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They knew each other surprisingly well for two such different beings. For example, Crowley was able to quote all of the angel's favorite books effortlessly, when he himself knew every grunt and eyebrow movement that was the demonic equivalent of a smile.
It had been six thousand years, too.
Despite their closeness, there were a few facets of them that they hadn't shown each other. The demon was still reflexively protecting himself, while the angel was simply ashamed of his little foibles.
And one of them was the incredible audacity he could show when he was drunk.
He who was always so contained, so polite and so delicate could turn into a stubborn lout who no longer took into account the notion of personal space. This made Crowley laugh a lot. But only when it wasn't him they were talking about.
"Come on... Stop showing off."
An evening on the velvet couches of Aziraphale, as they had shared hundreds of them. Several empty bottles lay around them in the soft light of the two antique lamps in the back room. The tone had been rising slowly for a few minutes. Crowley, who until then had found it amusing that Aziraphale did not tolerate whisky as well as he did, raised an eyebrow over his glass.
"It's out of the question," he answered firmly as the angel insisted again.
"But why? You know what I look like!"
"No, I don't. And even if I did, that's no reason."
Aziraphale looked absurdly disappointed.
"So... Don't you remember?"
"Satan, why are you making that face? Does it matter?"
There was something in Aziraphale's eyes that made him make an effort to remember. He looked up at the ceiling anyway to put on a brave face.
"Okay. It seems to me that you are blond too, and your eyes are the same..."
"Absolutely not! Not to brag, but my human body doesn't quite do justice to my angelic appearance! And by the way, I wasn't talking about the form we had to take for Adam and Eve, but our REAL form. The one of our essence."
There was a strange silence, and their pseudo-argue lost its heat.
"Why would you want to see that?" the demon asked in a much drier tone than he usually used.
"Well... We... We've been friends for so long," Aziraphale stammered, suddenly embarrassed. "I thought it was important that we get to know each other's real faces..."
"I don't think you want to know what I really look like, angel."
"I assure you I do."
Drunken Aziraphale was stubborn. No, he was worst than that. He was the most stubborn of all the mule heads. Crowley knew very well that he would not move on until he was satisfied, but he tried anyway.
"No. It's really not worth the effort, getting out of my corporation and all, just to get you to throw your wine back on the mat."
"Why do you say I'm going to...? Oh !"
Drunken Aziraphale was also slightly slower to understand.
"But... There's absolutely nothing about you that would disgust me so much, you idiot!"
Aziraphale had almost shouted, in indignation and bitterness.
"Who do you take me for? I would be unworthy of being a true friend if I couldn't stand a few scars!"
Crowley shook his head wearily.
"It's far from being "just" scars."
"I don't give a shit!"
The rude words caused the demon to look up in surprise. Oh no... he thought as he recognized the offended and determined pout on Aziraphale's face. He usually reserved that look for particularly unpleasant humans who had the misfortune to say something both stupid and mean in front of him. They would bitterly repent of it for the next half hour, while the angel would explain their mistakes firmly and at great length.
"I find it outrageous that you would think that about me! I feel that I have been quite open-minded since our Agreement, and have never shown any sign of dislike towards you. I sometimes send you jabs about your supposedly evil nature, but I honestly thought you knew it was only in jest!"
"Angel, I..."
"Yes, I am an angel," Aziraphale cut him off in an annoyed tone as if Crowley had thrown that little word at him as an accusatory argument. "But I am not prejudiced like those who have never come Down!"
"But I have not..."
"I must confess that your lack of confidence pains me deeply, Crowley."
The demon realized that it was useless to participate in the conversation. It had obviously turned into a monologue without him understanding how.
"Yes, Aziraphale," he tried anyway.
The angel did not bat an eye to the rare use of his first name.
"I thought we were friends. Friends trust each other, they share things... I'm terribly disappointed."
And so it went on for a good ten minutes, during which time Crowley was bombarded with many more vigorous declarations of friendship and dignified reproaches.
Unbearable.
"And I'm going to..."
"FINE!" he capitulated, his ears burning. "I'll do it. Since you leave me no choice. But you start."
