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Cursed. That's what he was. Ever since God got her nose out of joint about the whole apple thing. Cursed to crawl. Cursed to eat dust. Well, he could eat whatever he wanted. It just tasted like dust.
The only thing that made it worth hanging around was the angel, really. It seemed like they had won. Heaven and Hell leaving them alone; humanity safe for the time being. Still, Crowley felt uneasy. The Original Temptor of the Garden, God's curse still rang loud in his ears. Was it possible that she had relented? Would let him have time with Aziraphale to just… be happy? Didn't seem likely. Still, best give it a shot and enjoy it. Until the other shoe dropped.
He looked into Aziraphale's happy face; satisfied from lunch and beaming like a billion suns were packed into his handsome corporation. And he grinned back. Standing, he left a stack of notes on the table at the Ritz, and offered his arm to his blond companion. To his delight, Aziraphale blushed, and then stood and tucked his warm hand into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. Feeling on top of a newly-saved world, they stepped out onto the pavement and started ambling towards the bookshop.
So, of course, all that ended when they got to the shop. Aziraphale paused to unlock the door, animatedly discussing whether either Heaven or Hell would appreciate the addition of a snooker table. He stopped mid-sentence, softly cried "Crowley!", and started to crumple to the pavement. Ever vigilant, the demon caught him around the waist and stood him up, searching frantically for the danger. Barely noticeable in the late afternoon light, a slender needle stuck out above the key. Snapping the needle into a glass vial, Crowley pushed the door open and lifted the too-quiet angel into his arms.
He crossed the main floor quickly and carefully set Aziraphale on the sofa, propping up his head with a throw pillow. He snapped the main door shut and locked, and turned back to the angel. Aziraphale seemed to be sleeping, his breathing deep and steady. A single drop of golden blood on his index finger was the only clue to his ailment.
"Okay. So Aziraphale pricked his finger and fell asleep. Maybe… he was just tired," he said to himself, trying to hold down his panic. He spent the next half hour trying to wake the angel, to no avail. He finally crumpled on the sofa, moving Aziraphale's head to his lap. Not like the angel was protesting anyway.
He tried googling a solution. Stupid internet just took him to the story of Sleeping Beauty, who was cursed to prick her finger on a magicked spindle and fall asleep until awaken by True Love's Kiss. What bullocks!
Still. He didn't have much to lose at this point. It would give him plausible deniability if Aziraphale woke up and wasn't pleased to find demonic lips caressing his own angelic ones. If it didn't work, well, he'd still get a kiss out of it. If it did, well, that would mean…. Nevermind what it would mean. It would mean he and Aziraphale could continue to drink and poke at each other. No. Not poke. Just… joke around like usual. Unless the angel wanted to poke…. "Stupid demon!" he muttered at himself. "Just bloody well get on with it."
So he gathered his courage as if facing down Satan again, knelt by the sofa, and gently kissed his angel. It was as lovely as he had imagined countless nights; soft and warm and perfect! Aziraphale stirred and moved as Crowley lifted his head.
"Crowley?" stormy blue eyes opened in puzzlement as he tried to look at Crowley’s eyes through his dark glasses.
"Angel! You're back!" Crowley crowed triumphantly.
"I had the most lovely dream," Aziraphale murmured with a soft smile. "You were… well, you were kissing me. And it was a wonderful feeling."
"You wouldn't be upset if I kissed you?" Crowley asked. "Because it wasn't a dream."
"Whyever would I be upset, dearest?" Aziraphale said. "Aside from not being properly awake to enjoy it."
"We could… try it again," Crowley suggested. "Now that you're properly awake and all."
"What a splendid idea, my love!" Love?! Hmm. Guess maybe he was at that.
Several hours and many, many kisses later, Crowley had to conclude that maybe being cursed wasn't so bad. It had led him here to his angel's arms, after all. Maybe, just maybe, it was ineffable.