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Aziraphale sat on the sofa in the livingroom of his and Crowley’s joint accommodation. The little cottage they had called home for almost 2 decades now.
He had a cup of tea in his hands and a spread of small sweet cakes on a plate on the coffee table. Crowley had got them for him the day before, a little treat to celebrate 20 years since the world had not ended. 20 years since they’d first… shared accommodation.
His eyes were fixed on the tea, watching the bubbles spin on the surface, melancholy filling him as he watched the bubbles merge and pop.
He loved Crowley, more than anything. He was his best friend. He cared about him so much.
He wasn’t sure if Crowley really knew how deeply he felt.
This was one thing he’d come to dislike about being a human. Words weren’t enough, sometimes. Words were used so frivolously sometimes that when you really meant them, they didn’t hold the same weight.
In the form of angels they could simply… be intimate.
He missed that.
Human intimacy was fine. It was fine. But it was… it wasn’t the same.
As an angel… it was fabulous. There was nothing like it. Almost indescribable. You could feel the emotions and feelings of the other party and project your own into them. You would know them in ways it was impossible to as a human.
He wished it were possible for him to do it with Crowley.
They would most likely never get the opportunity to. He might never get the opportunity to do it with anyone again.
He’d been trying not to think about it. It was painful to consider. Crowley might never know how he truly felt, and he would never know how Crowley truly felt.
“Cakes for breakfast?” Crowley’s voice came from the door. “I thought you finished those yesterday.”
Aziraphale blinked away the tears that had been building in his eyes. He didn’t want Crowley to know how much this upset him.
He cleared his throat. “Yes. Can’t have them to go to waste.”
“I was going to suggest we go out for breakfast, no matter though,” Crowley smiled.
“We can go out for lunch?” Aziraphale offered.
Crowley walked across the room, approaching Aziraphale, his eyes darting over him. “What’s wrong, angel?” he said, weakly, his voice tinged with genuine worry and suspicion.
“Oh,” Aziraphale waved a hand dismissively, “Nothing, nothing.”
“What happened?” Crowley asked, his tone turning gravely, almost ordering him.
Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley, I’m… It’s fine,” he insisted. “Please.”
Crowley sat down next to him. “You don’t make that face when you’re fine.”
Aziraphale let out a soft breath. “It’s nothing that can be fixed, or changed. So, there’s no point in you worrying over it.”
Crowley leant back on the sofa, splaying his arms over the back. “I thought you said talking about things that worried you was a good thing.”
Aziraphale pouted, his eyes darting back to his tea. He had said that. But what if admitting this just made it worse, it could become a huge elephant in the room, it could ruin the intimacy they already shared.
“I was just…” He huffed, his stomach churning as he tried to decide how to structure his worry. “I am… troubled by the idea that you and I may never get to be intimate.”
Crowley frowned, “What are you talking about? We had sex last night?”
“No,” Aziraphale snapped, his temper spiking, “I mean really intimate. Not like humans. We’ve never had real sex, Crowley.”
“Oh…”
A few seconds of silence passed between them, during which Aziraphale wished he could take back what he’d said.
“I didn’t realise it was something you cared about.” Crowley sounded almost nonchalant.
“Of course I care about it, Crowley, I… I want you to know how I feel, I wish we could…”
“I do know how you feel angel, how could I not?”
Aziraphale shook his head, “It’s not the same,” he said weakly, emotion rising in him again.
“Aziraphale.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s cup of tea from him and placed it on the coffee table, he took Aziraphale’s hands, turning on the sofa to face him. He leant in to press their foreheads together.
Aziraphale felt his breath turn short as Crowley took him the way he would do if they were angels.
Their eyes fixed on each other. But nothing… happened. No burst of light and love.
“I love you,” Crowley said, his voice quiet, genuine. “You’re my best friend. I’ve never spent time with anyone the way I’ve spent time with you, and I wouldn’t want to.”
Aziraphale felt tears welling in his eyes again. “Crowley…” he whispered.
Crowley huffed out a soft laugh. “I would rather be intimate with you the way we are than do anything with anyone else.”
Aziraphale nodded. “You big softy, Crowley.” He smiled. “I love you too. I love you so much. Every day with you is…” the lump in his throat swelled, and a soft choked sob left him.
Crowley hushed him, “Oh, angel. I’m so sorry.” He moved his hand to the back of Aziraphale’s head, leaning back and guiding Aziraphale down. Aziraphale pressed his head into Crowley’s chest. Feeling his heart beat, slow, steady, calm.
He let go of Crowley’s hands and wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him tight.
Crowley’s hand moved to his back, rubbing softly, continuing to let out soft shushing coos. “…I know how you feel about me. You don’t have to do anything to show me.”
They sat for a while in silence, Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long. He focused on hearing Crowley’s heartbeat, his breathing, feeling the warmth of him.
He had at one point made a decision. This or oblivion. He had chosen this. If this was as close to real intimacy as they could get it would have to do.
It was nice, even if it wasn’t perfect. It was still nice.
“I’m sorry, Crowley…” he said against him, breaking the quiet spell.
Crowley scoffed, “Sorry for what? What have you done to be sorry for?”
“Sorry for… wanting, I suppose? It’s just so silly of me to get upset like this.”
“Silly,” Crowley mocked. “What about it is silly? You’ve lost a-a major form of communication. I’m surprised it took you this long to get upset.”
“Why haven’t you got upset, then?” Aziraphale asked, almost accusatorily, pulling away from him.
Crowley shrugged, “I wouldn’t say it doesn’t upset me.” He let out a breath, “I-I, uh…” he scoffed, obviously having trouble wording what he wanted to say. “Sometimes I feel so… strongly. I would love to be able to share it with you, and I can’t. It hurts.”
Aziraphale frowned, “Why have you never told me?”
Crowley huffed and stuttered, “Well-, I-, you never told me! Why have you never told me?”
“I…” Aziraphale shook his head. “I suppose I felt it was rude..? Ungrateful? I should be happy that we can be together at all, so I shouldn’t complain.”
Crowley nodded. “Me too. I thought it might… make you feel inadequate.”
“No, not at all,” Aziraphale assured him. “It makes me feel better that I know you feel the same.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have.” Aziraphale scolded. “This whole thing could have been avoided.”
“What? This nice tender moment?” Crowley grinned, he let out a soft breath, decompressing.
Aziraphale pulled back, leaning away to pick up his tea. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it…” he took a sip of his drink and grimaced, “Oh, it’s cold…”
“Let me,” Crowley offered. He leant forward and blew over the rim of the cup, his eyes on Aziraphale as he did. Immediately steam began to rise from the cup, the liquid inside hot again.
Aziraphale blushed, a smile coming to his lips again. “Thankyou, Crowley.”