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He had always hated cages.
Something about the ability to see the world that was just out of reach seemed cruel, worse even than being in a windowless room. Being stuck in an enclosed, empty, cold space for any amount of time, especially when alone, was one of the only things that frightened Aziraphale anymore.
Instead, he much preferred to be surrounded by things, trapped not by bars or locks or emptiness, but by an enclosure of things. Many had suspected Aziraphale of being a hoarder after seeing the state of his bookshop, which Aziraphale kept endlessly cluttered with books, scrolls, mugs, teacups, and any fun little trinkets he couldn't live without (such as a delightful little bird that teetered back and forth and appeared to drink from a cup).
However, it was a room that Aziraphale had never allowed anyone to see that truly showed the extent of his need to be surrounded by things, and that was his bedroom. His walls were covered in tapestries, the curtains thick and ornate. His floor was covered in thick carpets and blankets, and he kept his mattress (seldom used but always there, just in case) simply on the floor. He used this room to decompress, to relax in a sea of plush comfort.
He was sure that, should Upstairs find out about the extravagance of his bedroom, he would surely be chastised for his greed, vanity, and sloth.
For now, though, it was nice to have a place where he didn't feel alone.
~~
He had always hated crowds.
Sure, when given the opportunity to form a crowd to inconvenience someone (make a young couple late for a movie's showtime, cause a traffic jam, encourage light trampling during a sale), he would jump at the chance. However, he would always make sure he was well out of the way before the crowds could form. After all, if Crowley wanted to be trapped in the middle of a mass of people, he could always just go back Down.
That's why he kept his flat pristine and empty. He never invited anyone over, never desired a pet, and got all the company he needed from his plants. He was free from the worry that a passing person would be close enough to slash him with a knife or claws. He didn't have to keep an eye out for anyone who could hear him as he spoke his thoughts aloud, trying to get the right formation of words.
There was really only one place that Crowley would rather be than his own house.
The bookshop was quiet. The bookshop kept itself from being noticed by passers-by whenever Crowley dropped in. The bookshop was stacked with pages full of their own words, so there was no reason for the books to care much for eavesdropping.
More than that, the bookshop had Aziraphale.
As much as Crowley hated to admit it, the angel knew more about him than Crowley had ever let slip past his lips. The angel filled whatever room they happened to be in, almost guarding the demon from anyone who could try to invade their space, and the worst part (as far as Crowley was concerned) was that it wasn't clear that Aziraphale even knew he was doing it.
~~
Aziraphale prepared the tea, leaving one cup completely without any sweeteners (but with a dash of whiskey) and filling the other with enough cream and sugar that it was less like tea and more like flavored cream.
“You know, my lot invented sweets,” a familiar voice drawled behind him.
“Perhaps, but mine invented happiness, and that's what sweets bring,” Aziraphale answered, shooting a smug smile over his shoulder.
“Sure, along with cavities, toothaches, and weight problems,” Crowley smirked, taking a sip of the spiked tea.
“Quiet, you. Let me enjoy my tea in peace.”
“Nice comeback. They teach you those in monasteries?”
“No, they just develop in response to spending far too long with a demon for a companion.” Aziraphale gave Crowley an indignant pout.
“Well, I suppose that just means that I'm rubbing off on you.”
“I shall never be tempted by you, serpent.”
“Methinks the angel doth protest too much,” Crowley teased, stirring his tea with a black nail-polished finger.
Aziraphale fell silent for a few moments, sipping his tea with a contemplative expression. He pretended not to notice Crowley’s golden eyes flitting over him, locking in on his eyes, his fingers (including the uplifted pinky), his lips as they shimmered from the droplets of tea that didn't make their way into his mouth.
“I suppose… I suppose you may be able to tempt me on certain things…”
“Oh?” Crowley grinned, one eyebrow raised. “I must be some powerful demon, able to tempt an angel like that.”
“Don't flatter yourself,” Aziraphale warned haughtily, crossing one leg over the other uncomfortably. “I simply mean that, on occasion, you and I sometimes have similar desires.”
“That isn't what you said, though.” Crowley joined the angel on the overstuffed sofa, resting one arm on the back of the couch and twisting his body to face Aziraphale in a decidedly sexual manner. He smirked as the blond's rounded cheeks turned a rather rosy shade of pink.
“Must you sit so close, my dear? There is such a thing as personal space.”
“What's the fun in that? Besides, it's not as if you leave yourself much space in this cluttered mess you call a bookshop.”
“For your information, I know where each and every book I own is and can find any one of them at a moment's notice,” Aziraphale insisted. For all his squirming and insistence on personal space, he hadn't made any attempt to move away from the demon by his side. He rather appreciated the feeling of another body next to his. Personal space, he knew, was a very angelic concept, and yet he had no desire to enforce it.
Twice damn this demon for, yet again, showing Aziraphale that the divine ways of Heaven were not the only way to live.
“Oh yeah? Find me the last book I gave you, the one I st… liberated from a foreclosure.”
After giving his companion a sharply disapproving look at the insinuation that Aziraphale would accept stolen property, the angel leaned towards a nearby stack of books.
This action, unfortunately, caused him to fall into Crowley's lap as he tried to reach past the demon.
“Satan, Aziraphale, I didn't mean to assault me. Just use your words,” Crowley growled, fighting back a smile as he shoved him off.
“I'm very sorry, I'm not used to you sitting so close, I should have been paying more attention,” Aziraphale babbled, his eyes full of worry and his face red.
“Shut up, angel,” Crowley hissed, leaning forward and pulling Aziraphale up by his collar. Just as the angel opened his mouth to speak, Crowley covered his mouth with his own.
After several seconds, Crowley set the squeaking Aziraphale back on the floor and put a warning finger in his face. “That didn't fucking happen, got it?”
“G-got it,” Aziraphale stammered, straightening his cravat with trembling fingers.
“Good.”
“Could it… could it not-happen again?”