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Aziraphale made a frustrated noise, slamming shut the cabinet he’d been searching and pulling open the next one. He was tired and miserable; he wanted a cup of tea with an intensity bordering on need; and he couldn’t find the bloody tea tin! Growling, he checked another cabinet. His kitchen wasn’t that big; it shouldn't be possible to lose anything in it. It definitely shouldn’t be possible to lose a tin that he’d been storing in the exact same place for over 150 years.
“Crowley, where did you put the tea?” he demanded, turning to head into the living room.
Crowley appeared in the doorway before Aziraphale could leave the kitchen, wearing nothing but pyjamas bottoms and still looking adorably mussed from bed. “The tea?” he yawned, giving Aziraphale a blank look.
“Yes, the tea. It’s not where it belongs. Damn it, Crowley, if I’d wanted the kitchen rearranged, I’d have asked! Or done it myself!”
He took a step back, eyes widening. “Angel, I didn’t move anything. I haven’t touched the tea in weeks,” he told him gently.
“Then why isn’t it where I always keep it?” he demanded, turning and wrenching open another cabinet. A bit more literally than he’d intended to, as the antique hinges strained and then gave under the force.
He went still, staring down at the cabinet door in his hand. He could feel Crowley’s eyes boring into him, a hot itch in his back that Aziraphale could just about have ripped his own skin off to get free of. Exhaling softly, he miracled the door back onto its hinges, taking a few deep breaths and then turning to face Crowley again.
“Sorry,” Aziraphale whispered, ignoring his shocked look. “I didn’t sleep well, and you know me. Sleeping poorly is always far worse than not sleeping at all. I just thought maybe some tea would help.”
“I’ll miracle some up, angel,” Crowley offered kindly, approaching slowly and resting his hands on Aziraphale’s hips.
“Nothing ever tastes the same if it’s been miracled,” he answered, shaking his head. He pressed his nose into the place where Crowley’s shoulder met his throat, inhaling deeply and letting the familiar smokey scent pacify him a bit. “I’ll buy more when I go out later. It’s not such a big deal. I just wish I knew where it had gotten to. I love that tin. It was a present.”
“We’ll find it, angel,” Crowley promised, gently rubbing his back. After a moment’s quiet, he asked gently, “Is everything all right? What’s got you losing sleep?”
“Nothing,” he answered quietly, shaking his head.
Crowley made a soft, dubious noise at that. “I know you better than that, angel. Come on, what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing, honestly, Crowley. I suppose I’ve been a bit tense,” he conceded, shrugging, “but nothing’s really wrong.”
“Ah. Still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
“Even though it already has,” Aziraphale chuckled, smiling wryly up at him. “I suppose, on some level, I know it’s only been seven months, and it takes Heaven and Hell longer than that to decide whether or not to even discuss the question of whether they should change the stationery.”
Crowley snorted at that, grinning. “Yeah, it kind of does, but I promise you that we’ve scared them off for now.”
“I know,” Aziraphale told him honestly. “I don’t know why I’m so excessively tense right now. Perhaps just a bit restless after a long, miserable winter.”
“The weather has been pretty miserable,” Crowley allowed, smiling down at him. “Usually is, winter in London. But it’s getting better now.”
“It is,” he agreed, heart filling with warmth at the way Crowley was so quick to soothe and reassure him, and so quick to forgive his crankiness.
Crowley really was a sweet, kind lover, and Aziraphale felt an urge to bring him right back to bed and make that tousled look of his even more pronounced. But the part of his mind that wanted to kiss and caress Crowley until they’d both forgotten Aziraphale’s little outburst was overridden by the part of his mind that pointed out that it would look like an attempt to distract Crowley. If Crowley decided that something was genuinely worrying Aziraphale, then he’d start to worry, too, and Crowley was far too good at worrying himself sick, which would never do.
So Aziraphale kissed his shoulder, then drew back a bit, smiling warmly at Crowley. “Have you checked that weather application of yours yet?”
“It’s called an app, angel. And, yeah. Looks like we’re in for a warm afternoon. Why? Want to go out?”
“Well, we do have those passes to Kew Gardens. A nice walk there is bound to clear away the last of any winter restlessness. It’ll remind my body that the world’s alive again. That’s probably all I need.”
“Hmm, a romantic walk through a beautiful park with my boyfriend? I don’t know, angel,” Crowley teased, eyes twinkling. “Maybe we should just rearrange the shop instead.”
“Oh, you be quiet,” he laughed, giving Crowley a gentle poke in the ribs. “You know, we could go to Wakehurst instead.”
“You’d let me drive you to Sussex and back in the same day? With the world not ending or anything? That really is true love,” Crowley laughed.
