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South Downs, two years after the world didn’t end
Azra awoke slowly, pressed up against something warm and solid that rose and fell steadily.
Crowley, he thought, smiling sleepily and curling in closer against his husband’s body. He was lying on his front, his head pillowed on Crowley’s chest and his arms wrapped around the demon’s waist, and Crowley’s arms were wrapped around him in turn, holding him close.
It had been almost exactly two years, now, since the world didn’t end. Just after everything came to pass, Azra and Crowley had gone to visit Warlock again, as themselves this time, and done their best to explain themselves. Warlock had just hugged them both tightly and made them swear not to run off again, and that was a promise they both intended to keep.
They’d gone to see Adam and the Them, too, several times now, and sat down for tea with dear Anathema and Newt, where Azra had finally gotten to tell the story of how he and Crowley had met to someone who had half a chance of understanding, and the four of them came up with a handful of plans in case Heaven or Hell ever tried to cause Armageddon again. Anathema and Newt made a lovely couple, really, despite the rather odd circumstances of their first meeting and the tensions it had caused in the beginning, and their wedding was meant to happen in just a few weeks, on the autumn equinox.
And Azra and Crowley…
They had spent the first month after averting Armageddon in a blissful haze in Azra’s bookshop, until the spying from both Heaven and Hell had gotten too obvious to ignore, at which point they agreed that perhaps a small retreat to a well-warded, private space that neither Heaven nor Hell had ever been might be a good idea, at least until tempers had begun to cool. And thus, Eden Cottage was purchased, and Aziraphale brought his books, and Crowley brought all the plants that really, technically, shouldn’t have been able to survive in the darkness of his old flat, and were more than relieved to be brought to somewhere new.
The cottage was warm but never stifling, and bright without ever being blinding, cozy but not cramped, the result of six careful months of decorating and redecorating, balancing books and plants, light colours and dark, tiptoeing along the narrow line between “too much like Heaven” and “too much like Hell”, and now…
And now it was home.
Or, well, Azra thought, pressing an absent-minded sort of kiss to Crowley’s chest, this is home. Crowley and I, here, together. Where ever this was, wherever he was, would be home enough. Though, in the end, I am happy it’s here.
Crowley let out a soft little grumble, his arms tightening around Azra. “Morning, bunny.”
“Good morning, my love,” Azra said, rising up to kiss Crowley properly before laying back down on his chest. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah, you’re good,” Crowley said, tracing little shapes into Azra’s back with his fingers, making the demon melt, just a little. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m fairly certain demons don’t glow,” Azra said.
“Mine does,” Crowley said simply. He stretched, then, yawning. “D’you wanna go for brunch? The café in the village is running that special today.”
“Mm, that sounds lovely,” Azra said, snuggling a little closer to Crowley, before leaning up to kiss him again. Crowley grinned against his lips, then deepened the kiss, threading a hand through Azra’s hand to pull him up closer, and Azra obliged; how could he do anything else?
They ended up missing the breakfast special, though they were still in time for brunch, and a walk through the park, and a brief stop at the garden supply story to pick up a handful of things Crowley needed, as well as a half a dozen wilting flowers that Azra just couldn’t let suffer like that.
By the time they made it back to the cottage, it was about mid-afternoon, and clouds had begun to cover the sky. Crowley gave Azra another kiss before saying, “It’s not too hot out, so I’m gonna go work on the garden, yeah?”
“Of course, love,” Azra said, smiling at him. “Do let me know if you need anything?”
“I will,” Crowley promised, and then he sauntered outside, his smart white jacket and trousers melting into an outfit much like the one he’d worn at the Dowlings’ house for years. Azra watched him go, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weather, before bustling over to the kitchen to resume his experiments from the day before. As Crowley had taken to gardening, Azra had taken to baking, and a not-insignificant part of him was considering opening up a bakery in the village in a few years' time– he was much less hesitant to part with his baked goods than he had been with his books, after all, and it was good to have a hobby.
Azra got down to work, humming softly. Today was to be his third attempt at making macarons, and he was hoping that it would go better than the last two, especially since he’d promised himself he wouldn’t use any miracles this time around, as they just made whatever he had baked taste faintly like sulphur. From the little window in the kitchen, he could see Crowley, tending the garden, talking endlessly to the plants. Azra couldn’t tell what he was saying, not from here, but he hoped that his dear angel wasn’t being quite so harsh to them as he had been, back before they’d moved in together.
