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Post the nearly-Apocalypse Crowley and Aziraphale had begun to spend more time together. Without the threat of being punished for fraternising they were free to be close in ways they hadn't been before. Dinners and wine, desserts and nightcaps, and now whole days spent talking or wandering around London visiting shops and parks and museums. Weeks where they were together more than they were not.
Aziraphale sometimes now visited Crowley's flat but they still spent most of their time at the bookshop. It was warm and cosy and Aziraphale had been thinking of rearranging some of the shelves at the back of the store so he could put a few plants there to give Crowley the idea of moving in. If it was Crowley's suggestion then Aziraphale didn't have to risk rejection by asking him to, and it would let Crowley set his own pace. Because while Crowley had been the one going too fast all those years before the nearly-Apocalypse, Aziraphale knew he preferred it that way and wouldn't necessarily approve of Aziraphale becoming the bold one. Crowley liked to feel in control.
While Aziraphale was moving a few books in preparation of his cunning plan, Crowley stormed into the bookshop, the door banging shut behind him.
Behind her, Aziraphale corrected. They tended to use the pronouns suited to the form their corporation was in and Crowley was female today. She was also not Nanny Ashtoreth, the stern woman in conservative clothing. No, Crowley was wearing a very short black skirt, high heels, and a low-cut blouse showing impressive cleavage. She was barelegged, no stockings or tights today. A mass of red hair was artfully arranged around her shoulders. Her sunglasses were heart shaped, her lipstick the colour of a cardinal's robes.
"That bastard!" Crowley spat.
Aziraphale frowned, putting aside the books. "Who? What's happened?"
"Some asshole harassed me!" Crowley was almost trembling with anger. She sat on the sofa. "I didn't mind him looking. I like when people look. But he tried to corner me against a shop window and kept asking for my phone number. He got angry when I told him I wasn't interested. The names he called me! He said I was asking for it, dressing like this."
"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. "Did you hurt him very badly?"
Crowley shrugged. "Dislocated his wrist. And his knee. And he won't be getting it up for weeks!"
"Getting it up....oh. I see." No more than the man deserved. If it had been a human woman and not a demon he'd accosted things could have gone differently.
Crowley slipped off her glasses. The golden eyes never changed, male or female or snake. It was always Crowley in the gaze of those beautiful yellow eyes. "You said I go too fast. I don't mean to."
Aziraphale nodded. "I know." That was an abrupt turn in the conversation but he knew Crowley had a point to make. He got up and moved to the door, turning the sign so the shop was closed and locking the door to ensure they weren't interrupted.
"I've never made you feel like that, have I?" Crowley asked. "Trapped. Preyed upon."
"No! Never." Aziraphale shook his head, taking a seat next to Crowley. "You have always accepted my boundaries. Offered but never insisted."
Crowley relaxed, leaning back on the sofa and kicking off her heels. "Good. There are things I'd like to do. If you want to. But I'd never want to make you feel intimidated or unsafe."
"What kind of things?" Aziraphale was wondering if some wine was in order.
Crowley waved one hand languidly. A translucent glitter had been applied to her nails and they caught the light in a pleasing manner. "I don't know. Hold hands?"
"I would like that," Aziraphale said, sitting back down.
"Hugging. Hugging looks nice," Crowley said wistfully. "I was worried you wouldn't want to touch a demon. Worried it might hurt for us to touch too much. Over clothing's okay. I mean, we've brushed against each other."
"Slammed me up against a wall," Aziraphale said, somewhat tartly.
"Hmm," Crowley agreed. "But we sometimes do touch. Little things."
Like sitting close together, legs and shoulders pressed against each other. Like Crowley clapping Aziraphale on the shoulder to thank him for a wonderful meal.
Aziraphale slid his hand out and grasped Crowley's. No-one got hurt. He rubbed his thumb against the back of Crowley's hand. She smiled.
"That's a start," Aziraphale said, letting go. "But I think you want to do more?"
"More of it, yes. More doing it deliberately? Am I making sense? I think I'm too sober for this."
"Yes," Aziraphale said vaguely and a few minutes later they were both drinking wine and feeling somewhat more relaxed.
Crowley licked at her lips. "I want you to brush my hair," she said.
"Now?"
"Well, no. But in general. I'd like that."
Aziraphale nodded, hiding a smile of glee. "I'd like you to groom my wings."
Crowley nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. "Angel!"
