Work Text:
The apocalypse had come and gone six years ago, and the Earth still spun on. Aziraphale and Crowley had easily slipped into a quiet companionship, spending more and more time together until it was decided that it was high time for a change in scenery. And since they barely left each other’s company anymore, it only made sense to move in together. They’d chosen a small but quaint cottage in the South Downs, and Aziraphale couldn’t be more excited. He hadn’t been able to stop talking about the packing process or the beach they’d soon enjoy every day for the past month.
Aziraphale hummed contentedly as he helped Crowley pack the contents of his closet (which held a lot more than it appeared to be able to). The room was filled with boxes, and the bed was piled high with clothes in all possible shades of black. Crowley was throwing different garments into boxes willy-nilly, and Aziraphale was picking each one up and folding it meticulously, placing it back carefully. This was slowing Crowley’s packing process down considerably, especially as Aziraphale had a tendency to spend time commenting on the memories associated with each piece.
“Oh, Crowley, look,” he said, holding up a long jacket with buttons across the sleeves. “You wore this that time we got crepes in Paris, 1793, right?
“Yep,” Crowley replied without looking.
“And you had your hair in those ridiculous curls!”
“That was fashionable, angel.” Crowley drawled. “Just because you haven’t changed your hair in 6,000 years doesn’t mean we all have to be stuck in the past.”
“I’ve always liked your long hair best,” Aziraphale said, ignoring Crowley’s jab. “The waves suit you.”
It might have been Aziraphale’s imagination, but the tips of Crowley’s ears seemed a little more pink than usual.
“We should go back, though,” he continued. “To Paris, I mean. I’ve been craving a proper crepe for a while now.”
“Getting peckish, angel?” Crowley teased, looking at his watch. “I can pick us up some lunch if you want to keep folding all this properly.” He gestured at the bed piled full of clothes, smirking slightly.
“That would be lovely, my dear,” said Aziraphale, smoothing out some wrinkles in another black pair of pants. “What were you thinking?”
“It’s a surprise,” Crowley smiled, and breezed out of the room. One minute later, Aziraphale could hear the Bentley’s engine rev and speed off.
Without the demon to chatter to, Aziraphale quickly caught up with folding all the clothes on the bed. Looking for some way to make himself useful, he peered inside the closet and found various knick-knacks and accessories jumbled across the floor on the interior. Shaking his head with a small smile, he began to pick up and pack the various odds and ends away. Only a short minute had passed before something caught his eye.
It was a leather-bound book, or journal of some sort. Its soft brown cover looked extremely old and worn to the point that the strap that held it closed was hanging on by a thread. It didn’t look like the book had been purchased in a completed state, but rather added to over many years. In fact, he noticed, running his hands across the text block, the writing material varied. It started out with papyrus, moving to parchments in various stages of decay, and finally transitioning to the more modern papers. Aziraphale paused. He really shouldn’t open it. Whatever it was, it was old enough that Crowley had kept it for many, many centuries, which meant that it was important to the demon.
But he had never seen a book in Crowley’s flat before, and the curiosity that was gnawing at the back of his head was extremely hard to resist. Glancing up at the door and back down to the book, he quickly made up his mind, carefully opened the tome, and began to read.
Aziraphale,
Isn’t this new papyrus thing great? So much easier than spending all that time carving a message into a stone tablet! Anyway, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since that mess with the flood. Would you like to meet up in Naqada soon? I’ll buy you lunch.
-Crawley
There were quite a few more notes like this after that, stretching over a few thousand years (labelled carefully in blue ink above each letter) and several languages. Aziraphale wondered why Crowley had never sent them to him. He flipped through the pages of the book, finding a point where the letters lengthened. The address had changed too…
35 AD
My dearest angel,
I suppose I should stop fooling myself that you will ever see these letters. Every time I go to send them to you, they never seem to make it farther then my pockets. So why do I keep writing them? I just want to see you so much. I am constantly seeking you out, conscious of your presence on this Earth. It pulls me in like a planet in orbit, yet I cannot find the courage to reach out. I am such a coward when it comes to you. If only we were human, instead of immortal beings destined to end up on opposite sides of an inevitable battle. Then maybe I could tell you how I love you, angel. I’ve loved you since you gave that stupid flaming sword away and no matter how I try the feeling just won’t go away. And now that I’ve written this, I cannot deny it any longer.
