Chapter Text
“Hey Angel! C’mon, let’s see what you got.” Crowley made his way to the back room of the bookshop, then sprawled across the sofa. He could hear footsteps pacing in the loft upstairs and was becoming more anxious to see what the Angel had come up with for his Halloween costume. Anathema, of course, was throwing a costume party and insisted that everyone dress up. The invitation had been impressive on sleek black cardstock with glittery gold lettering. A little puff of smoke appeared when they had opened it, and Crowley had appreciated the dramatic flair.
Upon receiving the invitation, and at Aziraphale’s insistence that they simply must attend, Crowley had forbidden any Angel or Demon costumes, especially the idea of swapping, when they finally decided to go to the party. It was more that Crowley had drank quite a bit that the Angel was able to convince him. The bastard probably planned his persuasion, because Crowley vaguely remembers him opening several of the finer vintages in his impressive wine collection.
He wouldn’t have put it past Azriaphale to dress up as something endearing and sweet. His own costume was going to be a surprise, even though he worked really hard to tempt the Angel to try his on before. Crowley wanted to be the first to see him, or talk him out of whatever bad costume he might have chosen. Crowley decided that the Angel’s costume would probably be something cute and wholesome. Maybe fluffy.
The shuffling upstairs had slowed, then stopped.
“Alright up there, Angel? Do you need me to help you slink into something scary?”
Crowley had sat up when he heard the Angel coming down the stairs and was perched on the edge of his seat, glasses down to the tip of his nose. To his absolute disappointment, Aziraphale had not tried on anything at all. He was though, wearing the ridiculous feathery velvet hat from their time in Victorian London. He threw his glasses on the side of the couch.
Aziraphale walked down the stairs looking exactly like he always did. Perfectly tucked in and pressed, tartan bowtie, velvet waistcoat and cream fitted jacket. It appeared as though he had found the top hat, probably deciding it would be enough to keep the Demon off his case for a while.
“Aww, really Angel. Not going to give me a show before the party?” a very disappointed demon remarked.
“Absolutely not, dear boy. You will just have to wait like everyone else.” He walked to grab himself a glass of wine.
Crowley huffed loud enough to make Aziraphale smirk as he poured himself a glass. “Will you at least tell me what you are going as. It could be fun to match.”
--
At that, Aziraphale almost spilled his wine and his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Why on Earth would Crowley suggest a matching costume? He made his way to his chair and sat, handing Crowley a glass. The show they were seeing wasn’t until later, and they had reservation for a nearby restaurant, but they had time to enjoy a drink before they walked to dinner. After a moment’s thought, Aziraphale decided that the top hat would be more trouble than it was worth and discarded it to his side table.
“Well, if you won’t show me what you are wearing, why not at least tell me. Or, I could help you choose if you don’t know what you want to be.” Crowley paused for a moment, looking straight at him, “I know you are excited about this party, so you must have chosen something.”
Crowley then picked his glasses up and put them back on his face to maintain his air of nonchalance, obviously aiming to tempt him into giving him a hint. Aziraphale knew the Demon’s wiles well enough to know that he needed to remain steadfast or his excitement, more likely irritation, would spill his secrets.
Aziraphale, in fact, knew exactly what his costume was going to be. He had wanted to wear it again for some time because he liked how it made him feel, and he was genuinely excited to see the look on Crowley’s face when he transformed into his character. Aziraphale would absolutely not give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing him in costume before the party. He needed to remain resolute.
He had also decided that Crowley could not, under any circumstance, see him before his big reveal. Anathema agreed to let Aziraphale use a room in which to get dressed. If Crowley saw him as he was getting into character, it would absolutely ruin the effect, so Crowley would just have to wait and appreciate the drama. He had had to hide the suit once he was pilfering around his trunks looking for something suitable to wear to the costume party, but when he came across it, he knew that he simply must wear it again.
“I suppose one hint won’t hurt.” He sat for a moment and thought about the most obscure part of his costume. He tapped his chin and thought for a few more moments, trying to draw out his companion’s anticipation.
After another huff, Crowley said, “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me that is your business. I’m disappointed you don’t trust me though.”
So that is how Crowley would play it now, Aziraphale thought. First temptation, then guilt. He would not fall into any of his traps tonight. It would definitely be worth it. At least he hoped it would.