"If you don't want to-"
"I want to. It's just. So." Crowley had to take a large gulp of wine before she said, "Intimate."
"Am I going too fast?" Aziraphale asked, his tone light, the question serious.
"No. You're going quicker than I expected. I'd love to groom your wings. I think they're amazing." Crowley took another mouthful of wine.
They talked about more things, about likes and dislikes, about maybes and definitely nots.
"Sex," Aziraphale said, finally. "All this business with genitals. I'd rather not."
Crowley shrugged. "Okay." She gazed at her breasts. "What about these?"
"What would you like me to do with them?" Aziraphale asked, puzzled. They were supposed to provide food for infants and presumably the idea of bigger breasts meaning more milk meaning healthier children had led many men to become unnecessarily attracted to them.
Crowley cupped them, ran her thumbs over the centre. "They're quite nice to touch. But we have nipples in male form too. Not snakes though. Snakes lay eggs."
"Yes," Aziraphale agreed, on safer ground when it came to reptilian biology. Snakes laid eggs, like birds did.
Crowley finished her wine. "Can I sit on your lap?"
"I, er, don't see why not."
Crowley practically slithered over and perched on his lap, one arm around his neck, the other caressing his curls. "I like this."
"I like this too," Aziraphale said, taken aback, but quickly won over. A genuine smile filled his face.
"Do you like me like this? Looking this way."
"My dear, I love you however you look."
Crowley laughed softly. "Even as a snake?"
"You're so sleek and lithe," Aziraphale said. "How could I not adore you?"
Crowley was quiet for a long time, mulling over that declaration. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They both had insecurities and when there was a chance to tackle them, wasn't it the duty of a friend to do so? An act of love.
"Thank you," Crowley said at last, sniffing a bit. "I like you too. You barely ever change. You'd probably wear the same clothes every day for the next century if it didn't raise eyebrows. But you're perfect as you are."
By the time night fell Crowley had taken his more usual male form, though he'd kept his hair long. After dinner Aziraphale put on the radio and they sat listening to classical music, Aziraphale brushing the long red locks with something approaching reverence.
They drank, and talked, and drank. It was delightful.
"I suppose I should go," Crowley said when the clock struck midnight. He was trying to sound nonchalant but Aziraphale knew better.
"You could stay," he said, adding, "You are fairly drunk."
Crowley accepted the excuse and Aziraphale took him upstairs to the rarely used bed.
"Where will you sleep?" Crowley slurred, dropping gratefully onto the mattress and casting aside his glasses.
"Oh, I don't need to."
Crowley enjoyed sleeping. Sloth, Aziraphale chided gently sometimes, but at least these days Crowley kept it to a few hours a day 1, rather than weeks at a time or worse. Aziraphale, however, rarely slept.
Crowley patted the bed with one hand. "No, come on. Sit. Stay."
Stay. Such a simple request. After all the time Aziraphale had spent hesitating and keeping Crowley at arm's length and even pushing him away, he couldn't bear to deny Crowley this. So he changed into fluffy white pyjamas and sat alongside Crowley until the demon fell asleep and started snoring.
He hadn't miracled the alcohol away and he'd have a hangover tomorrow, Aziraphale thought. He brushed his fingers over Crowley's face, sending him some healing. Crowley murmured something unintelligible and shuffled closer to Aziraphale.
Aziraphale stayed there all night. He watched Crowley for a long time, basking in the trust he was being shown. He even closed his eyes for a while, not wanting to sleep, but enjoying the rest.
"Angel," Crowley greeted him with a wide smile when he woke and Aziraphale knew he'd been right to stay.
After that the bed sharing became a regular thing.
After a few nights, while Crowley slept Aziraphale began to get a little bored. He went downstairs and got a book, Crowley stirring when Aziraphale returned to sit alongside him.
"I like waking up next to you," Crowley said at just after six the next morning, and Aziraphale treasured those words and the vulnerability and honesty radiating from the sleepy demon.
Aziraphale kept a book by the bed after that. Still, sometimes he'd get up, make himself tea and then creep back into bed before Crowley woke up. Night after night when they went to bed, he'd watch Crowley drift off into a peaceful sleep that, deep down, Aziraphale envied4, and then Aziraphale would read for a while before getting up for a few hours, always returning so that Crowley woke to find him in bed. Each morning they spent some time talking and cuddling for a few minutes or even an hour before getting up and Aziraphale couldn’t be happier about it.
"Aren't you asleep?" Crowley asked one night when he was having trouble drifting off and Aziraphale was still reading.