Stepping out of his human guise was like taking off his clothes: liberating, but at the same time quite embarrassing. Crowley knew how modest Aziraphale was and expected - eagerly - to he refused. He could then evade himself.
But the angel vigorously put his glass on the round table near his chair and snapped his fingers. The next moment, the walls receded around them without the furniture moving. The demon could almost hear the space-time structure groaning as it was stretched to its maximum, making the back room look like an airplane hangar.
He frowned to keep from showing how impressed he was.
"You'll probably get a reprimand for that."
The other shrugged his shoulders dismissively, as if it didn't matter. Alcohol, affection and obstinacy had obviously made him forget Gabriel.
"As the humans say: it's well worth the trouble!"
Crowley didn't understand why the angel was so keen on him. He knew him so much better than his "colleagues" who had seen his naked essence. In his eyes, this was the most important thing.
And then Aziraphale came out of his human body and Crowley stopped thinking for a few shameful seconds. But it had been so long since he had seen an angel in all his glory.
Aziraphale was made of golden light, a naked, vaguely human form over seven meters tall that levitated slightly above the ground. He had a pair of legs - no sex, obviously - and two pairs of wide-open arms. Its face was smooth, with no recognizable features, no mouth and no eyes. He didn't need them. He had no hair, but he was wearing a white crown with aggressive spikes. His wings were spread wide behind him, huge things that flapped gently as they brushed against the walls. They were made of light, for Aziraphale had no physical reality. He was only divine intention, power and personality. Behind his head floated his halo, two rings of white fire that turned on themselves, composed of billions of words in the Sacred language. Crowley could read some words in the malstrom, like attention/admiration/vision and he remembered the absolutely perfect way of seeing that the angels had. Their point of view was not fixed, limited to one angle as when one looks through one eye (or several). They saw 360°, with magnificent precision, without stopping, without blind spots.
You can't escape the gaze of an angel.
"I AM WAITING, DEAR."
He had the impression that his voice made him vibrate from inside. It was triple: the masculine one of his human form to which he was so accustomed, a soft and pungent one, indisputably feminine and an indeterminate one that sang without words. They were intimately intertwined to form that of Aziraphale and heavy with a will that he could only resist because he himself had been an angel.
Still, he found himself standing without having wanted to and he shivered slightly.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" he tried one last time.
"YES."
Aziraphale, in this form, was much more direct and somehow less polite because angels feel everything without nuance. There is no such thing as friendly affection, only the purest love. Anger is a real declaration of war and curiosity quickly becomes an unbearable lack. His wings flapped faster, sending a puff of air into Crowley face. His presence alone was enough to charge the atmosphere around him with purity.
It reminded him a little painfully of Heaven.
"I won't forgive you if you throw up."
"I CAN'T AND YOU KNOW IT. STOP STALLING."
Crowley winced as he felt his essence being pulled up by Aziraphale's annoyance.
" 'Kay. No need to get upset."
He took a step back so that his corporation would fall onto the couch once he left it. No need to get bruised, too. He sighed, fighting the fear that knotted his stomach. He knew he would be hurt by the slightest show of rejection. He didn't want anything to change between them... But he had no choice now. Either he would reveal himself, or the angel would force him to. Which was out of the question.
Just because he always did what this bastard wanted didn't mean he didn't have (some) pride to save.
He let himself go, ceasing to contain his essence in the narrowness of a body that was not his own. He spread himself with pleasure, stretching his being for a second of bliss where he felt like he was still a pure spirit like the one impatient in front of him. But it was only an impression. His essence took on a definite form, a form he loved and hated at the same time. A form he was horribly ashamed of in the face of Aziraphale's glorious beauty.