“Hush!” Aziraphale directed, grinning and waggling a finger at him. “I’m going to go make the bed.”
“Need help?”
“You know how that always ends, you obstructive fiend. If we want to get out of here any time this morning, better not.”
“Please yourself. Want me to run to the shop across the way and get you a cup of tea?”
Something inside Aziraphale had still been a bit tense, for all their friendly banter, but it started to loosen and warm at that offer. His loving, considerate Crowley…
“Would you mind terribly?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” Crowley answered, miracling himself into proper clothes and leaning in to kiss the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. “They make good coffee, too. And I’ll get us some pastries for breakfast.”
“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”
“Yeah, less than an hour ago, right before you started to--”
Aziraphale squawked at that, coloring. “Crowley! Are you trying to make me lose focus?” he laughed, cheeks burning pleasantly.
Gracious, how he wanted to drag the beautiful, teasing bastard back to bed and perhaps, finally, offer up what was left of his virginity. But the idea of walking arm-in-arm with Crowley through a crowded public venue had its own sort of attraction. Mine, a quiet voice in his head purred. Let the world know that we belong to each other. The bed would still be there at the end of the day, and there was something achingly compelling about the idea of putting it to use after a long day of parading around being shamelessly, innocently in love.
“Go get us breakfast and drinks,” he told Crowley, aware that he was probably still bright red. “I’ll make the bed.”
“All right, angel,” Crowley answered, kissing his cheek again, then swaggering from the kitchen.
Aziraphale absently wet his lips as he watched Crowley go, reflecting not for the first time that Crowley had the best-formed hips and bottom in existence. He shook himself as he heard the front door to the flat shut, drawing a deep, steadying breath. His libido this morning was far stronger than it ever had been before, which he couldn’t account for any more than he could account for his restless nights and tense muscles the last few days. He didn’t mind at all, even if it was a bit confusing. Usually, his appreciation of Crowley’s beauty took place in a different part of his mind than the one that desired physical intimacy with him. Suddenly having them overlap was a bit disorientating, and made both feelings much more intense and immediate.
Which wasn’t a bad thing, just one that would take a bit of getting used to. But, if allosexual humans could handle it, so could he. After all, he reflected as he headed back into the bedroom, he’d been practicing self-control for far longer than any human could. He made the bed quickly, soothed by the familiar ritual, then picked up his eiderdown comforter and began to fold it. Now that spring was here, it could be tucked back into the cedar blanket chest until fall. Except…
Crowley got cold so easily, and he loved having a warm, cozy place to curl up. Aziraphale could provide that for his heart, but where his body was concerned, the eiderdown was far better suited to the task. Smiling, he spread the eiderdown over the bed again, smoothing it down and considering the rest of the room. It was, undeniably, the coziest room in his flat, and far cozier than any room in that mausoleum that passed for Crowley’s flat. But there was room for improvement.
A quick miracle added a few more blankets under the eiderdown and added more and fluffier pillows to the pile against the headboard. Another changed the bed curtains from purely cosmetic hangings to thick, actually functional pieces of drapery. There, now it was a nest fit for his lover. Soft, warm, and able to be burrowed down into until the whole outside world was shut out. Perfect.
No, not perfect. Too pale. Crowley liked darker, bolder colors. Another quick miracle replaced all the white and tan with a rich gray, and all the pale blues with a much richer shade. Yes, that was better. Except that now the bedside lamps no longer matched. He miracled them into storage, shaking his head and considering what to replace them with. Candles would have been lovely, but Crowley and open flame didn’t always mix. Electric candles? No, too kitschy, and too artificial. The room needed lighting that would appeal to both of them and match its overall new look.
Oh, he knew! He’d seen lamps made of various stones and crystals, the harsh light from the inner bulb softened and colored by the lamp’s material. They’d be lovely even when they weren’t on, and less likely than traditional lamps to be damaged if anyone’s wings fluttered too wildly.
Wondering where that thought had come from, and then deciding it was better not to think about it too closely, he miracled up a pair of large sodalite pillars, one on each nightstand in not-quite-matching shades of blue and gray. Another miracle hollowed the pillars out and turned them into lamps, glowing a soft blue. Now all he needed was gray walls instead of white ones, and how had he ever functioned with a miracle budget? Since he’d parted ways with Heaven, Crowley had been encouraging him to use miracles more freely, and it was an absolute joy to be able to do things more quickly and efficiently, only taking time over the tasks it felt good to take time over. Which definitely didn’t include things like painting walls and hanging new bed curtains.
Grinning, Aziraphale turned off the overhead lights and moved to the doorway, leaning against it as he examined the overall effect of his impromptu redecoration. The pressure of the wood between his shoulders felt good, eased an itch he hadn’t been consciously aware of, and he leaned into it a little more firmly as he considered the room.
