop around in his seat to the music. He led the way up the stairs and tried to ignore the nervous pit in his gut.
There was really no reason to be nervous, he knew, because they had spent many an evening together, drinking wine and whatever else. They had never gone into an evening with the intention of it lasting all night before, but they didn’t need to sleep, so really the nighttime was no different than any other time of day, was it?
Aziraphale was singing under his breath behind Crowley as he unlocked his door. Something about boy trouble? Good Lord.
Crowley tossed his keys on his desk. “I’ll go and dig out that bottle.”
“Splendid. Oh, I must say hello to your plants…” Aziraphale scurried down the hall.
“Oi, let me know if anyone’s misbehaving, will you?” Crowley called after him.
Aziraphale chuckled. “Misbehaving plants.” Crowley’s odd little mannerisms never failed to amuse him.
As usual, they drank swiftly and heavily. Crowley wasn’t even sure he’d found the right bottle of wine, but they polished it off along with a couple others without much trouble. He sprawled out in his armchair, one leg dangling off the side, and watched Aziraphale make them some drinks. He always got creative once he hit a certain level of drunk, and started dreaming up all sorts of cocktails. Sometimes he’d stumble on a masterpiece and they’d cheer wildly, and others they wouldn’t be able to even swallow their first sip and they’d fall to the floor with laughter. Crowley made sure to keep a well-stocked bar especially for these purposes.
Now, Aziraphale held a tumbler up to his face and a large bottle of St. Germain above his head, keeping a close eye on exactly how much he was pouring in. His tongue stuck out just a bit. Once satisfied with the amount, he took a sip, savored it, closed his eyes, thought about it, then opened his eyes and beamed at Crowley.
“All finished, then?”
“Oh, yes. I call it, ‘The Eliza Doolittle!’ A bit rough at the start, but with a sweet, floral finish!”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Crowley walked over, probably a tad slower than he intended, and reached for the glass.
“Not so fast! This drink can only be fully appreciated with the right musical accompaniment.”
“Oh, not this again.”
“Don’t question my genius, Crowley! You absolutely cannot enjoy an Eliza Doolittle without simultaneously listening to Eliza Doolittle.”
Crowley squinted at him. “Right, and who’s she?”
Aziraphale’s jaw dropped in horror. “Eliza Doolittle, Crowley! From My Fair Lady? She’s the fair lady! Oh, goodness, Crowley, haven’t you ever seen a play?”
“You know I have, and you know they’re not my cup of tea.”
Aziraphale huffed and began rifling through Crowley’s vinyl collection. “You don’t have it!”
“Why would I have it? I don’t even know what it is!”
Without another thought, Aziraphale miracled a My Fair Lady record. He was entirely too devil-may-care with the miracles when he was drunk. Audrey Hepburn’s voice filled the room.
“Okay, now you can try it.” As Crowley lifted the tumbler to his mouth, Aziraphale reminded, “Don’t forget to listen to the music.”
Crowley closed his eyes, let the crackling melody of I could’ve danced all night... fill his ears, and took a long taste of Aziraphale’s drink. “You’re right, angel, this is quite fantastic. It is floral at the end.”
Aziraphale clapped. “Oh, I knew I was onto something!” He retrieved his own glass, clinked it with Crowley’s, and downed half of it in one gulp.
“Good Lord, Aziraphale, you should slow do-”
“Shhhh.”
“Aziraphale.”
“Oh, fine!” He set the remainder of his Eliza Doolittle down. “I’ll take a break if you dance with me.”
Crowley’s eyes widened. “What?”
Aziraphale took his friend’s hand, and Crowley’s heart almost flew out of his chest. “I haven’t had a chance in ages, and the song is so lovely.”
Crowley had never danced in his life, but Aziraphale looked so hopeful, and he’d had almost enough alcohol to stop questioning why Aziraphale was touching him. He took a swig of his cocktail and set it next to Aziraphale’s. “Okay.”
With a huge smile, Aziraphale led him to a less furnished area of the room, moved Crowley’s free hand to his waist and placed his on Crowley’s shoulder, and began swaying. They started slow and unsure, but soon they were twirling around the room, with Aziraphale bellowing, “ and still have begged for moooooore,” with great enthusiasm. Crowley felt like he was floating, pressed against his angel, at the angel’s request no less, laughing in delight at Aziraphale’s joyous singing, all his anxieties momentarily fallen away. He didn’t even mind that the record Aziraphale had put on seemed to be the same song on repeat.
But, as all good things must do, the record eventually came to an end. When it did, Aziraphale seemed to have awoken from a trance. He took a step back from Crowley, though not letting him go, and blushed. “Thank you for indulging me, Crowley. You can be very sweet, you know.”
Crowley smiled. Aziraphale had never called him that before. Truthfully, he could have kept dancing with Aziraphale for all of eternity. They stood there, smiling at each other, ever-so-slightly touching, for a few moments in the newfound silence, until Crowley realized Aziraphale was probably wondering what the hell was wrong with him and why was he just staring at him like that.