The lower part of his body was a long, thick snake tail, patterned in black and red like that of his animal form. The rest of his body looked human from the hips up. The demarcation between the two was jagged and messy, made of reddened bulges and half-formed scales. His belly and torso were normal, the skin still awfully thin and delicate, and a single white mark dug into his left shoulder. But if one noticed right away something was missing. His arms. Both arms had been cut off at the joint, and the jagged scars on the sides still attested to the violence of the operation. When the gaze managed to detach itself from them, and to pass the cascade of black hair that flowed to the lower back, it was to land with horror on his face. The mouth first, a thing with reddish lips that split his cheeks completely up to the top of his jaw and that was not completely closed, only covered by a few scattered scales that revealed numerous sharp teeth. His nose was curiously intact, but his eyes had been burned by the heat during his Fall and remained milky white. They were completely blind, Crowley could see - badly - only because of the Demonic word carved in the middle of his forehead, which corruptly mimicked the power of the Sacred One. His long, black, curved horns looked even uglier in the red and orange light of his broken halo that pulsed behind his head.
"LORD ALMIGHTY, CROWLEY... I'M SO SORRY."
Crowley was only three meters tall, but he proudly raised his chin when he heard the sorrow in the angel's voice.
"WHAT ABOUT YOUR WINGS?" asked Aziraphale, whose song had become sad.
He shrugged his shoulders and flashed them with a simple thought. He had become so different from the one who had worn them that he didn't like having them in this form. His were real, real black feathers scraped from broken and twisted bones. He opened them wide to stretch them out, pulled back for a moment by their weight, then folded them modestly behind his back. He knew they looked like they were still smoking.
He resolutely prevented himself from looking at Aziraphale's.
"Satisfied? "he 'said'.
His mouth and tongue were in no condition to speak words. So he had to project his words without going through them, and therefore had the "chance" to choose his voice. It was the same as that of his human corporation. He liked the sibilant acidity of it.
"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?"
He could literally feel the angel's curiosity about this body that was unknown to him. He had the impression to be brushed everywhere by a tepid fabric. Uneasy, he made appear hands only made of intention and black smokes, with the forearms hardly sketched, that he crossed on his chest.
"I have been fallen, Aziraphale," Crowley answered sourly. "That's what happened."
"BUT HOW DID YOU BECOME...?
Aziraphale, who spoke every language, could not find the right word to describe him. He turned his head away.
"We were forced to incarnate after being thrown out of Paradise... Below, we hurt all over, but we were still more or less ourselves. And we were finally a lot like humans. Too much so."
"WHO?" shouted Aziraphale suddenly when he understood, his voice so loud that his head hurt. "WHO DID THIS TO YOU?"
His light grew brighter, filling the room with anger and heat, as his wings opened aggressively behind his back.
"Hey, easy. That was a long time ago," Crowley tried to temper, raising both his poor smoky hands.
"WHO?"
Aziraphale stepped forward and leaned toward him, demanding an answer. The rings of his halo were spinning rapidly, a sign of great annoyance. Crowley was curiously touched by this. He did not retreat, did not cower behind a sarcasm as he normally would have done.
"Lucifer. All the Fallen have passed through his hands, and he has taken from us all that was beautiful."
There was a brutal silence. Even the constant singing in Aziraphale's voice stopped.
"We had to have the head for the work," Crowley added to soften what he had just said.
Aziraphale did not answer. His sadness was now emanating from him so strongly that Crowley could feel it around him like a cold wind. He hated it. He was going to try to change the subject, to joke with the angel about his sensitivity, even to return to his corporation to drown the memories in wine. He could have, he'd done enough for one day. But Aziraphale did not let him escape. His light declined, became very soft, and before the demon could open his mouth, he began to sing. There was an immense desire for comfort in his voice. No instrument, no choir, no orchestra could match the purity of his singing, and Crowley had not heard anything so beautiful since his Fall.
He was instantly soothed. And at the same time, he felt as if all the barriers and barbed wire he'd painfully surrounded himself with were disappearing. He felt something hard melt away in his body, and it hurt but felt so good.
He wished he could have told him how much this almost unbearable kindness coaxed his pain. How grateful he was to him for even wishing he would not suffer anymore. No one had done that before. He wanted to confess everything to Aziraphale, to show him all his wounds and cry with him. Because he trusted him, because he was trembling with gratitude and especially because he hadn't felt loved for thousands of years.
But he did not move or open his mouth.