It was beautiful. Warm and inviting and snug, a bit romantic, and modern enough to appeal to Crowley’s sense of style easily.
“Perfect,” he declared, nodding and squirming back against the door frame as the itchiness in his back became harder to ignore.
“What’s perfect, angel?” Crowley’s voice reached his ears, followed almost immediately by a soft, startled, “Oh!”
“Hello, Crowley.” Smiling and turning to face him, Aziraphale noted the cups and bag of goodies in his hands before gesturing back to the bedroom. “Do you like it?” he asked hopefully.
“It’s gorgeous,” he answered, with a smile that more than rewarded Aziraphale’s effort. “What brought this on?”
“Oh, I just thought…” He shrugged, suddenly not sure how to articulate what had brought on the sudden changes. “Well, I wanted it to be cozy.”
Looking bemused, Crowley pointed out carefully, “It was already cozy.”
“Well, yes, but, I… You do like it, though?” he asked, stomach twisting uncomfortably. “I can change it back.”
“What? No. Angel, I like it. It’s gorgeous. I was just wondering what made you decide to change things up after 200 years.”
“I wanted it to be nice for you,” Aziraphale told him, biting his lip. “More to your tastes.”
“Well, thank you, but there’s nothing wrong with your taste, either. I like the new look, but I didn’t mind the old one,” he told Aziraphale.
“I never thought you did. I just… I thought it would be nice.”
What was wrong with his mind today? His earlier irritability, the overlapping aesthetic and emotional attraction, his sudden inability to explain himself properly, the fact that he was getting upset when there was nothing to get upset over. Aziraphale drew a deep breath, staring up into his lover’s confused face and trying again.
“I wanted to make a cozy little nest for you.”
Crowley’s eyes widened at his words, and Aziraphale was sure his own were probably just as wide. What on Earth?
“A nest?” Crowley repeated.
“I… figuratively, of course,” he answered, clearing his throat. “I’m not a bird. I don’t nest.”
“No, you just redecorate your entire bedroom on a whim to make it more appealing to your partner. That’s not nesting at all.”
“Shut up, Crowley!” he snapped, appalled at himself before the words were out of his mouth, but unable to stop himself from going on. “I wanted to make it nice for you! Is that so wrong? Why are you ruining it?”
“Hey! Hey,” Crowley answered, quickly setting down the drinks and food and gathering Aziraphale into his arms. “Come here, angel.”
Aziraphale tensed at the first touch, but it was impossible to resist an invitation into Crowley’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, burrowing into Crowley’s hold. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”
“You don’t usually get like this unless you’re molting,” Crowley noted quietly, holding him close.
“But… but it’s the wrong time of year!” he protested. “I never molt until late summer!”
“I know. That’s how this all started, remember?” he answered gently. “But, angel, something’s going on with you. If not molting, what?”
Aziraphale wanted to protest, for no good reason he could explain, but Crowley had always been honest with him and deserved the same consideration in return. “My back itches. I… hadn’t really noticed until a little while ago. It itched when we were in the kitchen together, too.”
“You poor thing. No wonder you’re all out of sorts. Here, why don’t I have a look?” he offered. “We’ll see if I can’t help.”
Aziraphale blushed at that offer. It had never been lost on him that Crowley found grooming to be an erotic act, and Aziraphale wasn’t foolish enough to believe that it could possibly fail to be erotic in his current confused state of mind. He’d been feathering his bloody nest like a stupid bird trying to impress its mate, and now Crowley was offering him a spot of intimate allopreening.
“I’ve never felt like this before, Crowley,” he admitted, swallowing hard.
“I know,” Crowley soothed. “We weren’t really designed for a lot of this. Our bodies get all confused by it. It happens, angel.”
“Does it?” he asked, biting his lip. “Have you ever… nested?”
It felt almost like a dirty word, or at least like the kind of word that was only proper between lovers. Which they were, granted, but…
“For me it’s usually more snake-brain than bird-brain. But you’ve seen how I get around you when I’m in a snakey mood.”
“You wrap yourself around me and don’t let go,” Aziraphale conceded, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I apparently build you an attractive nest.”
“There’s no shame in that, angel. Humans do it, too, to a degree.” Giving him a gentle, encouraging smile, he teased, “Hey, at least you didn’t drape yourself in a Pride flag and start gavotting around like a randy bird of paradise.”
Aziraphale snorted despite himself, grinning up at Crowley. Somehow, knowing why his body and brain were misbehaving made it all far easier to tolerate. And, of course, there was the fact that Crowley was referencing a documentary.
“Did you actually stay awake when I made you watch Planet Earth with me?”