"You know I don't really see the point in it," Aziraphale said but for some reason Crowley took offence.
"Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I do!" Aziraphale kissed Crowley's forehead. "All right. I'll close my eyes."
He did close his eyes but he only faked sleep until he was sure Crowley was actually asleep. He held Crowley close and let his thoughts drift, spending the whole night alongside Crowley though he didn't risk slumber.
One night, while Aziraphale was re-reading a favourite book, Crowley stirred, eyes moving frantically beneath his lids, his breathing rapid. Incoherent mumblings became a definite, "No!" as Crowley began to thrash about.
Aziraphale reached over and pressed his hand to Crowley's cheek. "Crowley. It's a dream. Wake up." He used his other hand to give a firm nudge to Crowley's shoulder.
Crowley gave a "nghhl" and was quiet. He turned over, dislodging Aziraphale, and was soon sound asleep.
Aziraphale damped down his own fears, told himself how good it was that he'd been here to soothe Crowley, and went back to his book though he found it hard to focus on the words.
It was another week before things came to a head. Crowley had been miserable, for no reason Aziraphale could discern, and become clingy and desperate for reassurance. Mildly irritating as it was, it was preferable to Crowley bottling up his feelings and taking them out in anger on everyone around him or, worse, him disappearing without a word for a week or a month or a year.
"I love you," Crowley said, head in Aziraphale's lap that night.
Aziraphale held his almost finished book in one hand, gripping it at the centre so he could stroke Crowley's hair with the other. "I love you very much," he said.
"Stay with me." It was a plea for him to stay the night, and a plea for him to stay in Crowley's life, and Aziraphale nodded.
"I'll stay with you."
"You'll sleep here?"
"I'm here," Aziraphale said, hedging the truth. He put his book aside and Crowley moved over so Aziraphale could slide down and lie alongside him. Crowley nestled close and soon after Aziraphale had closed his eyes to fake sleep, Crowley genuinely slept.
Around four am Crowley kneed Aziraphale in the thigh and with a loud snore, turned over to face away from him, flinging one arm out of bed. With Crowley so deeply asleep and not needing his closeness, Aziraphale dared to get up. He wanted to make tea and ponder further what had brought on Crowley's neediness.
He made and drank his tea. He hoped no-one, angel or demon, had approached or otherwise threatened Crowley to cause his current mood – doubly so because if it were the case, Crowley should have told him and not hid the fact.
On the other hand, perhaps there was no direct causal event behind Crowley's mood. Humans sometimes suffered like this and they gave their maladies names like anxiety and depression and were affected by things like changes in the seasons. Perhaps Crowley was in the grip of such a malaise and, the way all physical hurts he received healed, this too would soon pass.
He washed the cup and left it to dry. He wandered back into the bookstore, perusing the shelves to find a new book to read
When Aziraphale turned Crowley was there, hair tousled, barefoot in the new flannel pyjamas Aziraphale had got him as a gift last week.
"You said you'd stay," Crowley said and there wasn't anger in his voice, which was worse than him being furious.
"Sorry. I was-" Aziraphale was about to lie and that was a bad thing for an angel to do, even to a demon, especially when it was a lie to his demon. Kind lies and omissions came under the umbrella of what people might call a white lie (Aziraphale thought of them as grey lies) and he'd been using plenty of those over the last few nights, but he knew that if he lied now it wouldn't be to spare Crowley's feelings but to offset his guilt. "I'm sorry."
Crowley gave an expressive shrug. "So you're not going to pretend you were getting a glass of water and then coming straight back and going to sleep?"
"No."
"How often have you been doing this?"
"Most of the time," Aziraphale admitted. "Sometimes I read but other times I get out of bed." And, it went unsaid, sneak back later and pretend he'd been there the whole time.
Crowley stared at him. "You don't want to sleep."
"No."
But before he could explain, Crowley's face fell. He turned from Aziraphale and walked over to the one of the bookshelves, leaning against it, face hidden, nose almost touching one of the old encyclopaedias only the most ardent bibliophile could love.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said, watching Crowley's shoulders shake.
Crowley mumbled something.
"I didn't catch that. Please, come and talk to me."
Crowley choked back a sob. When he turned, Aziraphale's heart sank at the tear-stained face. "You don't trust me," Crowley wailed.
How on earth had he reached that conclusion?
"What?" Aziraphale spread his hands. "Crowley, you're not making sense."