He would show a weakness if he did. A crack in his image of a demon perfectly at ease and content with his lot. He would then confess his regret and pain at having displeased himself so badly that he could never again see the smile of his Creator, sleep in his true home or live in joy with his brothers. He couldn't give up that too, accept pity or even a change in the way he looked at him... And even though he was reaching out to the angel as much as he dared.
Saving face, even in front of such a well-meaning friend, was the last elegance he had left.
Aziraphale fell silent and he had to clench his jaws to stop himself from begging.
Do not stop, it is beautiful... I don't want to think that you will never sing for me again, so don't stop. Don't stop.
"That was very, uh... Nice. Thank you," he said quickly, hoping that the angel would not pick up on this exceptional thank you.
He looked to his human corporation who was already starting to pale, slumped on the couch.
"Well, shall we go back? It would be silly to let them die like that."
The angel only gestured with one of his hands and their bodies were surrounded by a golden halo.
"THEY ARE SAFE."
Crowley sighed. He felt tired and raw, something he didn't like at all. He saw 'his' chest rise with some annoyance.
"Look angel, I just wanted to spend an evening with you and get nicely drunk. Not freeze my ass off in my true form. Are we..."
"RAMIEL. "
The holy power to bend matter to his will vibrated in his voice, demanding and tolerating no obstacle. He could only lift his head to look at him
"CRAWLY. CROWLEY."
Aziraphale's halo turned slowly, a sign that her attention was entirely focused on him. It made him feel as if he were being examined by hundreds of merciless eyes.
"I SEE WHAT YOU WERE AND I SEE WHAT YOU ARE. I SEE, I KNOW AND I ACCEPT."
Aziraphale had spoken in the Sacred language, and every word was a truth from which Crowley could not shrink.
The angel held out his two straight hands, as big as truck wheels, toward him.
"COME."
He wanted it so badly that there was no way Aziraphale would not know. Angels are so receptive.
"You'll destroy me if you touch me, you idiot. You're holier than a pool of holy water," he said in a voice choked with regret.
"IT WON'T HAPPEN, BECAUSE I DON'T WANT IT TO. I WOULD NEVER WISH YOU HARM IN ANY WAY."
He gently reached out a finger and touched his right shoulder. Crowley expected a the burn of holiness fighting his corrupted essence. But nothing happened. The angel had no lips to smile with, but he managed to make a tiny variation in his light look like a manifestation of pleasure. He opened his arms to him again. It was done so simply. As if it were nothing, as if this quiet acceptance was not something Crowley had longed for. He closed the distance between them quickly, convinced that if he didn't take what he was offering right away, it would disappear. He almost fell on top of Aziraphale and found himself lifted and then pressed against a soft, warm body. The angel had made himself solid for him. One of his hands began to caress his hair, the second remained against his bare chest, and another hand encircled his waist. Rampa naturally wrapped his tail around the length of one of his legs and pressed his face against him. His smoky hands disappeared, he didn't need them anymore. He was all too aware of the shadow his darkness cast in the beauty of the divine light, but Aziraphale obviously didn't care so he stopped thinking about it. He stopped thinking at all and they remained entangled and silent for long minutes, simply happy.
But Crowley soon want something more.
He let the skin on his chest lose its firmness. It was a discreet and terribly daring proposal that the angel could refuse simply by moving his hand. He felt Aziraphale go from a blissful rest to a sharp attention in a split second, his body suddenly absolutely still.
He must have been out of his mind to ask that. This went far beyond the brushing of fingers as they passed a bottle to each other or even the sweet metaphysical hug they were sharing. Allowing someone to touch his essence and see into it was terribly intimate. Angels who trust each other do so, to know each other perfectly. Demons never. You might as well walk around naked with "Hit here" written on your ass.
If Aziraphale agreed, there would be no escape from bitter words or indifferent gestures to hide what he was. He knew it very well, it frightened him, but he didn't back down.
He had no idea why he wanted to be so vulnerable in front of Aziraphale. But he wanted to. He wanted to be exposed, understood, judged. And accepted all the same. He wanted it with all his being.