“Yeah, I was just pretending to be asleep so I could drape myself all over you,” he answered, smirking and shrugging unrepentantly.
“You don’t need a pretense for that, you ridiculous serpent,” Aziraphale pointed out, smiling warmly up at him. “I love you so much,” he added, reaching for his hands.
“The feeling’s entirely mutual, angel.” Squeezing his fingers gently, Crowley added, “Now how about I have a look at your wings, see if we can’t get rid of some loose feathers? You’ll have an easier time of it if you’re not actively uncomfortable.”
“But… we were going to go out,” he protested, biting his lip. Crowley loved botanical gardens, and Aziraphale loved seeing Crowley happy. And, of course, they both loved being seen in public together.
“The gardens will still be there tomorrow, and probably even the day after that, Aziraphale.” Growing more serious, he added, “If you don’t want me fiddling with your wings while you’re all hot and bothered, that’s fine. That’s allowed, and it’s understandable. But I want you to be comfortable, too, and our outing can wait.”
Aziraphale blushed at his words, staring down at their joined hands. “Is it that obvious? That I’m… hot and bothered?”
“You were all over me this morning, angel. I mean, you’re always enthusiastic, but… This morning was something else,” he answered, coloring a little himself. “Pretty sure it shouldn’t be physically possible to do that much groping with only two hands. That’s not a complaint, just for the record, but I understand if you need some distance until you’re feeling more in control of yourself.”
“Distance is the last thing I want right now. I just… had a very different picture of when and how we’d progress from… canoodling to fornication.”
Crowley didn’t laugh at his wording, although the look on his face made it clear that it was a struggle. But his answer was gentle, and kind. “No one says we have to yet. I’m honestly not sure this would be the best time. In fact, I think it would be a bad idea right now. But I’ll do a little preening and plucking if you want, and if it feels good for you, that’s allowed. Might even take the edge off if it does.”
“You’re too good to me sometimes.”
“No, I’m as good as you deserve. You bring that out in me. I can admit to having some of that now, because of you.”
Aziraphale pressed close, kissing Crowley without passion, but with quite a lot of love and gratitude. It felt good, and soothing, and something in him melted as Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and urged him back towards the bed. It was a wonderful, safe feeling, being urged into the nest he’d made just for Crowley. Just to share with Crowley.
“I love you, Crowley,” he whispered against his lips.
“I love you, too, angel. And this is nice, just for the record. You didn’t have to change it for me, but I really do think it looks great. And it’s very snug. You did a great job with it.”
“I’m glad you like it. I do, too. I’m going to keep it.”
“All right,” he agreed, reaching for the top button of Aziraphale’s pyjama top. “Can I?”
“Of course, my love. By all means.” He smiled and nodded, then eyed Crowley’s clothes. “Would you like to change back into your pyjamas? Might be more comfortable.”
“Good idea,” he agreed, miracling himself back into his black silk nightclothes with a smile. “You’re right. Much more comfortable. Now,” he added, going back to unbuttoning Aziraphale’s top. “Let’s have a look at those poor wings of yours?”
Aziraphale nodded, bringing out his wings and then turning his back to present them to Crowley. “Do you ever molt out of season?” he asked.
“Not that I can remember,” Crowley answered, hissing softly. “Oh, these are a mess. No wonder you’ve been cranky.”
“That bad?” he asked, biting his lip. They must have been in bad shape, though, he knew. Now that he’d brought his wings into this dimension, they itched so badly that it was hard to sit still.
“Doesn’t look like a seasonal shed. More like a full molt.”
“Full?” Aziraphale asked, frowning at Crowley over his shoulder and wincing as that brought the crest of one very tatty wing into view. “I’ve never molted all at once before. I know some people do, but I never have.”
“I do sometimes. Not all the time, but every couple thousand years.”
“Ah. Maybe it’s just the body’s way of spring-cleaning?” he ventured, lifting a hand to pluck away a feather that was sticking out at an odd angle.
“Probably. Still better than shedding your skin.”
Aziraphale winced at that idea, staring at Crowley with wide eyes. “Do you do that, too?”
“Not very often, maybe a dozen times in my life.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Itches like mad, and the skin of my human form gets really dry and flaky. But once I go full snake and can start sloughing it off, it actually feels really good. Kind of like getting rid of dead feathers does,” he added, plucking a few.
Aziraphale grunted softly, nodding and letting his head face forward again. “Well, if you ever need any help with that…”
Crowley’s hands stilled for a long moment, then he cleared his throat and resumed plucking away dead feathers. “Thankss, angel.”
For a moment, he was worried that he might have upset Crowley with the offer, then he caught just the barest empathic echo of I am loved from him. He smiled, bowing his head and rolling his shoulders a bit. “There are going to be feathers everywhere by the time you’re done if this is actually a full molt instead of just a partial.”