At that point, Aziraphale could not relent. He would have to slip his clue in later. Crowley had found a silly app on his phone and was swiping away at its screen.
After their drinks were finished, Crowley said, “I suppose we should be getting on. Our reservation is soon and I am sure you would like to enjoy your dessert before we go to our show.”
Their reservation was at a charming European restaurant near the Sondheim Theater. Aziraphale hadn’t asked, but assumed that they would be seeing Sweeny Todd. It happened to be on the list of musicals that Crowley enjoyed seeing during this time of year. The demon did love his Penny Dreadfuls. The music was splendid and the company performing were also very good, so Aziraphale enjoyed indulging his Demon during spooky season.
--
“Shit, I almost forgot.” Crowley snapped and a large bouquet of yellow daffodils, red gardenias, and white daisies tied with a lemon yellow satin ribbon appeared on the table.
“Oh Crowley, they are lovely!” Aziraphale blushed prettily. He always did when Crowley gave him things.
“Pretty things for a pretty Angel.” Crowley coughed and stood up.
Aziraphale wiggled a bit in his seat, then stood. He leaned in to smell the flowers, softly touching the petals. Crowley could feel the pulses of contentment coming off of him, and if he knew his Angel at all, Azriaphale would possibly understand the meaning. He hoped.
After another moment, Aziraphale took their glasses to the sink, then they made their way to the door. It was a bit brisk in mid-October, so they both grabbed their long coats and headed out into the night.
Crowley knew Bill’s Soho Restaurant had the perfect assortment of menu items that the Angel could have wanted to choose from before their date. Wait, would Aziraphale know it was a date? They went out all the time but had actually never discussed the nature of their relationship after the events of the thwarted Apocalypse.
Crowley had made the reservation and purchased the tickets this time without discussing it with Aziraphale. He had even given Aziraphale flowers, once he remembered they were sitting in his flat, so he assumed that his own mind thought this was a date. Azriaphale’s reaction to the flowers was not surprising, the Angel did like beautiful things, but would he see it as an indicator that they were indeed on a more romantic outing?
They usually spoke at length about where they would be going, or decided on the spot to dine somewhere. Crowley had wanted this to be date-like, hoped really that the Angel would see it as such, regardless of the musical they were attending.
He had mentioned, upon the Angel’s asking of their plans, that they would be seeing one of Crowley’s favorites of the season. He knew his Angel was clever and would eventually figure it out. He did mention the restaurant they would be dining at, so Aziraphale could get excited and plan his meal strategy.
As far as the definition of a date, Crowley thought he had done most of the proper things. They were spending much more of their time together, and Crowley was thoroughly enjoying the more relaxed Angel. It still seemed like he was holding back, but Crowley was stubbornly patient. Only because he had to be.
--
The Angel, however, was getting frustrated at Crowley’s lack of movement in their relationship. Crowley was always kind and gave him everything he even thought about wanting, except the next step. Aziraphale knew it was what he had said many years ago, and he also knew the ball was in his court to make that move, but he wanted Crowley to be knocked off his feet and stumble helplessly into his arms. That is why Halloween would be so important for Aziraphale. It would be a chance to shed his somewhat guarded nature and inhabit a version of himself that could be freer and flirtier.
The last-minute flowers were a wonderful addition to the night, even if the Demon barely remembered to give them to him. Cowley knew plants, so Aziraphale assumed he knew the meaning of flowers and what had appeared on his table sent a very specific message. Crowley, in his own way, was giving him space to move forward at his own pace, and he couldn’t have been fonder of the silly demon. He had to get this right. Crowley deserved to be loved openly and without fear. The Demon had been offering himself for so much time now. A few more days, Aziraphale thought, then he could sweep his thoughtful demon off his feet.
The restaurant really was remarkable, and the young man serving them was charming and respectful of their privacy. They had enjoyed a lovely dinner and Aziraphale was now deciding on dessert when a plate of the most scrumptious looking pastries hit the table in front of him.
He glanced up to see Crowley staring at him, then looking away. As if something very interesting was happening across the room.
“What is this, dear?”
“Looks like dessert Angel. Better dig in.”
On the plate were two, quite large profiteroles that were dipped in the most sinful and delightfully smelling chocolate, dripping down the sides. The cream was whipped and stuffed between two perfectly baked, flaky pastries. It almost looked to wonderful to eat. Almost.