And yet… even writing these words is a risk. If Hell were ever to find out the depth of my feelings for you – or even that they existed at all – well, let’s just say there wouldn’t be any rude notes of reprimand. But I cannot hold the words in much longer, my angel, and I’m afraid if I do not put them somewhere they will come out of my mouth in front of you, which would be infinitely worse.
Love,
Crowley
Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat. This couldn’t be true. Crowley couldn’t feel – have felt – this way about him. About anyone. He was a demon, and demons couldn’t love. He had told himself this a thousand times, when his own feelings threatened to surface. Aziraphale had known he loved Crowley for years, but not nearly as far back as this. This couldn’t be possible.
Yet here were the words, the proof, that Crowley did indeed feel something, something deep, for him. Aziraphale desperately tried to clamp down on the hope that was rising up, fluttering inside of him. Feeling slightly nauseous, he quickly scanned through several subsequent letters.
41 AD
My dearest angel,
You have always surprised me when I least expect it. Throughout our time here on Earth, I admit I’ve always kept tabs on your location. I’ve justified it as keeping an eye on the enemy, but well – I’ll never admit otherwise. So, I really wasn’t expecting to see you. I must have really gotten distracted by Caligula’s vices. Disgusting.
But you could make me forget anything else exists in this world. When I am with you, I am simultaneously so happy and so miserable. It’s so addicting – I wish I could sit in your warm, angelic glow forever. Sometimes I think if I did just that, it might feel like I’d never have Fallen.
Missing you already,
Crowley
1020
My dearest angel,
I cannot believe I finally managed to convince you of the merits of my argument! However, if I am completely honest with myself, which I rarely am (being a demon and all), I am most excited about the Arrangement because it will give me an excuse to see you more often… Perhaps I will even be able to send letters to you now, though I shall have to proofread them excessively. I’m too used to spilling my heart out on these pages by now. Not that I need a heart, per say.
Affectionately yours,
Crowley
1349
My dearest angel,
That’s it – this is officially the worst century yet. Where are you? I could really use your presence right about now. I’d take anything – even you yelling at me - just to be in your proximity. You must be moving quickly, trying to heal as many humans as possible. That must be it. You’ve never been so hard to locate before.
Why do you have to be so fucking – noble? I doubt Upstairs is going to be fond of all those miracles. And they’re not frivolous either. But I suppose if you were any different, I wouldn’t love you nearly as much. You are so much kinder and full of love than all of the other angels in heaven combined. It shouldn’t be possible, but it is true. And you just happened to have been placed on Earth, with me. From the moment I saw you on that wall, the odds were never stacked in my favour.
How many more thousands of years must my love persist? This century is bad enough without the obstinate thoughts of you crawling all over my mind at inopportune times like hundreds of Hastur’s blessed maggots. Satan, I really am a pathetic excuse for a demon.
Love always,
Crowley
1802
My dearest angel,
I have been thinking too much about you. I cannot focus on my assignments anymore; every waking thought is filled with your pale eyes, your soft lips, and your glowing smile. I am ashamed – even now I sit here caressing my own face and pretending my hands are yours, but it’s not enough. My corporation is too sinewy, too long, where your hands would be so soft and so- you.
You would be so disgusted to know the thoughts in my mind late at night, though they are only of you. I cannot face you like this. Every sight of you burns me like a brand, your words echo inside my skull and I cannot breathe. I feel I can no longer control myself and I am so, so tired. I think I need to sleep, my angel. For quite a long time. You might wonder where I have gone, but I cannot allow myself to think that you might miss me.
Just know that I remain –
Ever yours,
Crowley
1862
My dearest angel,
As soon as I woke up, my first thought was of you. I long to fly to your arms and writing this is the only way I can restrain myself. After all, you would never accept me the way I desire you.
I hardly know what year it is. There appears to be a lot of messages from my head office, but I cannot bring myself to care yet. All I can do is wonder what you have been doing all these years I have slept. Have you missed me at all, my dear angel? Have you wondered where I went or even sought me out? No – I cannot allow myself to think like this again.
This widening book of letters has me worried, my love. While admittedly my thoughts of you are sometimes lustful, most of my words towards you wouldn’t be looked upon with much appreciation by my kind. It seems that you have always been right about me in some ways…
I suppose I could burn this book. But every time I have tried something has stopped me. Heaven Hell knows what.
