Work Text:
Soho, August 1967
‘Crowley,’ said Aziraphale, lowering his copy of The Times, ‘what does PDA mean? Is it like PDQ?’ he went on, a half smile on his face, ‘Does it mean something like… Pretty Damned Agreeable, or is it Awful or…?’
Crowley smiled, despite himself. Aziraphale, with his playful eyes and comically rumpled brow, looked, well, arresting was the only word he allowed himself to consider.
‘Nah. Stands for Public Display of Affection. There been letters in the paper?’
The angel nodded his assent.
‘Yeah, the Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells brigade’s been up in arms about it since the Act came into force. Lots of gay couples’ve been kissing in public by way of celebrating the new freedoms.’
‘Oh yes, I have noticed that around here just lately!’ Aziraphale’s face softened into Crowley’s favourite smile, a ray of radiant sunshine lighting up the familiar gloom of the shop. ‘It’s all been rather lovely.’
‘Yeah, angel, it really has,’ agreed Crowley for once, returning the angel’s smile.
St James’ Park, August 1990
‘Crowley,’ began Aziraphale, throwing his last handful of frozen peas for the busy ducks to squabble over, ‘D’you remember the discussion we had about…’
He looked awkward for a moment, hands clasped together, eyes anxiously trained on his erstwhile adversary.
‘…Public Displays of Affection back in the… Well, just after I had given you the thermos of…’ he tailed off, nodding at Crowley knowing his friend couldn’t fail to finish that sentence. It wasn’t something they talked about. There were so many things they had failed to discuss since the End Times. They brooded between them like an intransigent pachyderm.
‘Yeah,’ said Crowley, helpfully, ‘course I do. Why d’you ask?’
‘I was wondering if you might… That is to say, I myself am broadly in favour. And I should very much like to…’
‘Spit it out, angel.’
Aziraphale extended his hand towards Crowley, wiggling his fingers daintily.
‘…hold your hand, if I may?’
Crowley folded his fingers around Aziraphale’s softer, shorter ones and felt something deep inside him settle, questions, long entertained, answered with this one, significant gesture.
‘Bold of you angel,’ he said, by way of deflection, ‘out here where anyone might see us.’
‘I want the world to know how I feel. The Other World too.’ He gave Crowley an old fashioned look, and squeezed the hand he was holding.
‘How you feel?’
‘The great love I have for you, darling. Will that do as a public display?’
‘I’ll show you PDA, angel.’
He pulled the infuriating being closer only to find those blue eyes, darker than usual, appraising him lovingly.
‘I do wish you would,’ came the breathy response.
Crowley, inevitably drawn to give Aziraphale all he desired, kissed him. His angel was warm, soft, passionate—everything he had endlessly dreamed of. Youths on the path stopped and whistled. A few park regulars clapped.
‘Let’s go home, angel,’ said Crowley, ‘I have some Private displays of affection in mind.’
Aziraphale, delighted, merely whispered ‘Oh, yes!’.