He closed his eyes to lean in and take in the marvelous smells of his treats when suddenly he felt something near his lips. His eyes shot open to see Crowley’s arm outstretched, holding a puff close to his mouth. It had gotten suddenly warmer in the room and Aziraphale’s brain went on vacation. Fortunately, his body was responding normally and he parted his lips to take a bite of the offered treat.
He couldn’t help but notice that the Demon’s glasses were nowhere to be found as he stared into those perfect, honey golden eyes while he took a bite. There was nothing Aziraphale could do but continue. The puff was utterly divine and a little moan escaped him before he could stop it. He knew his cheeks could put Crowley’s hair for a run at how heated they felt.
--
Crowley had licked his lips in anticipation, probably without knowing, and watched as Aziraphale took his bite. The sound that escaped his Angel was something that Crowley would never, ever not want to hear. It even hit his dreams most nights, but he had to direct his thinking elsewhere or it would be a rather uncomfortable rest of the evening.
“Oh.” Was all Aziraphale said.
“Good, Angel?” Crowley knew it was good by the sheer will it took Aziraphale to make it through the first bite. His sea blue eyes had taken on a darker hue as he didn’t break contact with his own. He finished the first bite and was staring into Crowley’s soul, head tilted sideways.
“A cane.” Was the only thing that Aziraphale said, “I have a cane.”
It was Crowley’s turn at shock and brain malfunction. “I’m sorry, wot?”
Aziraphale had to shake himself a bit, but continued on. “My costume. I have a cane.”
“Oh.” Crowley’s brain was still in malfunction mode.
“Never mind, dear. I suppose it is time to make our way to the theater.” Aziraphale caught the waiter’s attention to bring the check, but Crowley was up in an instant and headed in the boy’s direction.
He came back to the table and offered his arm to Aziraphale. “Shall we?” His glasses had made their way back snuggly on his face. They took their coats and headed out to the theater. It was only a block or so away, and the cold air was enough to get Crowley’s mind working again.
“So, a cane, eh? Do I get to guess, and if I guess correctly, will you tell me if I am right?” Crowley had suddenly discovered that he was not going to let the Angel’s slip be forgotten.
“No.”
“I think I will be able to crack it before the Halloween party. Would you like to make a wager?”
“No.”
“That’s no fun, but I will keep guessing anyway. I’ll make my own wager now. If I guess correctly, you get to see my costume before the party.”
Crowley thought he detected a small smile at the corner of the Angel’s mouth. Of course, Aziraphale would want to make a wager. The Angel thought he would win. The bastard just needed to be convinced.
--
Aziraphale’s eyebrows crept upward. He had to admit that he was more than curious as to what the Demon was planning on wearing for the party. Obviously,
something tight. His penchant for the macabre was evident, but he would not sacrifice his style for a silly holiday.
Aziraphale tutted, “It will not matter, because I will not tell you. Besides, you won’t guess correctly anyway.”
Aziraphale’s confidence in Crowley’s lack of guessing potential would end up being his downfall, and he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Oh Angel. You have no idea what you have just done.”
Aziraphale did know.
A dark glint now settled in Crowley’s features. The Angel understood that if Crowley didn’t do anything else in the week that followed, every costume he could think of with, or even without a cane, would be tested against Aziraphale’s resolve. Crowley possibly thought he could just wear the Angel down through sheer annoyance.
Aziraphale had to mentally prepare for the onslaught of guesses that would be coming his way. Perhaps he could make a visit to the estates in the area in search of some unknown manuscript that he was looking for to shave off a few days of relentless guessing. He did have a prospect for a meeting out of London. He was just waiting on a response.
By the time Aziraphale had tried to come up with several other out of city excursions to avoid the Demon’s onslaught of questions, they had arrived at the theater.
“We’ve seen this company before, right? I think it will be a wonderful show. I am very excited.” Aziraphale would now do anything to get Crowley’s mind working in any other direction than his costume, but one glance at the Demon, and he knew he was in for a very long evening.
--
Crowley, being the sport he was, decided to give Aziraphale a break. At least for the running of the show because he was very excited about Sweeny Todd. He would mostly leave the players in peace, but couldn’t help a bit of mischief now and again, causing them to react on stage to the slight mishaps that would occur. It made for a more real experience.
As if Aziraphale was reading his mind, “Will you be causing mischief on our poor performers this evening, darling?”