I need to start planning if something goes wrong. If Hell finds out. If you find out. If They found out, well, my time on Earth would certainly be cut short. They might even go so far as to try to get rid of me. After all, who needs a demon in love with an angel? If you found out, I suppose you would just reject me, or maybe avoid me for the rest of eternity.
I’m not sure which would destroy me first.
Though I’d still remain forever yours,
Crowley
1967
My dearest angel,
I go too fast for you? What does that even mean, angel? All I wanted was to remain in your presence for just a little longer. I would have driven you all the way to China if you asked it, and been all too happy for it.
Part of me is joyful at the words because it’s taking that as an indication that you might be able to feel the same way for me given time. Another part of me is disappointed you don’t, even though I of course knew that. All of me is panicking. I mean, it’s been 6,000 years, angel, and I haven’t made any sort of move yet! Not on purpose! I could go much faster, but have been moving at a snail’s pace for fear of your rejection and Heaven and Hell’s retribution, and yet that’s still too fast for you?! How the hell am I supposed to go any slower?!
Fuck, maybe it’s worse if you did feel the same way. Because even if you did, we could never act on it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My angel, I would fly to you if I knew you felt even a fraction of what I do for you. I’m not sure I could control myself. But then I think of you falling, falling because of me, and – gah, I can’t, angel. I just couldn’t have that happen. So no, I must tell myself you don’t feel that way, and are just scared at even a friendship forming.
But angel, angel, how I love and adore you. Your stupid reading glasses, your bumbling manner, your bibliophilic tendencies, your face when you taste a particularly sweet pastry – just, everything. It’s tearing me apart.
Love,
Crowley
2012
My dearest angel,
I am equally as excited and nervous about starting to counsel – raise? – Warlock when he gets a little older, and none of these thoughts are about the actual child himself.
On one hand, I’ll get to see you every day. On the other hand, I’ll have to see you every day. It’s going to make it so much harder to retreat and recover, to squash down these incessant feelings of love, lust, and everything in between.
But I’ll get to see you so much more. Watch you eat, and read, and attempt to grow plants. That’ll be a laugh. And I’ll get to hear you say “my dear” more often. In my moments of weakness, I close my eyes and pretend the words mean something more.
This battle inside me almost makes me forget it’s the end of the world we’re trying to prevent here.
See you soon my love,
Crowley
Aziraphale’s focus was abruptly interrupted by a loud crash. It was only when he looked up from the book that he realized tears were dripping down his face. Through his blurry vision, he managed to make out Crowley’s form swimming before him. He seemed to have dropped a silver tray full of china, and…
Crowley looked absolutely horrified. Guilt immediately rose up in Aziraphale’s throat, nearly choking him. For a moment they just stared at each other.
Crowley was the first one to break the silence. He snapped his mouth shut, marched over the broken plates, and snatched the book from Aziraphale’s grasp.
“How dare – Aziraphale – that’ssss private!” Crowley was stuttering furiously. He glanced at the page Aziraphale was on and his face reddened further. “I knew I should have burned this blasssted thing yearsss ago!” Irate, Crowley threw the book across the room where it burst into flames. He then turned to storm out of the room.
“No!” Aziraphale cried as he was suddenly jolted into action. He dove across the room, intending to pat out the fire, but as soon as his hands got close, he let out of a yelp of pain. The fire was hotter than he had expected…
And then Crowley was there, grasping his wrists, and the book was no longer on fire. Crowley turned Aziraphale’s hands over, not altogether very gently, and began examining his palms. Aziraphale found all he could do was stare uselessly at Crowley’s downturned eyelashes as the red burns on his hands throbbed painfully.
“That wasss hellfire, you idiot – Angel, thank God you’re okay,” Crowley didn’t seem to be able to put together a coherent sentence. “I couldn’t bear it if you – if I…” With a wave of his hand, he conjured a first aid kit and began applying ointment to the wounds. Hellfire burns couldn’t simply be miracled away.
Aziraphale squinted in pain. “I didn’t want you to destroy it, Crowley. I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”
“Obviously,” spit Crowley, but he had begun wrapping his hands in gauze in the gentlest manner that did not match his tone.
“You’re such a lovely author, Crowley,” Aziraphale pressed, desperate for the demon to understand. “I had no idea you had such a talent. And your penmanship is just as beautiful as your prose, my dear.”
