Work Text:
When all things were said and done, there was peace. The kind of peace that came after a good meal where you had neither eaten too much nor too little. In these little moments, everything fit together nicely. Such a moment happened to come directly after Aziraphale and Crowley left the Ritz and headed for the angel’s bookshop. Quite possibly they felt this way because it had indeed been a good meal. Perhaps that was just the feeling of being back in one’s own body, or simply how one felt when they had averted the apocalypse.
Crowley was pulling over on the side of the road and expected Aziraphale to get out of the car, but instead the angel turned towards him.
“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
Who was Crowley to deny himself and his angel this opportunity to let the day end as perfectly as it deserved?
“Gladly.”
“I must say, this whole business went over much more smoothly than I suspected it might,” Aziraphale said, a while later, passing one of the cups over to Crowley. “Really what more is there to do?”
Crowley snorted into his tea.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, angel,” he muttered and sprawled out on the couch, while Aziraphale sat down in his armchair.
“Oh, my dear boy, I insist,” Aziraphale said, because of course he did, too polite to let a subject be dropped when it should be.
“Do you ever yearn?” Crowley asked. It was meant more as a joke, but the way Aziraphale looked at him didn’t sit right with him for some reason.
“Pardon?” Aziraphale was ever so polite.
“Do you ever yearn, angel?” Crowley repeated and took a sip of his tea to avoid looking at Aziraphale.
“I do.”
It was not the answer Crowley had expected at all.
“Oh.”
There was a moment of silence, both of them used to take another sip of their tea.
“Do you?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley nearly choked on his own tongue.
“Yeah.”
“What for?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you yearn for?”
Crowley didn’t have it in him to tell the truth. ‘I love you and I wish you loved me back’ just didn’t seem like the kind of thing you told your hereditary enemy after six thousand years. Instead, he took a deep breath before settling for a half-truth. Or maybe just a quarter-truth.
“I just want to be held for a little while,” he muttered and downed the rest of his tea, ignoring the scalding heat.
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale said and Crowley knew his exact expression even without looking at the angel. His eyes were all soft and he was looking at Crowley with slightly parted lips and raised eyebrows. The definition of innocence; lovable and good, so good that it had worked on Crowley.
When Crowley saw a movement from the corner of his eyes, he looked up.
Aziraphale had set aside his tea and was coming towards Crowley.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I can hold you.”
Crowley’s breath hitched and he tried to protest.
“I – no, there’s really no need, I’m – you… angel –“
“Oh don’t worry, Crowley.”
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Crowley didn’t even know why he had started on the topic in the first place, let alone why he would say something like that. It was too late now, because Aziraphale was sitting down next to him, spreading his arms and Crowley had too little self-control to not let himself fall into them. He rested his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder and felt the angel’s breath in his hair.
“Is this adequate?”
Crowley wanted to laugh at the choice of words, but he was too tense to do much of anything, so he just hummed a noise of confirmation.
Aziraphale’s hands were coming together over Crowley’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around the demon, but not tightly enough to make him uncomfortable. Really, quite the opposite was the case. Crowley slowly started to relax and melt into Aziraphale’s touch, wiggling to get even more comfortable.
Aziraphale’s hands came up to take off his glasses, halting before they touched Crowley.
“May I?”
“Of course,” Crowley said. As if Aziraphale ever needed to ask. But he did, and it made Crowley feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
The angel took off his glasses carefully, setting it aside and proceeded to wrap his arms around Crowley again. In a moment of light-headedness at Aziraphale’s emotional vulnerability, Crowley brought up his own hands, lacing his fingers between the angel’s. When he didn’t pull away, Crowley smiled smugly and closed his eyes, nestling his head against the curve of Aziraphale’s neck.
“Is this what you wanted?”
Crowley took a moment to process the question; his mind was preoccupied with feeling cosy, at home.
“Yes, angel.”
“Good.”
For a while they just sat there in silence, and the peaceful feeling Crowley was experiencing, seemed to drape itself over the entire room, or maybe the whole world. He couldn’t tell.
“I can’t give you everything.” Aziraphale spoke up all of a sudden.
“Huh?”
“I’m sure you had someone specific in mind, that should hold you,” the angel elaborated, and Crowley frowned for a second before he realised, that Aziraphale truly didn’t know.
“I did,” he replied slowly.
“Hm.” Crowley felt Aziraphale’s huffed out breath against his cheek.
“You.” He hoped the penny would drop.
“What?” No such luck.
“I hoped you would.”
“Oh.” A beat. “Oh! Oh, my dear!”
Crowley smiled and closed his eyes again. There was no need for more words. Something had shifted between them, but it felt more like something clicking into place, than an actual change. There was no hurry to figure it out either; for the moment, they were perfectly content where they were, tangled together on a couch in the bookshop.
The feeling of peace extended so deeply inside Crowley, that he wondered why he had never felt it before. Maybe it was the aftertaste of an averted apocalypse, maybe it was the soothing cup of tea, maybe it was the sensation of being held – finally. But maybe it was merely the sensation of love, kept in one place for too long being released.