"ARE YOU SURE, DEAR? I'LL BE GLAD TO."
Crowley knew that every word was perfectly right and that made his head spin.
"Yes! I swear to you, yes!"
Aziraphale pressed his fingers into his chest and they ceased to have boundaries. They kept their form only to have a place to pour into each other.
Their absolutely naked essences were face to face for the first time in a long time.
It was Aziraphale who made the first move toward him. He moved forward to gently caress his whole being with his, as if to ask his permission a second time, while Crowley was just waiting and shivering. He vaguely heard the angel make a delighted sound that he wasn't even ashamed of. It was too good. Aziraphale must have taken his dazed silence as assent because he entered him softly, still laughing.
He stopped abruptly.
Crowley was wide open, and could only see that he had been broken, reformed and ravaged again. Where Aziraphale was full of folds, detours, and beautiful, curiously ordered curves, the demon was nothing but broken wires and bows, throbbing gaps and badly closed wounds. The angel began to hum softly, a sound of sadness and comfort that vibrated in all its absences.
He had only to discover him, to observe him with his demanding gaze. He did so much more than that.
Aziraphale found each scar and kissed it. He entered each of its voids to illuminate them with his light and fill them with hope and forgiveness. He raised each quality to celebrate it ridiculously. He accepted the bad and the good, hidden deep down, the suppressed feelings, the words he had never spoken and the forbidden thoughts.
Crowley trembled under his embrace. That was all he could do for a long time.
When he got used to receiving so much tenderness and regained some control, he wanted to give as much as he received. They couldn't feel anything without the other feeling it too, and Aziraphale immediately opened up to let him penetrate as far as he wanted. Crowley physically stretched his neck to put his half-open mouth on him and make a connection. He could have done it with his forehead or his cheek, but he wanted to touch him like this, to smell his divine scent down his throat. Aziraphale didn't reject him in the slightest, even placing a gentle hand on the back of his neck.
He hadn't thought he could do it too when he had proposed that they discover each other like this. He already knew him so well, much more than he did, whatever he might think. Crowley spent his time observing him. Much more than the attention one would give to a potential enemy or to a simple colleague. First to protect himself, to make sure he wouldn't hurt him. Then out of curiosity. And finally for fun, for the satisfaction of guessing.
For pure pleasure.
So exploring him as well was a new joy.
Crowley went through the layers that made him up slowly. Through a myriad of gentle thoughts that caressed him as he passed, he recognized his good-natured laziness, his greed for good things. But also his benevolence, his unlikely faith in others, his often disappointed but never defeated courage that he admired so much. He continued to descend further and further into his essence. He was surprised to discover also the sad anger that the cruelty of Men inspired in him, mixed with a certain bitterness towards the bureaucrats of Heaven. These deep disappointments throbbed painfully, hidden beneath much denial and renunciation. Crowley brushed against them as he found them, and they shivered at the awkwardly offered relief.
Later, as they continued to intertwine, Aziraphale suddenly let out an exclamation of surprise that tinkled all around Crowley like a flight of bells. When the noise disappeared, the demon found himself sinking deeply into something sweet and enveloping, as if he had stepped into warm water. It was comforting, exhilarating, and beautiful, a soft, lingering sensation that did not disappear like the other facets of Aziraphale he had touched. It was very old, very shy and until then, very well hidden. It vibrated softly as it whispered his name, it was shot through with memories of him, it was made of so many repressed needs and desires.
Crowley was not an expert, he had never really experienced it, but he understood right away. Of course he understood.
It was love.
Aziraphale loved him and showed it to him. It was impossible to deny the existence of his feelings or their depth when he was literally up to his chin in them. It was beautiful, but it was... A lot. The demon cut the link to Aziraphale and instinctively curled up on himself within that love, confused and slightly panicked.
Even when he had realized - with some horror - that he was in love with Aziraphale, Crowley had never gone beyond the limits of the quiet friendship they shared. To try anything else would have been complicated and dangerous, but more importantly... Aziraphale had given no sign that he saw him as anything other than an unofficial, vaguely annoying colleague with whom he was nice because it was in his nature. Crowley did not like to suffer, especially not for what he thought was unnecessary. So he had forced himself to be satisfied with what the angel gave him, without trying anything for fear of losing him, and had stopped hoping for anything else.