He picked up their drinks from the table and handed one to Aziraphale. “To Eliza Doolittle,” he said, raising his glass.
“To Eliza.”
Crowley downed his drink and flopped back down in this chair. “Bit quiet now, isn’t it?”
Aziraphale tried to suppress a smile. “Are you suggesting…?”
“You play whatever you like, angel, I’m drunk enough now that I won’t be bothered.” Besides, if it meant they would keep dancing, Crowley would’ve listened to anything.
This time, Aziraphale opted for the more modern option of taking Crowley’s smartphone and finding a playlist of Carly Rae Jepson’s entire discography on the internet somewhere. Without even realizing it, and much to Crowley’s delight, he immediately got a spring in his step, and bounced around while he made a couple more of his new favorite cocktail. He had to stop mid-pour when his favorite song came on.
As he pirouetted towards their miniscule dancefloor, he tripped over his own feet and stumbled into Crowley, who caught him by the hips. Aziraphale stabilized himself on the back of the chair, his hands on either side of Crowley’s head. Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s blue eyes, which were awfully close. Time seemed to stand still, but Ms. Jepsen’s voice still floated in between them. I’ll be your sinner in secret, when the lights go out, run away with me .
Well that was a bit close to home, wasn’t it, given that he’d propositioned the angel with exactly that not too long ago.
Aziraphale must’ve heard it too, judging by the strange look on his face. Crowley got that little tingle on the back of his neck he always felt when he’d successfully tempted someone. Shit. He hadn’t even been trying.
After blinking several times, Aziraphale righted himself and smoothed down his shirt. “Thank you for catching me, Crowley,” he said politely.
“Of course, angel.”
The mood felt a bit off for a few minutes, but soon Aziraphale had finished mixing their drinks, and the little boost of alcohol was enough to get them both loosened up again. Aziraphale even pulled Crowley out of his chair and got him jumping along to the music with him. He held Crowley’s hands and pumped their arms back and forth as they twisted from side to side.
“Admit it, Crowley,” Aziraphale said over the music, which had increased in volume with every drink they poured, “you like Carly Rae Jepsen, and you like dancing!”
I like you, he wanted to say, but Aziraphale was right- Aziraphale’s enthusiasm about the music was infectious, and dancing was much more enjoyable than he’d expected. “Alright,” he conceded, “you got me.”
Aziraphale grinned and squeezed Crowley’s hands tighter.
When a slow song came on - hold on now, this is getting kinda serious - Aziraphale hesitated, but gently moved Crowley’s hands to his waist, and wrapped his own around Crowley’s neck.
“Oh, relax, Crowley,” he said when he saw Crowley’s terrified expression. “It’s slow dancing.” How the demon had survived on Earth all this time without seeing a single film, Aziraphale would never understand.
When I’m close to you, we blend into my favourite colour… Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder and began swaying them back and forth. I’m bright baby blue - Crowley closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the angel’s soft curls - falling into you, falling for each other ...
The two stood in the middle of the room, still swaying but just barely, holding each other close and breathing each other in. Eventually, the song faded out and was replaced by a much peppier tune.
I didn’t just come here to dance, if you know what I mean.
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. He was beginning to feel as though this Carly Roo Whoever person had far too good a read on him. Aziraphale, feeling similarly, practically leaped back from Crowley, his cheeks flushed.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, well, it’s getting late, isn’t it? Perhaps we’d better wrap up. Too much more to drink and we won’t have the wherewithal to get sober.”
“Suppose you’re right.” It took a bit of effort, but all the bottles they’d emptied were soon full again. Crowley poured each of them a glass of orange juice - the only real remedy they’d found for the awful aftertaste of expelling alcohol from their bodies - and clinked his glass against Aziraphale’s.
The music played on, no longer quite right for what had turned into a somewhat somber moment. “Fun song, though,” Crowley said.
“Oh, yes.”
Crowley swished the rest of his juice around in his mouth and swallowed. “Well, I’m off to bed.”
“Bed?”
“Yeah, doesn’t drinking make you tired? It always feels so good to have a nap after I’ve gotten it all out of my system.” He was telling the truth, but he also wanted a way to escape the tense mood that had settled over them. Where were they meant to go from here?
“Can’t say I’ve tried it,” Aziraphale answered.
“You have your earthly indulgences, I have mine. You’ll be alright out here?”
“Um, yes, I suppose so.” Aziraphale eyed Crowley’s bookshelf, which Aziraphale had mostly filled for him.
“Holler if you need anything. ‘Night, angel.”
Crowley retreated to the bedroom and stripped down to his underwear and socks.
He settled into bed and lay awake. He did normally like to sleep after getting that drunk, and he was tired, but how could he possibly sleep after that? He had never been so close to Aziraphale for so long, and though they’d been drunk together many times, Aziraphale had never wanted to do anything like that before. And Crowley was riddled with guilt over tempting the angel, though he wasn’t entirely clear on what he had tempted him into and certainly hadn’t done it on purpose. He worried that Aziraphale letting his guard down so much during that last dance was only because Crowley had somehow tricked him.