“Wah! Of course not. I would never.” Crowley put a hand to his chest as if mortally offended at the Angel’s comment.
“You cannot fool me, dear. I can see the wheels in your lovely brain spinning as we speak. Promise you won’t make anyone fall on their razors though.” The bastard put on his best puppy eyes. Crowley couldn’t ever resist those.
“Of course not. I cannot guarantee that the trap door might mistakenly open a touch too soon however.” His smirk probably told Aziraphale that it would happen more often than not.
--
The Angel gave him a reproachful look, sighed, then said, “Let’s get our drinks then.” Aziraphale led them to the bar and ordered them both a mulled wine, then they made their way to their seats. Crowley was fidgeting more than normal and Aziraphale couldn’t resist.
“Alright, one guess before the show starts.” He had tried to sound exasperated, but it mostly came off as permissive.
Crowley stared at him for a few moments, looking as if he wasn’t going to say a word. The house lights were lowering and just before the show started, he leaned over and whispered, “Sherlock Holmes, from the Speckled Band.”
Aziraphale couldn’t stop the gasp he let loose, but Crowley had turned his attention back to the stage. What an interesting guess. Crowley knew that Aziraphale loved the stories of Doyle, and the more he thought about it, it would have been a striking costume choice. Aziraphale didn’t realize that Crowley knew anything about Doyle’s stories of Sherlock Holmes, especially one of his favorites. His mind was racing in a few directions, but the first number of the show was starting and he had to redirect his attention to the stage as well.
It had become commonplace, especially lately, to sit closer to each other than they had in the past six thousand years they had known one another. It was particularly true this evening as Crowley had planted himself directly next to Aziraphale and their legs were touching from knee to hip, or as much as the seats in the theater would allow. Aziraphale had a difficult time enjoying all of the production because he would become increasingly flustered when Crowley would shift, seeming trying to get closer to him.
At one point in the show, Crowley even grabbed his hand and gave him a kiss on the knuckles. Mind you, it was during one of the more unpleasant scenes, but Aziraphale was not paying much attention at the time anyway and a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t stop staring at Crowley, and once Crowley noticed the
Angel’s eyes not leaving his, he lifted up his glasses and winked.
Damn the man. Aziraphale was gone for the rest of the production. To anyone else, it would appear that Aziraphale was watching with rapt attention. His thoughts, however, were racing around quite pleasantly and he wouldn’t have known the show was over unless Crowley tugged at his elbow to rouse him.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head, Angel?”
“What? Oh nothing. Great show.” Aziraphale stood quickly.
They made their way out of the theater and began walking in the direction of the bookshop.
Aziraphale cleared his throat, “What did you think of the performance, Crowley?”
“Brilliant as always. Did you see me drop the last victim before they had a chance to be properly sliced?” The Angel could tell Crowley’s excitement for the show was waning now that he was watching him more closely.
“You alright?”
“Of course, dear. It’s gotten quite late. Will you be staying for drinks at the shop?” Aziraphale knew Crowley would, but he never wanted to assume anything and always wanted to give Crowley an opportunity to say no if he had other obligations.
“Yes. Unless you want time to yourself and all.” Crowley had grown much quieter and was rubbing the back of his neck. “I could go home if you want to read.”
“No!” Aziraphale nearly shouted. “I want you to stay. Perhaps you can remind me of all the little tricks you pulled with the performers tonight. Wait. Do I want to know all the tricks you pulled?” A look of mostly mock concern crossed Aziraphale’s face.
“Oh Angel, it was spectacular.”
“By the way. Your guess was incorrect. Although, it was an excellent first guess.” If the chill hadn’t made Aziraphale’s cheeks rosy, the look that Crowley gave him would have. He whipped his head to the Angel and said absolutely nothing.
They made their way to the bookshop just at the time it was getting too cold for Aziraphale. Crowley must have been an ice cube, so Aziraphale snapped open the front door and a lit the fireplace.
“Hurry in dear, you must be freezing. Let’s get you warmed by the fire.”
“M’alrite.” Crowley shrugged.
“I won’t hear another word. Come with me.” Aziraphale grabbed his hand and led him inside, taking his coat and scarf off of him and sat him on the sofa upstairs. He snapped a blanket and heated it before setting it around Crowley, rubbing his shoulders to help warm him faster.
“You really don’t need to fuss. I’ll be fine. I’m already getting warmer.”