With a small sigh, Azra set about making coffee, as well, to have ready for when Crowley eventually made his way back inside. Then, perhaps, they’d curl up on the sofa, and Azra would read a book, and Crowley would scroll through his mobile, or maybe watch one of those television programmes that he was so fond of, and eventually they might decide to go out to dinner, perhaps in the village or perhaps a little farther away, or maybe Crowley might cook something and they would eat in (Azra had gotten to be rather good at baking, with all of the rules and neat little measurements involved, but the chaos of cooking remained Crowley’s domain), and then they’d go to bed, perhaps to sleep, perhaps to do something else.
It was… it was simple, this life they’d built, simpler than anything either of them had ever known before. It was simple, and comfortable, and irrevocably theirs, and Azra...
Azra had never been happier.
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Crowley was knelt in one of his emptier flowerbeds, carefully planting a series of discounted lilies Azra had insisted they rescue from the garden supply store. (Not that Crowley was complaining; as a matter of fact, if Azra hadn't pleaded for the plants, he'd been planning on buying them anyways. Not that the bunny needed to know that.)
It was still a little surreal, even now, two full years later. Crowley kept half-expecting to wake up and find that it had all been a dream, that he was back in Heaven's employ, and Azra back in Hell's, and the closest they could ever come to one another was in brief, stolen moments. There were days when he'd be near panicked over it, sure that every gust of wind was an angel, each rustle of leaves a demon, every puddle of water blessed and deadly. There were days where the image of a flooded shop and a smear of ash played on repeat behind his eyelids,
But then Azra would be there, to pull him close and hold him tightly and kiss him, out in the open, where anyone could see, and he would remember, would know that his bunny was here and alive and safe, would know that they were free.
He did his best to do the same, in return, on the Azra's less-than-great days, the days when Azra grew skittish and twitchy, when every shift in the air would have him whipping around, sniffing the air for unseen enemies, the days when Azra would panic, sure that the Archangels would be around to take Crowley away, that Satan would reach up through the earth and drag Azra back Down and they'd never see each other again. Crowley had gotten to be pretty good at spotting those days before they happened, at heading them off, at curling around Azra and holding him close and shielding him from the darker parts of his own mind until his thoughts had quieted back down some.
They were learning, and better yet, they were doing it together, in this place that had only ever been theirs.
Crowley patted the dirt into place around the last of the lilies, then sat back on his heels, glancing up at the sky. It was about to rain, the clouds were dark and heavy with it, so Crowley sighed, packing up his tools and making his way over to the shed at the edge of the property to deposit them. put them away before heading inside. Azra had gotten into the habit of making him a latte whenever he finished up outside, and just when Crowley thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with him…
But every day of this, this odd domesticity, this life together, was proving him wrong on that count. He fell a little further every day, and he couldn't be happier about it.
Crowley hummed softly, putting all his tools away carefully. The shed was close, and dark, and fastidiously organised, a good place for Crowley to hide away on the days when it all got to be a little bit too much, though he'd stopped doing that quite so often, lately. Things were easier to deal with when he went to Azra on his bad days, as opposed to running off on his own.
Another thing he was learning, slowly but surely.
Still humming a melody he was sure he'd heard somewhere but couldn't quite recall the name of, Crowley straightened up, stretched, and then made his way to the shed door, pulling it open and looking outside.
The rain had started falling, while he was putting his things away, and Crowley looked up at the sky, just a tad bit annoyed. It couldn't have waited five more–?
And then there was something large and dark and feathered, extending over his head, blocking the rain.
Crowley blinked, following the arch of the wing, to see Azra standing there, a soft smile on his face.
"Don't want you getting all wet," he said, gesturing to his wing, shielding Crowley, like he had at the very beginning.
Crowley smiled back at him, something warm and soft and wonderfully comfortable filling up his chest as he rolled his shoulders, bringing his own wing out and covering Azra with it. "That better?"
"Much," Azra said, glancing up at Crowley's wing and then back at his face, that smile of his softening even further. He held out a hand, gloveless in the safety of their home, and Crowley took it, squeezed it gently, used it to pull Azra a little closer and press a kiss to his lips. He was careful to shift his wing to keep Azra's head covered, and Azra did the same, so that their feathers overlapped above them, white and black pressed together, mingling into one.
"I love you," Azra said as they parted, his voice almost a whisper, his eyes shining, the warm, steady love that always emanated from him pulsing gently.
"Love you, too, bunny," Crowley murmured, cupping Azra's face with his free hand and pulling him in again to breathe his next words against his lips. "Always have, always will."
"As will I," Azra promised. "Always."
Crowley just bit back his grin and kissed him again, and again, out in the open, wrapped in one another, shielding each other from the rain and the cold and Heaven and Hell and anything and everything that had ever threatened to tear them apart.
They were safe. They were free. They were together. They loved each other, more than anything. They were happy.
And, in the end, that was all that mattered.