There was a gentle knock at the door, which Crowley had left slightly ajar. He propped himself up on his elbows.
“Aziraphale? Everything alright?”
Aziraphale came in, slow and sheepish, wringing his hands and looking at the floor. “Yes, everything is fine, I just…”
“What is it?”
“Well, I thought maybe I would try sleeping.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose I could make up the couch, or-”
“No, that won’t be necessary, I thought perhaps I could…” he gestured at Crowley’s enormous bed, “...join you?”
Crowley’s eyes widened. Was he hearing this correctly? “Um, yes, of course. Plenty of room.” He patted the bed next to him.
“Thank you.” Aziraphale came up to the empty side of the bed, and Crowley rolled over to face him.
“You going to sleep in that?” Crowley looked Aziraphale’s outfit up and down. “Not very comfortable, is it?”
“Well, I don’t know, this is what I’m always in. What are you wearing?”
Crowley lifted the duvet to show him. He was hardly embarrassed- Aziraphale had already gotten a pretty good look at Crowley’s undergarments. Bathed in them, even.
“I see. Well then.” He took off all his layers except his white undershirt and briefs. Crowley attempted not to notice. Thank heavens it was dark. Aziraphale awkwardly climbed into bed next to him and got under the covers.
They looked at each other for a moment. Crowley had precisely no idea what was happening or what he was expected to do. He cleared his throat. “Well, this is new, eh?”
Aziraphale gave him an uncomfortable smile. “Yes, it really is, isn’t it? Always good to try new things, I always say…”
“Always.”
Silence again, neither of them knowing what to say, if anything. Finally, Aziraphale took a deep breath, and began, “Crowley…”
He said it with such a tenderness that Crowley felt he would melt directly into the bed. “Yes, angel?” he whispered.
“Well, Crowley, I’ve been thinking...now that everything has changed, now that we don’t have to answer to, well, anyone, and we are, as you said, kind of on our own side now, I…” He stopped mid-sentence, leaving Crowley dangling off the edge of his words, but replaced speaking with slowly reaching his hand up and tracing Crowley’s jawline with a single finger until he reached the cleft in his chin. Then his gaze moved to Crowley’s lips, and his finger followed, gently outlining them.
Crowley was absolutely frozen. He had learned the hard way so very, very many times not to express any kind of real affection towards Aziraphale, and he had misread Aziraphale’s behavior as affectionate over and over again. And after accidentally tempting him earlier, he was terrified to make any kind of move that would take away even an ounce of the angel’s free will.
But when Aziraphale licked his own lips, and Crowley was about to be the tempted one, he had to say something. “Aziraphale, I’m so sorry, angel, and I didn’t mean to, but I tempted you before, I think that’s why you’re-”
“Shhh.” Aziraphale applied the tiniest bit of pressure to Crowley’s lips to stop him talking. “I know, Crowley. You’ve tried to tempt me so many times, my dear, I know what it feels like. This time, I just…” He looked into Crowley’s eyes, so he would know he meant it. “This time I let you.”
Crowley’s mind reeled. “What...what are you saying?”
Aziraphale’s hand moved to Crowleys’ chest, where a bit of hair poked out over the low neckline. “I’m saying, after all this time, I’ve been denying it, denying you, denying how I feel, because of what could happen if I didn’t. It could’ve gone so wrong, Crowley, and you saw what they tried to do to us at the end. I couldn’t bear it if…” He cut himself off, not wanting to let himself go back there. He took a deep breath. “I’m saying, I want you.” He pressed his forehead against Crowley’s. “I want this.”
“Angel,” Crowley breathed.
Aziraphale’s eyes were back on Crowley’s mouth. “Can I?”
Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale pulled him in by the chin and pressed his lips against Crowley’s. A chaste kiss, soft and short, but the first either of them had ever had.
“Angel,” Crowley whispered again. They didn’t pull apart far enough that Aziraphale couldn’t feel Crowley’s lips brushing against his as he spoke. “Angel, I love you. I’ve loved you for centuries, maybe millennia, and this…” Finally gaining confidence, Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s waist, then moved it to his back so he could pull him closer. “This is what I’ve always wanted.”
The sliver of moonlight coming through the window reflected on the tears welling up in Aziraphale’s eyes. “I know, my love.” He kissed Crowley again, with a little more urgency this time. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you sooner.”
They stared at each other, savoring the moment but also having no idea how to move on from it.
“God, I’ve waited so long for this.” Aziraphale’s fingers tangled in Crowley’s hair and he drew him in for another kiss, this one deep, slow, full of longing.
When at last they separated, Aziraphale gave Crowley a quick smooch on the forehead. “I’m sorry I’m keeping you up, Crowley, you came in here to sleep.”
“Don’t mind,” Crowley mumbled, rubbing his nose against Aziraphale. He was feeling quite sleepy, but now he was emotionally exhausted in the best way possible, and had never felt safer. He yawned.
“Oh, but you need sleep, dear.”
“Mmmm.” He buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head as he drifted off into dreams of blue swirling together with yellow in a waltz, making a green that surrounded his consciousness.