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“I love you,” Aziraphale says one evening as he lies atop Crowley. They’re cuddled up on the sofa in the bookshop, as has become part of their routine these days. Unclothed, they have a blanket wrapped around the two of them, keeping each other warm as they soak up the feeling of being so near. It hasn’t gotten old yet. Crowley’s quite sure it will never get old.
He smiles, then tilts his head to kiss his angel. “Love you more.”
Aziraphale shakes his head just so, his lips still touching Crowley’s. “I love you more. I’d... I’d be willing to bet on it.”
Crowley chuckles softly. “Oh? And what are we betting? What are the stakes?”
“I bet my bookshop,” Aziraphale says without a moment’s hesitation, as though it’s the simplest of things. As though he hasn’t just stated clearly that Crowley means more to him than anything else on Earth, even his precious books. He pulls the edge of the blanket up to cover the lower half of his face, as if it does anything to conceal the vulnerability in his eyes.
Crowley blinks, lips parting for a moment before he wets them to say, “I bet my Bentley.”
Aziraphale smiles behind the blanket, his eyes bright and happy as he looks into Crowley’s wide ones. “That’s very sweet of you,” he says softly, carefully, “but you’re meant to bet your flat in Mayfair.”
Crowley wants to smirk, to quirk a brow and be the smooth one, but it’s a miracle he can even speak at the moment, with his breath caught in his throat. His words come out in a whisper. “Oh, am I?”
Aziraphale nods. “So that when you lose,” he says, not quite looking at him, “you’ll have to come and live with me.”
Crowley swallows. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Aziraphale traces patterns on Crowley’s arm with his finger.
“And what if you lose?” Crowley says once he’s found his voice again.
Aziraphale looks up at him with big, hopeful eyes. “Then I suppose I’ll have to come and live with you.”
Crowley grins, a bright expression that Aziraphale echoes with his own. “S’that what this is? You trying to get us to live together?”
“Perhaps.” Aziraphale looks up at him through his lashes.
“And what if we both lose? What if I love you just as much as you love me?”
Aziraphale beams. “My dear, I do think that would mean we’ve both won, don’t you?” He sighs softly and continues making invisible art on Crowley’s skin. “And I think,” he continues, “in the case of a tie, we ought to... to consider moving in together, elsewhere, perhaps.”
“Elsewhere?”
Aziraphale nods, then finally meets his gaze. “There’s a... a cottage, you see. In the South Downs. I... I thought perhaps you might want to take a look at it with me sometime. Soon, because I can only keep others from viewing it for so long. It wouldn't be fair, you know, miracling such a fine cottage out of the humans’ view, simply so we might–”
“Yes.” The word is out of Crowley’s mouth before his brain has even fully processed what Aziraphale’s saying. “Cottage. You. Me. Yeah. Yes.”
Aziraphale beams, then gives him a skeptical look. “You haven’t even seen it yet, you silly thing!”
“Seen you. S’enough. Wanna live with you. Flat’s cold and boring, anyway. Bookshop’s old and dusty–”
“I beg your pardon!”
Crowley grins. “Let’s get a cottage, angel.”
Aziraphale chastises him a bit for insulting his shop, then goes on to describe the cottage. Crowley’s doing his best but he’s having a hard time fully listening, because he’s already there, mentally.
He’s imagining waking up in Aziraphale’s arms, kissing his hair before rolling out of bed and making breakfast. He’ll learn to cook, so the angel won’t have to lift a finger. He can just sit there and sip on something warm, maybe read a book while Crowley prepares the most decadent crepes he’s ever tasted – worthy of those ridiculous words Aziraphale likes to use, like “scrumptious” or “delectable”.
Crowley hears Aziraphale say something about a garden. Oh, that’ll do! He’ll work in the garden, tending to his – no, their plants. Maybe Aziraphale will sit outside with him, just soaking up the sun. He imagines birds and various other little creatures coming up to visit them in the yard, like they’re living some sort of fairytale.