Crowley shook his head. "You don't trust me to keep my filthy demon hands to myself. You don't believe that I won't try and...and screw you! You think I don't respect you. You think if you dare to let yourself sleep next to me that I'll be overcome with lust and ravish you!"
Under other circumstances Aziraphale would have given him a pointed look and smugly said that 'ravish' was a word that he, Aziraphale, would use but that didn't Crowley normally insist on a more contemporary vocabulary.
This was not the time.
"That is not it at all," Aziraphale said. He fiddled absent-mindedly with the top button of his pyjama top. "I do not think any of those things."
"Then why won't you stay with me!" Crowley's question was filled with pain and Aziraphale hated himself for being the cause of it. Crowley had wept when he'd thought Aziraphale had been destroyed by hellfire and Aziraphale had hoped to never see Crowley in such distress again. Yet now Crowley was again weeping, over another misunderstanding, but this one was Aziraphale's fault.
"It's not you," he began and realised that was one of the things humans tended to say that often made things worse. "I mean, it's my problem. This isn't about me not wanting sex or thinking that you do, and I have no idea where you got that idea."
Crowley said nothing, but his shoulders were trembling with anger or sadness or both. Aziraphale wanted to hold him but right now they needed to talk.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. "I want to stay with you but there's only so many hours I can not sleep while you get to drift off."
Crowley frowned. "Then why don't you sleep? If it's not because you don't trust me?"
Aziraphale moved to the sofa and sat down heavily. "I trust you completely," he said. "That's not the reason I won't sleep."
Now Crowley was calmer. He wiped at his face with one sleeve the way toddlers did before they were taught to blow their nose on a tissue. "Then why?"
Aziraphale patted the sofa and Crowley padded over and sat next to him. Aziraphale took a deep breath.
"I've only slept a few times," he said. "And every single time has been horrendous. The first time...you'd been talking about it and I thought I'd try. It took me several attempts to get the hang of it, all that being vulnerable and finding a comfortable position and turning off conscious thought. But I did it."
Crowley nodded.
"I found myself reliving the Flood," Aziraphale said, voice trembling. "It was so real. I watched it all happen again but it was even worse. People were screaming at me, begging me to save them. Animals came and sat at my feet, wailing. A woman pushed her baby into my arms..."
He broke off, blinked hard. Crowley put one hand on his knee and Aziraphale placed his own hand over Crowley's, grateful for the contact.
"You had a nightmare," Crowley said softly.
"I didn't understand what a dream was," Aziraphale said. "And when I did discover what they were, I didn't understand why my dreams were not so confused as those humans have. Mine was so vivid, so detailed. And I didn't sleep again for years."
Aziraphale sniffed, miracled up a cloth handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. "The next time I slept I dreamt of the Crucifixion. And God blamed me. She said I should have saved her Son, that I was supposed to have followed Her Plan. That I had failed Her. I protested that I thought this was Her Plan and then She was furious with me for questioning Her. And...and She cast me down to Hell and there were flames....when I woke up I was trembling and it took me hours to be able even to breathe."
"Zira." Crowley pulled his hand free and instead wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's shoulder. "I didn't know."
"Of course not. I've never told anyone. Angels aren't meant for sleep any more than we are meant for cupcakes or wine tasting. It seemed such a shameful thing to talk about."
"You could have told me," Crowley said.
Aziraphale nodded. "I could have. But I admit to feeling some embarrassment. Possibly even a tiny bit of pride. I didn't want to tell you how awful I was at sleeping. To admit that something that wasn't real had caused me such terror."
Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's hair. "You're not bad at sleeping – it's not a skill. And it's all right that you were scared."
Being forced to admit to his past traumatic experiences wasn't the horrifying ordeal he'd feared; in fact Aziraphale was feeling lighter for having confessed to them.
"Each time was terrible but the last time I tried was possibly the worst," Aziraphale said. "It was just after we stopped the Apocalypse. I was genuinely tired, physically and emotionally and thought that the exhaustion might let me rest without dreaming."
"No such luck," Crowley said with sympathy.
"No. It was the most horrible nightmare. Instead of our respective sides taking us away they held us captive in the park. Gabriel took my flaming sword and he, he-" Aziraphale swallowed. Crowley's hand tightened on his shoulder.
"He started cutting you," Aziraphale said distantly, recalling seeing the many terrible wounds inflicted on Crowley in the dream. "There was so much blood and every cut burned and you were begging for it to stop. And Gabriel handed me the sword and said I had to do it, that you wouldn't heal and Beelzebub was there and said you'd never get another corporation and if you died they'd punish you in Hell for eternity."