“Isn’t that always the way?” Crowley snorted. “Not five minutes after you finish cleaning up and redecorating, and suddenly there’s junk everywhere.”
Aziraphale laughed at that, then let out a soft huff of air as Crowley set to work on a particularly itchy spot. Every dead feather removed allowed a freshly-grown one to slot into its proper position, and the relief was enough to draw a moan from him, followed by a purr. Behind him, Crowley chuckled, and Aziraphale could just picture his playful grin. He very abruptly became aware that his mind hadn’t been properly still in days, but it was now, sitting here and being cared for by Crowley in the most intimate way imaginable.
“That’s wonderful, my love,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “You have such warm, gentle hands.”
“Hedonist,” Crowley answered with a smile in his voice.
“I am no such thing!” Aziraphale countered, chuckling. “I’m an Epicurean.”
“Epicurean my scaly feet! You thought Epicurus was a reductive twat with completely bent theology.”
“Well, yes, but I’ve recently spent a lot of time rethinking the value of ataraxia. He may have been dead wrong about the nature of the human soul or the value of pure reason, but he made some very valid points about what constitutes a good life.”
“Valid points?” Crowley scoffed. “What, like the one about sex never benefiting anyone? Or the one about bland food being every bit as good as delicious food?”
“I said some of his points were valid,” the angel answered, trying not to laugh at his friend’s silliness. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Socrates.”
“Oi!” Crowley protested. “I bathe more in a week than that smelly berk did in a year!”
“That’s a low bar,” Aziraphale pointed out, letting himself laugh now.
It felt wonderful, just sitting and being looked after by Crowley while they engaged in idle banter and just enjoyed each other’s company. After 6,000 years, they’d more than earned the right, but it still felt like a blessing every single time. And the relief the grooming was providing to his wings just made it feel even more amazing. Being groomed was always wonderful, of course. But when that pleasure came after days of unconscious discomfort, it was enough to leave Aziraphale absolutely light-headed. He felt like he was floating, or maybe gliding, just coasting along on waves of quiet euphoria. As much as he usually hated molting, he found himself hoping that this one would last for a week, if it meant experiencing these sensations that many days in a row.
He wasn’t sure how long he was in that foggy haze, but it receded in an instant. After a moment’s disorientation, he realized that Crowley was no longer touching his wings. As he came further down to earth, he realized that Crowley was breathing harshly. Frowning, Aziraphale turned to face him, swallowing hard at the frankly horrified look on his face.
“Crowley, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly, lifting a hand to cup his cheek.
“Your feathers, angel,” he answered, voice tremulous.
“My…” Aziraphale frowned, looking down at the piles of feathers surrounding Crowley. Many of them were quite ragged-looking, to be sure, but he couldn’t see anything that would cause the kind of panic that poor Crowley was obviously experiencing. “Darling, what’s the matter?”
“Your feathersss, angel!” he repeated, voice raising and cracking a bit. “They’re not white!”
Aziraphale frowned, glancing down at the feathers on the bed again for a moment before it sank in. “What? You mean… the new feathers aren’t coming in white?” he whispered, feeling like he’d just been kicked in the chest by an angry horse.
Some sort of time-released Falling? An expression of the Almighty’s displeasure over his increasingly physical relationship with Crowley? Except… The Almighty didn’t mind! The Almighty couldn’t mind! Aziraphale was sure he’d have known. It wouldn’t have stopped him from loving Crowley, but he had to believe he’d know if the Almighty was angry with him. Unless his Connection to Her had faded at some point, so slowly and subtly that he hadn’t even noticed? But that didn’t make sense, either. The Almighty was many things, but Subtle In Her Anger was not one of them.
“Crowley, it’s all right,” he said quickly, because the poor dear had started to tremble.
“It’s not all right, angel!” Crowley half-shouted, glaring for a moment, then looking away. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s not fair! You haven’t done anything wrong!”
“No,” he agreed quietly, nodding. “I haven’t. Neither of us have.” He reached slowly for Crowley’s hand, mindful that he needed to be careful not to spook him. When Crowley had let Aziraphale take his hand, he asked gently, “What color are they? The new feathers?”
They couldn’t be black, he knew. If they had been, Crowley would have noticed almost as soon as he started to work. So they were some other color, and that was something that could be coped with. If they weren’t black, he wasn’t somehow transforming into a demon without realizing it. He might not be a proper angel any more, so no longer entitled to white feathers, but that was far less upsetting than the idea that he’d actually Fallen.
Crowley just stared blankly at him, so Aziraphale squeezed his hands and gently repeated, “What color is the new growth? It’s not black. What color is it?”
