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In the months that followed what by any means should have been Armageddon, it was as if the two beings were trying to combine their corporations into one.
They spent hours at a time together, Aziraphale running his hands over Crowley's chest, his back, his shoulders, his arms, his sides. All of his sharp edges that Aziraphale had been afraid to find comfort in for millennia while Crowley peppered kisses onto Aziraphale's forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his soft jaw.
It was hungry at first, needy to feel everything about the other in case they were separated again. But soon anxiety faded as they were left alone and hunger turned into contentment, then contentment into comfort. They had nothing to fear any more.
They weren't in love, no, that was too simple, too human of a phrase. You see, they simply were love, they radiated the stuff in a way that angels like Gabriel or Michael could only dream of.
They got to know the little details about each other, how Crowley’s knees would go weak when Aziraphale would run his hands through Crowley’s hair, scratching his scalp, how when Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s jaw in his hands, the angel’s eyes would tear up just a little, then how he would laugh gently when Crowley kissed the tears off of his face.
They held hands in St James Park, where they would go often to feed the ducks and wonder at the world, as summer ended and leaves fell off trees, as the lake froze over, and when the world came back into bloom the next spring, bringing with it bunches of daffodils that Aziraphale put all over his flat and said looked like Crowley’s eyes.
Crowley would scoff at this in the moment, but soon stopped wearing dark glasses when he could help it.
They bought a cottage in South Downs, furnished it the human way, with the help of a few spare miracles when they lost their patience.
Aziraphale kept his bookshop. His book collection simply wouldn’t fit in that small of a house without grief from one demon who -as he was sure to bring up every time Aziraphale pondered moving more of his collection into the house- had to live there as well.
They both knew neither of them had to do anything of the sort.
Besides, Aziraphale would miss his bookshop if he left it entirely. He had made too many memories there. He still stayed there when Crowley would decide to sleep for the better part of a month.
Life wasn’t perfect. It took them both months to feel any sort of safe, and if Aziraphale’s corporation’s heart started beating too fast when he saw someone on the street who looked just a little too much like Gabriel, that was to be expected. You don’t go through something like he did for eons without some kind of scarring.
And Crowley knew what helped. He would hold Aziraphale close, remind him where he was, take his hand and kiss the pads of his fingers until Aziraphale was smiling again. Heaven never cared for him like that.
Crowley was startled by loud noises and sudden movements. Aziraphale knew that if he heard a car backfiring, he would be almost sure to find a pile of anxious snakey coils where the demon had been a moment before. For a while, he tried to coax him out of snake form as quickly as possible, but he soon realized that it was comforting for Crowley, a way to keep safe.
Aziraphale learned to pick him up when this happened, coiling the snake around his body and reading him a book or putting on an episode of Golden Girls until Crowley was calm enough to want to change back. And when he did, they stayed curled together for hours afterward, basking in the safety of it all.
Crowley started a garden outside their house and spent hours a day cultivating the most gorgeous plants Aziraphale had ever seen. Crowley wouldn’t let Aziraphale say a single word to them just in case the angel would undermine his authority with his nice words.
They took trips to art museums, laughing at the biblical scenes (“I didn’t look anything like that!”) and making games of judging paintings and sculptures of old friends and lovers throughout history.
Aziraphale learned how to bake, and after some failed attempts started turning out the most beautiful, decadent sweets Crowley had ever seen, that miraculously never went stale.
Crowley dragged Aziraphale out one especially clear night to look at the stars with him, bragging about the ones he made. Aziraphale could almost see tears that Crowley was too proud to shed, misting up his eyes as he spoke.
They didn't have a ceremony, didn't have an officiant, didn't exchange rings. It all felt too civilian for two beings who had known each other since the beginning of humanity. They did, however, go out one morning to a cliff looking over the ocean with their wings spread out behind them and held each other as the sunrise kissed the spot where they stood together, a nice demon and a bastard angel.
It really was ineffable.