“Nonsense. Let me grab us some wine. On second thought. We need whiskey.” Aziraphale shuffled his way to the kitchen and found exactly what he was looking for. “Ah, this will do nicely.”
He poured a healthy glass for Crowley and himself and settled into his chair. The fire was burning nicely and the room was indeed toasty. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Crowley leapt up and yelled, “Gandalf!”
The sudden exclamation nearly made Aziraphale drop his glass.
“For goodness sakes Crowley. What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Your costume. You are going to be Gandalf. You know, from Lord of the Rings. Oh, you could be a wonderful wizard.” Crowley was pacing in front of the fireplace with a broad grin, as if he had just solved the biggest puzzle.
“Are you quite finished dear?” It seemed very apparent Crowley would not be giving up his guessing game. This week would be torture indeed. Perhaps he should just say yes to spare himself.
Crowley took Aziraphale’s silence as a victory and nearly twirled back into his seat on the sofa.
“Gandalf carried a staff, my dear, and I quite definitely said cane.”
The look on Crowley’s face was almost too good to not notice, but Aziraphale decided it best to simply look over the top of his glass while sipping.
“Damn.” Crowley swatted the sofa with his free hand. “I thought I had it. You would make a great wizard though. Maybe next year. I could be an Orc, or the giant spider.”
“Or an elf.” Aziraphale thought he hadn’t said the last bit out loud, but Crowley’s head snapped to look directly at Aziraphale and showed a bit of fang.
“Bleh.” He made the face like something too sour was in his mouth.
Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. The Demon was quite charming when he pouted.
“I rather think you would make a very cute elf. Perhaps I will look into costumes for next year.”
“Nope. Not going to happen. Never ever.” Crowley slunk back into the couch and spread himself out as was normal, grabbing his glass and taking a large drink.
Aziraphale would have been completely happy if they moved on from the topic, but as usual, Crowley had a different mindset.
“Why can’t I know what you are going to dress up as? I will tell you if you tell me.”
Aziraphale knew that the Demon was desperate if he would be willing to divulge his own secrets, but he knew it was a ruse. Crowley would never give in so easily. Instead, the Angel knew that the game would last until his reveal and he needed to thwart him, much like the early days.
“Your enthusiasm is intoxicating, my dear, but you really shouldn’t know until the party. I assure you it will be worth your while.” He slowly lifted his glass and took a deep draw of his whisky, eyes fixed on the Demon.
--
Crowley’s jaw couldn’t have hit the floor faster. Had the Angel just asserted himself and teased him! Those eyes seemed to twinkle a deeper shade of blue than Crowley had ever recognized. At this point, Crowley would stop at nothing to keep at the Angel. He knew he would crack eventually. Right?
They continued for a few hours chatting about the play and eventually Crowley couldn’t help himself with a deep stretch and a large yawn.
“Please stay here tonight, my dear. You can have the bed. I have a few things to finish up, and I am sure I can find a book to keep me entertained. You do not have to stay up on my account.”
“Keep me company?” Crowley looked away for a moment but eventually met Aziraphale’s eyes.
“Of course, my dear.”
--
It wasn’t unusual that Crowley slept in Aziraphale’s bed. Crowley was really the only one that ever used it. The Angel had switched the sheets to soft black silk only a few days after their trials with the head offices. He never needed it and Aziraphale knew the couch was only so soft. He made sure the blankets were sufficiently weighted and there were more than enough pillows to satisfy even the fussiest of demons.
If Crowley had noticed the change, he never said anything. The first time he slept over, Aziraphale could see a small smile cross the Demon’s face, but he never uttered a word.
--
Crowley, of course, noticed it the moment he walked into the Angel’s room the first time it happened. Everything on the bed stood out against the rest of the room. It was like Aziraphale summoned Crowley’s own bed into his flat in order to appease the Demon. Crowley would never let the Angel know that he noticed though.
Crowley flopped into the bed completely clothed. He would be perfectly content to sleep that way because he really didn’t want to move. A few minutes into his slumber, Crowley felt his feet moving. Aziraphale had started taking his boots off and rolled him over so he could pull the blanket over him.
“If you wish to sleep in your ever so tight clothes, that will be on you.” Aziraphale made himself comfortable next to the Demon. Crowley made a weak snap and was instantly in his pajamas, snuggling in for the evening.