His mouth moved a few times without any coherent sounds coming out, then Crowley closed his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath. “They’re kind of… gray and… um, dirty-looking,” he whispered without opening his eyes.
Gray and dirty-looking?
Well, no wonder Crowley had panicked, but that description gave Aziraphale a thought. Or, more accurately, brought back a memory. Climbing to his feet, he turned the overhead lights on again, miracling them to be brighter than usual. He shifted a wing forward, extending it so he could study the feathers.
“They’re not that dark,” he noted aloud, hoping to comfort Crowley. “They must have looked much darker in low light.”
Making a soft noise at that, Crowley opened his eyes and climbed to his feet, slowly approaching Aziraphale. “But they’re all… stained.”
“Not stained. Speckled, I would say,” Aziraphale answered, eyeing his wing again. “I’ll be positively dappled, I think, once everything grows in evenly.”
Crowley stared for a moment, then asked quietly, voice doubtful, “You think that’s as much as the coloration’s going to change?”
“Crowley, do you remember when we had the same dream?” he prompted gently. “The night after our first hike together?”
He nodded slowly. “We were in Eden and there was a snake and a… a little gray spotted dove,” he answered slowly, eyes widening. “You think…?” he asked, bending to peer at Aziraphale’s feathers up close. “You said at the time that you thought the dream was a message, that it meant God was okay with us?”
“I did,” he agreed, nodding. “This can’t be a coincidence, Crowley. Very pale gray, speckled with darker gray, just like the dove in the dream. You said my feathers looked dirty. I thought the same thing at first, in the dream. I thought the dove had gotten covered in dust, until I saw it in full light.”
Crowley made a thoughtful noise at Aziraphale’s words, slowly lifting a hand to his wing and letting his fingers brush over a patch of new fluff. Which felt lovely, but Aziraphale kept his attention firmly on Crowley’s face and posture, and what he could sense of Crowley’s emotions. Crowley was definitely less frightened, but he still seemed worried and confused. Which was fair enough under the circumstances. Neither of them could have seen this coming, and wing-color simply did not change without reason. And, before this, the only ‘reason’ for that sort of change had been Falling, being Cast Down. But there’d also never, as far as either knew, been a case like this. No angel had ever willingly turned its back on Heaven without also rejecting the Almighty. No angel, to the best of his knowledge, had ever fallen in love, either.
Or, if they ever had, they’d done a very good job of keeping it secret. Which honestly seemed more likely. It rather strained credulity that, out of ten million individuals, Aziraphale was the only one to ever have fallen in love or indulged in erotic pleasures with the object of their affections. But even if it had happened, it hadn’t led to anyone Falling. There hadn’t been a single Fall since the War in Heaven. And there hadn’t been one today, either. A change in status, certainly, but not a demotion.
“I still love the Almighty, but I did turn my back on Heaven,” Aziraphale said, thinking aloud as much as he was reassuring Crowley. “Heaven’s angels have white wings, but I’m not Heaven’s any more. I’m not Hell’s, either. I’m just yours. Your angel.”
Crowley blinked, stepping close and resting his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Your wings aren’t white any more because you don’t belong to them?” he whispered, something like hope finally showing itself in his beautiful sunshine eyes.
“I don’t belong to anyone anymore, even if I elect to give myself to you. Black wings wouldn’t be any more appropriate than white. I’m a different kind of angel now.”
Crowley stared for a moment, then slowly asked, “All right, saying that’s all this is… why now? Why not five or six months ago?”
A fair enough question, really, and one he’d need to think about. Or would have needed to think about if his mouth hadn’t put itself in gear well before he brain could. “I wasn’t properly your lover five or six months ago. I loved you, deeply and completely, but…”
“Wait, is this because you started giving me handjobs last month?” Crowley demanded, gaping.
Aziraphale colored at that, shaking his head. “No, not really. I think that it was more to do with me… wanting to share that with you. Not just the sex, of course, but the… my whole-hearted acceptance of every aspect of you and of our relationship, and the desire for more. It wasn’t about any physical act. It was that my whole state of mind had changed, my whole way of being.”
Nodding slowly, Crowley noted, “Lots of bird species molt after they mate.”
“Yes,” he agreed, biting his lip. “And… I mean, as long as we’re comparing ourselves to birds, there are a few species that pair off well before mating, before they even reach maturity. The selection of a life partner happens before the sexual desire does.”
For the first time since seeing Aziraphale’s new feathers, Crowley smiled. “Huh. Who does that remind me of?”
“I can’t imagine,” Aziraphale told him, smiling and pressing close. Nuzzling Crowley’s face, he whispered, “I think my new wings will be lovely.”
“It’s not written anywhere that wings can only be black or white,” Crowley answered, letting out a sound of relief. “I mean, I could change my wings any time I wanted. Shape-shifter, right?”