He stopped, took a much needed breath. "And I didn't know what to do. I could maybe kill one of them but not both, I could kill myself, but the only option that didn't leave you in agony or eternal torment was to destroy you." Aziraphale swallowed hard. "And I stood over you and then I woke up and...and I called you at half past one in the morning because I needed to hear your voice."
Crowley let out an ohhh of realisation. "I remember thinking it was odd for you to call so late. You were rambling about going stargazing."
He'd picked Aziraphale up in the Bentley and they'd driven outside London to get a better look at the sky where there wasn't so much light pollution. Aziraphale had brought a flask of hot chocolate and a bottle of brandy.
"You came without hesitation," Aziraphale said. "And I kept miracling up more chocolate. I was just so relieved to have you near me."
"We sipped our drinks and watched the sky until the sun came up," Crowley said, the alcohol laced chocolate a fond memory. "Well, I was watching the sky. You seemed distracted."
"Did I?" Aziraphale was surprised, thinking he'd hidden his relief rather well.
"You kept looking at me as if you wanted to say something but didn't know how to. I figured you'd find a way when you were ready. Except I never thought it was anything about dreams. I thought it was you wanting me to move in."
Aziraphale laughed softly. "Well, that is something I've been thinking about. You've all but moved in already. You sleep here almost every night. To be honest I would very much like it if you did move in. I've been thinking where we can put your plants, and so on."
"Angel," Crowley said, nothing more and nothing less, pouring the affection of an epic love poem into that one word.
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes," Crowley said. "I'll move in."
"Well, that's good. And now you know the whole truth," Aziraphale said. His secret shame, his hidden past. "I do trust you. I just don't trust my dreams."
Crowley nodded. "I get it. I'm sorry. I was feeling down this week and I let myself get carried away with ridiculous thoughts about you and how you felt about me."
Things that could never be true, not after all they'd been through together.
"We may have disagreements on occasion," Aziraphale said. "We may annoy each other sometimes. But never doubt my love for you. And if you do, tell me and I will reassure you."
"I'll try," Crowley said, and that he'd try to rein in his insecurities and be honest about them was enough.
Aziraphale tipped his head. "You dream, don't you?"
"Sometimes. But it's not always that vivid and it's not usually a bad dream. I had one recently, though," Crowley said. "We were having a picnic at Tadfield and Hastur showed up, only he had horns, and he was holding a gun he said was filled with silver bullets and he was going to kill us both. Even though silver wouldn't hurt us more than regular bullets I was terrified in the dream. But then I don't know, everything changed and I was walking into a pub and there was a duck behind the bar and there was a table with a load of baby goats playing poker."
Aziraphale gave a smile. "I remember. You seemed distressed, so I gave you a nudge and you turned over and were calm."
"Right. Thank you." Crowley squeezed him tighter. "Now I know why you don't stay with me it's okay if you don't share a bed. Or if you only stay until I fall asleep. Or if you'd at least come and cuddle in the morning. I like our morning cuddles."
"I love cuddling too," Aziraphale said. "And I don't mind staying most of the night so long as I have a book to hand. And I always come back to bed after I get up for a drink. I like our closeness most of the time, and I do like being able to wake you if you're having a nightmare."
"If you don't mind then that would be nice," Crowley said. "But also, if you did want to try sleeping then I'd stay awake. I'd watch over you and nudge you when you were distressed. I'd talk to you. Maybe I can even influence your dreams. I've never tried it, but some demons say it's easy to do."
Aziraphale considered this. "You'd be with me."
"In bed yes. In your dreams, we can only try and see. But only if you want to."
It was an intriguing idea. "I'll think on it further."
Crowley kissed Aziraphale's hair again. "I'm wide awake. How about you make us a warm drink and I'll find us something to listen to on the radio."
"That sounds lovely," Aziraphale said. He pressed a kiss to Crowley's cheek before he pulled away and bustled off to his kitchen. Their kitchen, now, and the thought made him beam in delight.
Footnotes
- outside of lazy weekends2, and any time he was 'under the weather'3 . [ back ]
- though weekends didn't mean much to a non-human without an occupation [ back ]
- a condition ranging from hungover to just plain miserable [ back ]
- just a little, though he knew how amusing Crowley would find him dipping his toes in the sin [ back ]