And now Aziraphale was throwing the extent of his love in his face without even a little "Get ready, I'm going to mess up our lives?"
Aziraphale replied wordlessly, making him feel his fear of scaring him away because of his feelings, then the joy of mingling with him and the surprise of finding his own name written deep into all of his essence. He had not expected the demon to be so attached to him, and the discovery had made him lose his caution. And his delicacy too, he added in a huff of embarrassment that made Crowley smile inwardly.
The angel then moved around him to touch him everywhere at once, apologizing, singing his love and many more compliments than he could bear. He let himself do it without saying anything, still sulking vaguely, but already less tense. He only felt very silly for having wasted so much time.
Aziraphale finally hummed a question. A simple, gentle question that made Crowley unfold. He put on his voice, he needed it to communicate.
"I'm sure you know that."
Aziraphale's physical form gently tapped his fingers on his bare and mostly solid chest to remind him that he had "slammed the door in his face." He then asked his question again, his importance and interest in his answer multiplying his request and making it resonate strongly with a godlike rigor around Crowley's curled up essence. Too strongly. The demon understood that he had to answer if he wanted to stay in one piece.
"Yes, of course I love you! I have always loved you. Now stop torturing me with your curiosity. It stings."
Aziraphale let out a burst of laughter and joy, rubbing up against Crowley to make up for his little maneuver. The demon hissed aggressively but opened up again to let him in, ruining all his effect. The angel came back into him with a familiarity that Crowley loved.
"I will never tell you again."
Aziraphale made a slight noise of doubt, entangled with Crowley in a way that he found very sufficient. He also sang to him all his gratitude for his confession, which prevented him from grumbling. It is I who should thank you, thought Crowley. You have always given me so much. He didn't say it out loud, but they were spread so deeply into each other that Aziraphale heard him.
His singing became even softer and more tender.
They stayed that way for a long time, mingling again for many hours, until they knew nothing but what the other felt. It was more intimate than if they had been making love back and forth for centuries, and Crowley found it very funny that they were doing this before they had even kissed. Aziraphale laughed, but could not help reminding him that this was a human way of showing love and that they did not need it.
"Yes, but it's very nice and... I've always wondered what you taste like."
He had a moment of thoughtful silence, and then the angel gently separated them but as quickly as he could. He then reintegrated them in their respective bodies with an eagerness that the demon judged very flattering. And absolutely adorable, which he would never admit.
Not out loud.
There was a delay of a few minutes before their essences got used to the human limits of their corporations. A not very pleasant moment when they had to twist in all directions to invest every tiny space available.
Crowley opened his eyes, to close them again immediately, hurt by the soft light of the dawn filtered by the curtains. His human eyesight was much better than his essence's, and his mind struggled to remember that he didn't need to strain it to see clearly. But he didn't feel like waiting. He had already waited so long. He stood up awkwardly and managed to take the four steps that separated him from Aziraphale. He stumbled because of the weight of his own feet and fell forward with a curse. He crashed against him, his face on his soft belly. But he felt himself slipping and he closed his arms around his waist to drag him down with him. Aziraphale had only time to snap his fingers to cover the ground with comfortable cushions. They fell together. Crowley pushed on his arms to drag himself over Aziraphale who grumbled and called him an impatient demon. Once at the right height, he stretched his neck to kiss the smiling mouth of Aziraphale.
Who, finally, found that it was also very good.
Many kisses later, they were still lying on the floor. Aziraphale had tipped Crowley on his side so that he could take him in his arms and rest his chin on his hair. The demon finally broke the comfortable silence. He did not declare himself again with tender words and complicated formulas. That was not his style. But he did say something else that pleased Aziraphale just as much, absentmindedly playing with the buttons on his vest.
"You were right. It was worth the risk."
This time, it was the angel who threw himself on top of him to kiss him.