“You could,” Aziraphale agreed, nodding and kissing the corner of his mouth. “Even if your current wings are just lovely. You’d look good in red, too. You always do.”
Crowley’s expression went briefly speculative at that, then he smiled and gently kissed him. Just for a moment, then he drew back and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I’ll have to think about that. Come back to bed, angel? Let me finish taking care of your shiny new wings.”
“I think that’s going to take more than one grooming session,” he warned, smiling.
“Good.” Crowley answered, kissing him again, then taking his hands and drawing him back towards the bed. “You know me. I love having an excuse to get my paws all over those gorgeous wings of yours.”
“They’re not gorgeous right now, you don’t need an excuse, and serpents don’t have paws at any rate,” Aziraphale pointed out, climbing into the bed and gently tugging at Crowley to join him.
Smirking, Crowley slid into the bed, stealing a quick kiss before moving behind Aziraphale. “Looks like it’s going to take a few days for you to finish molting,” he noted as he went back smoothing and plucking feathers.
“Well, then, I’ll have to impose on you again tomorrow. And on the day after, if you can bear all the hard work,” he teased, smiling.
“Why do I put up with such a high-maintenance partner?” Crowley answered with an undeniable smile in his voice.
“Because I tolerate your antics and make excellent apple tartlets?” he suggested, trying not to laugh. And failing.
“They are pretty good tartlets, angel,” he conceded, leaning in and kissing the back of Aziraphale’s neck before whispering, “Yeah, that’s probably it. Must be the nibbles that keep me coming back.”
“Must be. Is that a hint that you’d like me to do some baking today?”
“Only if you want to. And you know, if you’re feeling up to it when I’m done, we can still go out for a little while. Maybe not Wakehurst, but Kew or St James’s. Somewhere close in case you start feeling iffy again?” Crowley offered, fingers working gently through Aziraphale’s feathers.
Aziraphale closed his eyes at that, relaxing. “It could be nice,” he allowed. “I’m feeling a bit run down, but I hope I’ll always have the energy for a stroll and an opportunity to feed the ducks.”
“St James’s it is, then,” Crowley chuckled. “Assuming you’re up to it. If not, there’ll be other days.”
“Mmm,” he agreed, smiling and letting himself be lulled by Crowley’s careful grooming. “We have no shortage of days ahead of us.”
Crowley made a soft noise of agreement and continued working his way over Aziraphale’s wings in easy silence. It left Aziraphale feeling so peaceful and safe that he could easily have fallen asleep, except that falling asleep would have meant no longer being consciously aware of how wonderful this all felt. So, instead, he relaxed and focused all his attention on Crowley’s warm, gentle hands and the gradually easing itch in his wings, and on how completely loved and loving he felt. A purr or two escaped him, and something that might have been a soft coo, but Crowley was too kind to laugh at him over the undignified sounds.
It was a comfortable, domestic moment, the sort that they’d spent thousands of years only seeing from the outside in. It was a gift, being able to experience moments like this for themselves. Or perhaps ‘gift’ was the wrong word, when they’d taken this for themselves instead of passively waiting to receive it.
“I love you,” he whispered as he felt Crowley’s warm hands falling away from his wings.
“Same, angel,” Crowley answered, drawing Aziraphale back against his chest. “Rest now, all right?”
“Mhmm.” Nodding, Aziraphale turned slightly, resting his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder and snuggling close. “We should go out, though. I want to be seen on your arm.”
“We’ll feed the ducks,” he promised, nodding and wrapping his arms around Aziraphale. “Then I’ll take you to the Ritz. How’s that sound?”
“Amazing.” He smiled and looped an arm around Crowley’s waist, kissing his shoulder. “Thanks for bearing with me today.”
“It’s what partners do, angel. Heaven knows you’ve put up with a lot from me over the years.”
“Also what partners do,” Aziraphale noted, tucking his wings back into their usual pocket dimension and laying back, drawing Crowley with him.
Snuggling down next to him, Crowley told Aziraphale, “I like the new pillows. Comfy.”
“They’re meant to be.”
“Trying to lure me in?”
“No. You’ve already been drawn in. All this is just so you don’t regret that fact.”
“As if I could regret it?” Crowley laughed and shook his head, kissing Aziraphale’s forehead. “My beautiful angel.”
“My even more beautiful fiend.”
He snorted softly and shook his head, nuzzling Aziraphale’s face. “You’re feeling better now.”
“Much, yes. Thanks to you.”
“Good. I’ll have another look at your wings first thing tomorrow, okay?”
“Sounds wonderful, my love.” Feeling far more energetic than he had earlier, he asked, “Now, shall we have our walk in the park?”