And it would be, wouldn’t it? Living with Aziraphale. A real fairytale. Happy ending, and all that.
Crowley’s pretty sure he’s not meant to have a happy ending. He’s certain he’s not supposed to want that sort of thing... living in a cottage, tending to a lush garden with an angel by his side.
But that’s the great thing about being “on their own side”, isn’t it?
Crowley beams, as Aziraphale excitedly tells him how the walls of the cottage have built-in bookshelves, so the angel can keep most of his personal collection.
Oh, you can keep a great deal more than that, Crowley thinks. We’ll bend the dimensions, fit more of whatever it is that makes you happy. We’ll make our own space. S’what we’ve been doing, haven’t we? You and me, in our own little world. Making room for each other, for our wants, our needs. Our side, our home.
“Oh, yes, Crowley. Our home,” Aziraphale gushes, and Crowley wonders how much of his thought process he’s actually been saying out loud. “I love you, dearest.” Aziraphale snuggles tighter against him, burying his face in his neck.
“Holy fuck I love you,” Crowley says, and... is he crying? When the fuck did he start crying?! Absolutely not, he decides, willing the happy tears back into his cursed eyes. “I am the smooth one, I do not cry.”
“Of course you are, dear. Smooth as a serpent.”
“Nngh– I didn’t, er…" Crowley sucks in a breath in a futile attempt to steady himself. “Didn’t mean to say that aloud.”
Aziraphale smiles against his skin. “Have I overwhelmed you, dearest?”
“Er, a bit, yeah,” Crowley admits. “S’good, though.”
“Perhaps I ought to have sat you down and had a proper chat about moving in together,” Aziraphale muses. “Rather than springing it on you like that.”
Crowley chuckles and rubs Aziraphale’s back. “Nah,” he says, “that’s your way, isn’t it? Going about things all roundabout. Can’t just come right out and ask me for what you want, gotta hint at it. S’our style. S’how we get on.”
Aziraphale pulls back to fix him with an apologetic frown, but Crowley hushes him before he can open his mouth.
“Not a bad thing, angel. I wouldn’t have you any other way. It’s... I dunno… 'ndearing.”
Aziraphale quirks a brow at him. “Endearing?”
“Ah, yeah.” Crowley feels himself blush and attempts to force his skin back to its usual color.
Aziraphale begins to smirk.
“Ssshut it!”
“I didn’t say anything, dear.”
Crowley grumbles some nonsense under his breath before shifting beneath his angel and asking, “So, when are we seeing this cottage?”
“Oh, I’ve made an appointment for us to view it tomorrow, just after noon,” Aziraphale answers brightly.
Crowley smirks, then grins at him. “You bastard,” he says. “You’ve already planned all this, heh? What if I’d said ‘no’?”
Aziraphale blushes. “Well, anxious as I was, I was quite sure you wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to be closer to me.”
“Oh, were you?” Crowley puts on an offended demeanor. “Think I’m predictable, angel? Think you can just, what, casually mention moving in together and I’ll just melt?”
“Didn’t you?” Aziraphale's got that bastardly smirk tugging at his lips, and Crowley groans, tipping his head back.
“Not fair. You’re meant to be all,” he waves his hand meaninglessly.
“All what?” Aziraphale asks innocently.
“Nngh.”
“Hm. Quite.” Aziraphale sighs, then smiles and presses a kiss to Crowley’s forehead. “I love you, dear.”
Crowley squirms under the attention and covers his face with his hands. “Nnh,” he says, ever so eloquently. “Love you, too.” He moves his hands and puts on a grin. “Equally. So we’ve gotta move into a cottage together.”
“Oh? Have we?” Aziraphale’s teasing tone quickly melts into a very pleased one. “Oh, my dear, I’d like that. Very much.”
“Thought you might.” Crowley beams.
“I can’t wait to live with you, darling, I– I’ve dreamt of it for so long, now.” Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley’s chest and reaches up to run a hand through his hair.
Crowley gives a contented sigh. “Me, too, angel,” he says, closing his eyes with a smile. “Me, too.”