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It had been a particularly lovely day in August at the nearby shore in the South Downs. The hot seaside air went well with the cheese that miraculously didn't melt in the sun as Crowley was feeding Aziraphale with it, one neatly cut cube at a time, a grape here and there. This had been what they had fought for, this quiet time on Earth, this peaceful exchange of kisses and silly endearments.
"Oh, dear." Aziraphale sighed as he later walked through their garden gate in the heat of the early afternoon, empty picnic basket in one hand, a demon in the other.
They were having guests again.
Gabriel was lounging in a lawn chair they didn't own before. He was tanning, bare skin ostentatiously shining with baby oil. He was wearing nothing but cream white swim trunks. His flip flops were lying in an untidy heap next to him while his feet hung into the water of a plastic pool that most certainly would leave an ugly mark on the otherwise pristine lawn.
In said offending pool sat cross-legged the Lord of Flies, Prince of Hell, Beelzebub, wearing a black swimsuit with fishnet cutouts. They were eating watermelon from a footstool. Their flies were having a feast.
"What is my life." Crowley growled as he walked right passed them, raising his hand in a crude greeting before entering his home through an already open glass door.
"Good day Gabriel, Beelzebub. What brings you here today?" Aziraphale asked, doing his best to smile through his mild annoyance, hands clasped in front of his dove blue linen shirt and accurately pressed champagne coloured shorts.
"This is neutral ground." Gabriel said, waving at his former subordinate.
"Our ground." The earthbound angel retorted, a tad miffed.
"His point exactly." The prince mumbled through a mouthful of fruit. "Where else could we go?"
Aziraphale took a deep breath. There was no point in arguing, now, was there. It hadn't been the first time he saw the odd couple meeting in their garden. Not even the first time this week.
"At least call in advance. I do have to ask you to respect our privacy." The resident angel settled on.
"We didn't follow you to the beach, did we?" Gabriel offered as a reply and got hit in the face by a watermelon seed. "What was that for?" He asked the petite demon.
"Privacy." Beelzebub buzzed.
Aziraphale shook his head and excused himself with abrasive politeness. He went into his cottage to put away the basket, fetch a cold bottle of icewine and four glasses he had put in the freezer. As he came back outside, his husband was already making rounds among the plants. Crowley had changed into black Bermuda trunks and an equally black shirt with a dark red floral print. Not a single button was done. It was rather distracting.
"How did you know you were in love with him?" Gabriel asked as he accepted his perspiring glass of exceptionally fragrant wine. He pointed at Crowley, who was snarling at the lavender bushes. The lavender was too chill for the demon's bullshit, which made things significantly worse.
"Well, if you must know," Aziraphale began, cheeks flushed as he sat down in a matching lawn chair that decided to exist just now. As did the small table he had placed the remaining fourth glass and the sleek bottle on after handing Beelzebub their drink. "It was 1941, in good old London. I was working for the Nazis at the time, and my dear Crowley had bombed a church for me--"
"This. This is why I drink now." Gabriel said and took a swig, his face scrunched at the taste of the sweet, sweet wine. He had not been prepared.
"What a power couple." Beelzebub quipped and got splashed with water by heavenly feet with golden nails. The archangel earned himself a pinch in the big toe in return and yelped ungracefully, oiled six-pack clenching. All was forgiven once the prince of Hell cradled his foot in one hand, lifted it up and placed a quick kiss on it.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. "May I continue? Thank you. He walked down the aisle for me, met me at the altar and threatened the aforementioned Nazis who had been rudely threatening me."
Beelzebub put their melon slice down, eyes fixed on the other demon. "He walked on consecrated ground?"
"He did." Aziraphale said with a hint of pride.
"For you?" It didn't quite sound like a question.
"He came to save me, even though we hadn't been speaking for several decades." The angel fiddled with his glass' stem. "He even thought of my books. I was so focused on protecting him from the bomb's impact that I forgot about my own books."
The guests were exchanging quizzical looks.
"I knew that angels aren't supposed to have favourites. Yet, I had been drawn to him ever since I met him, I was aware. I just didn't know love from love, so to speak. That night in '41, it had hit me just how much I loved him. It hurt, it was absolutely overwhelming. But it wasn't just that, I also knew he'd always have my back, always take care of me, always take me home if I only asked." Aziraphale's tone turned sour. "Though I wasn't allowed to ask because of you."
His guests shrugged nonchalantly.
"As an angel, I love all of Her creation equally. But, don't you think he's a being of his own creation? He chose his own name after the Fall, he lived his life cut off from Heaven and as loose from Hell as he could. He has his individual idea of who he is and who he wants to be. It's beautiful. I can love that just a bit more, can't I?" The angel explained, cradling his dripping wineglass in both hands.
"Hm." The Lord of Flies fell silent for a long moment, nursing his drink with surprising delight. The archangel was watching him quietly.
"Crowley." The prince called out suddenly. "Crowley! Get over here!"
The demon sauntered over, bare feet on plush grass. "Oh, you've summoned me, prince of the kiddie pool."
Beelzebub raised both middle fingers at him, sticky with melon juice. Their flies latched onto them.
"When did you know you fell in love with Aziraphale?"
His angel looked at him, equal parts curious and sympathetic.
"I, well, hng." Crowley pushed his hands into his shorts' pockets to at least look relaxed. "Remember the thing in The Beginning with the low hanging fruit?" All nodded. "He was there. Up on the wall, all wringing hands and too white robe and he told me he gave away that flaming sword to the original humans. We, ugh. We talked. A bit. He laughed at something stupid I'd said, and I kinda had the soul-crushing urge to make that happen again and again for all eternity."
Beelzebub narrowed their eyes on the demon. "Is that why you wanted to stay on Earth?"
Several sounds were formed in Crowley's throat before he managed some that spelt actual words. "Guess ssso."
Aziraphale's hand went up. "Me too, to be perfectly honest." Instinctively, Crowley took his hand. "I became principality to have a chance of, uhm, talking to him again." He looked up, head leaning against his husband's hip.
The demon melted at that revelation, let alone that smile the angel gifted him, knees wobblier than usual.
"So," Gabriel took a generous sip of wine and gestured widely at his hosts with his other hand, "you two used the Great Plan to date for six millennia."
The married couple exchanged a long look, communicating without words, just their eyes meeting, small expressions telling a little secret. "Yes?" They answered in unison. "Yes."
Beelzebub threw up their arms with a groan and dropped backwards into the pool, flies skittering in the splash.
"The war was doomed right from the start!" Gabriel grumbled, rubbing his sun-heated face.
The prince raised a fist to the sky.
"Make love, not war."