***
It took several days for Aziraphale to molt fully, and weeks after that for his feathers to fully grow back in. But standing before the mirror and examining his new plumage in the pre-dawn light now that it had come back in properly, Aziraphale found himself quite pleased with what he saw. He’d always taken his stark white feathers for granted and never really appreciated them or prided himself on them. They were a mark of his status, but also marked him as just one out of ten million. The new feathers were different, entirely and only his own. Pale gray and covered in darker gray spots, they were strangely attractive in a way less like his old feathers and more like Crowley’s iridescent wings, full of nuance and detail.
It was fitting, he decided. His old wings had been the nondescript and camouflaging plumage of youth, this was the much more interesting and eye-catching look of maturity and experience, a mark of his readiness to really enter the world. His look hadn’t changed so he could attract a mate; he’d already done that. But now that he’d grown up, it couldn’t remain as it had been during his innocency. He wasn’t one of Heaven’s own any more, not ‘pure’ or untouchable or ignorant. It didn’t mean he wasn’t an angel, let alone that he’d Fallen, just that he was something different. Something new.
He smiled and spread his wings wide, admiring them for a moment before he heard muttering from the direction of the bed.
“Are you awake, Crowley?” he asked quietly, folding his wings back again.
“I wouldn’t be, if I still had my soft angel.”
Laughing, Aziraphale gave his wings a last look in the mirror, tucking them out of sight and heading back towards the bed. Sliding under the covers, he kissed Crowley’s forehead and pressed close.
“I love you, Crowley.”
Then he was wrapped in Crowley’s arms, warm and cozy under the covers, and entirely content. He loved Crowley, and knew he was loved, and it was hard to know which of those feelings was more amazing. Sighing with pleasure and snuggling, Aziraphale closed his eyes, relaxing against that wonderful, warm chest. It was such an intimate, welcoming feeling, emotionally as well as physically, to be close to Crowley. His whole mind seemed keyed to that lately, and he didn’t mind in the least. It was only right, after how long he’d loved Crowley, to take just a little extra bit of pleasure in his touch. It was how humans felt, he supposed, and perhaps even how the more monogamous sorts of birds and mammals felt. It was something no ‘proper’ angel would ever feel, and he couldn’t keep himself from experiencing just a bit of pity over that fact.
There was nothing in the world quite like love, and when you were a creature created for love, finding a new and special sort of love was something that couldn’t fail to imprint itself on your soul. He’d been branded without fire or heat, been marked and marked himself out as Crowley’s alone. They could have offered him Heaven again, offered to take him back with open arms and rejoicing and a steak dinner made from the fatted calf, and he would have turned it down in favor of this feeling. This was love as it was meant to be, and he’d never felt more angelic, or more a creature of Love, than he did right now, snuggling into Crowley’s arms and broadcasting his feelings on such a wide bandwidth that, despite his wards, random strangers on the pavement below would probably be unable to miss sundry affectionate impulses they’d been ignoring up to now.
Crowley was basking in it and that, too, was right and proper. Unconditional love was such a uniquely human trait. Aziraphale had fought it for a long time, and been ashamed when he’d started to feel it for Crowley, but now he knew better. This was what Love meant, and he couldn’t ignore the conviction that it was what the Almighty intended for them. She never would have created him with the heart She’d given him if he wasn’t meant to love in this fashion. Therefore his love for Crowley could only be proper and acceptable, though it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Even if it hadn’t been Intended, nothing could have kept him from loving Crowley and craving his affection in return.
Kissing Crowley’s shoulder, Aziraphale snuggled closer, lulled by Crowley’s warmth and his gentle embrace.
They’d go out and do something later, each showing the other off for the world to see and to regret not having for its own. But this moment was theirs, a quiet and near-sacred bit of intimacy. He had to smile, the same as he had to tug the quilt a bit higher around them to keep Crowley from getting unduly chilled as they snuggled together in their nest of blankets and pillows. There was just no other course of action than to keep Crowley warm and grin like a loon. As Crowley snuggled more firmly against him, Aziraphale kissed his hair and cradled him closer, entirely content with the universe and everything in it.
He could perform miracles and change the entire fabric of reality, but this being close and holding each other tight was all he’d ever needed, even if he hadn’t actually known it half a year ago. Smiling, he curled himself around Crowley and kissed his hair, making a peaceful noise and drifting back into something that was almost sleep. He’d dream sweet dreams and imagine sweet imaginings of Crowley. And, when he woke up, Crowley would be right there, reminding him that the fantasy was actually reality.
Chuckling to himself, Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s hair a final time, relaxing almost as much as his love had. It would be a good day for them both, he was sure. But it would be a good day later, after they’d stolen just a little more of the night for themselves.
END