“Right,” said Crowley tersely.
This wasn’t going well, Aziraphale thought. Crowley was refusing to look at him at all, even as he finished wrapping his hands. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he tried again. “I had no idea you felt this way…”
Crowley dropped Aziraphale’s hands like they themselves burned. “Don’t,” said Crowley dangerously, stepping back out Aziraphale’s reach. “Just don’t.”
“Don’t what, my dear?” Aziraphale found he did not like this increasing distance at all.
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut furiously. “I don’t want your angelic pity,” he spat.
“No!” Aziraphale cried. “It’s not like that! Crowley, my dear, how could you not know?” He paused, feeling almost sick to his stomach. “That is to say, I love you too!”
But Crowley was still backing up blindly, refusing to look at the angel. “No, no, nonono, Aziraphale. Don’t do thisss to me!” His hands were up, as if to protect himself from Aziraphale’s advances. As if the angel was about to smite him for his perceived transgression.
“Do what?” Aziraphale followed, desperate to take his love’s hands and comfort him. “I don’t understand!”
“You’re an angel!” Crowley huffed. “You have to love everything; that’s your job!”
“Yes, but not like I love you!” Aziraphale nearly shouted, his eyes welling up again. He took a deep breath and managed to catch Crowley’s hands, holding them steady even as the demon tried to rip them away. “Not like I love you,” he whispered.
Crowley’s eyes finally snapped to Aziraphale’s face, who was suddenly grateful for the lack of sunglasses as he saw hope blooming behind those beautiful yellow irises. He smiled reassuringly at the demon.
“Does…does this mean we can still move together… to the cottage?” Crowley inquired hesitatingly. “You really don’t mind?”
Aziraphale felt his face spreading into a ridiculous smile. “Of course, you silly old serpent.” And, surprising himself, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips. They were soft and warm, slightly parted in shock, but everything he had ever imagined. Then the moment was over, and he retreated to study Crowley, who seemed to have frozen.
“Angel,” he croaked, and suddenly Aziraphale found himself being pushed into the wall, and Crowley’s hot mouth was on his.
“Mmmph,” Aziraphale said intelligibly. Crowley was kissing him desperately, his hands in Aziraphale’s lapels. The demon’s body was pressed against his in a way that made him whimper and nip, needy, at his bottom lip. Crowley moaned, and seemed to take that as invitation to deepen the kiss, curling his tongue around Aziraphale’s in a not-altogether human way. Aziraphale wrestled his hands out from their position trapped against the wall in favour of running them into Crowley’s fiery red hair, which only made the demon wobble at the knees.
After several minutes – hours? – Crowley released him, retreating only a couple inches to rest their foreheads together. They both found themselves panting despite the fact they didn’t really need to breathe. Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley’s arms and happily smiled up at him. The demon’s eyes were wet with unshed tears, Aziraphale noticed, and Crowley exhaled shakily.
“Angel,” Crowley murmured reverently. “My angel. Aziraphale…”
“I’m sorry I made you wait this long,” Aziraphale kissed the corner of his mouth gently.
“S’fine. You were worth it.”
“All the same,” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley kissed him again, less desperately this time. He seemed to be radiating love and happiness, and Aziraphale wondered how he had never felt it before. He allowed himself to soak in the warm feeling, kissing Crowley chastely, and wrapping his arms around his love.
After several long minutes, he gently suggested cleaning up the mess of broken china Crowley had left in the doorway.
“Mmm,” said Crowley, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s neck. He seemed unwilling to detach himself from the angel. Gradually, Aziraphale managed to untangle their limbs and miracled Crowley’s lunch tray back into its original state with a wave of his hand. He seemed to have brought him a gorgeous platter of various cheeses, nuts, and fruits. Aziraphale’s heart filled with happiness again, and he turned to smile at the demon.
“Angel?” Crowley grinned back.
“Yes, dearest?”
“I’m glad we can move in together after this. You have no idea how relieved I feel.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “No more hiding, my love.”
Crowley’s smile softened fondly, and he let go of his hand to gather their lunch.
“And this way, we can use the other bedroom in the cottage for a library!” Aziraphale added brightly. Crowley spluttered in response, tripping over one of the boxes on his bedroom floor. Aziraphale beamed. This was a perfect way to start their new adventure.