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An angel and a demon sat with a companionable silence in the back of a bookshop a couple of years following the End of the World. The sign outside, detailing the angel’s strangest hours was set to most definitely closed, a lazy, rainy, afternoon that had the two supernatural beings enjoying the peace and quiet, cozy in their solitude. Aziraphale was sitting on a new plush sofa. He had a book in his hands as always, eagerly reading the next chapter of a particularly romantic novel. A finished cup of cocoa laid on the table before them, along with the demon’s sunglasses he removed the instant he came into the shop. If anyone was to judge Aziraphale’s literature taste, he would simply remind them that one who didn’t read all sources was bound to have their knowledge wanting in many areas.
His companion, the demon Crowley, sat very casually near him, in an armchair that the couple had argued about which pillows were best to pair with it. They had made a compromise in the end. A ridiculously fluffy white armchair (by Crowley’s opinion), in exchange for some satin, sleek black pillows. Crowley was slouching, as he tended to do on said pillow, his feet, clad in his recent fashion choice of tartan socks, rested on the angel’s lap across from him, as he contently browsed his mobile, likely making provocative posts on social media sites. Or browsing for first edition books to gift the angel. If he were to be partaking in the latter, no one else would ever have to know.
These old companions were not just companions anymore by any estimation of it. An unspoken intimacy flowed between them, content to be with each other without even having to speak. Aziraphale was holding his book outstretched in front of him, his elbows resting on Crowley’s ankles. They had all the time in the world after all to be lazy on days like today, even if Aziraphale might take some convincing that said laziness was more than okay. (It took significantly less time to convince him than it used to).
These two dear old friends, now who were lovers, they found a pure happiness in each other. This domesticity, which they had carved out for themselves, they had long earned it. In fact, it was overdue for them. And they had also earned the right to be silly. To be unserious and unworried, to share smiles and laughter and touches and kisses without worry of who was watching them. To be open and free with each other like two men in love.
Such a moment was happening right now. Crowley shifted in the armchair and sat up straighter, turning his mobile down on his lap, drawing Aziraphale to look up from his book at his sudden movement with a questioning sort of look. Calm, smitten yellow eyes, softer than they had ever been before, met his.
“Just thinking out loud angel,” he began, casually running a hand down the sides of his jaw. “Thinking of growing out a beard again. Saw some good ones online. Thought I could make it work.”
“Oh really?” Aziraphale asked, his curiosity piqued. “What kind of beard do you think? Rather like your one at the Globe?” He asked him, a hand gently soothing over one of Crowley’s ankles. Crowley never believed that you could like your ankles touched. Marvel thing, that.
“Mm. I did like that one, but I was thinking more of a full one. Bushy. Like the one I had a few millennia ago before the flood.”
What Crowley did not expect of all things was for Aziraphale to make a face. A face in the way that you make when you hear or see something truly distasteful. His nose scrunched up, and Crowley felt his heckles thoroughly raised. When Crowley’s heckles were raises nowadays, it tended to result in some quips, followed by playful touches and indulgent kisses.
“Oi!” Crowley snapped snidely, removing his feet from the angel’s lap entirely, causing the angel to huff as his arm rest was so cruelly removed. His feet his the ground and Crowley leaned towards Aziraphale. “What’s that face for?!”
Aziraphale sighed, bookmarking his page with a black feather calmly, before he set the book aside, folding his hands on his lap. “Don’t be upset with me, dear.”
“I’m listening,” Crowley replied, his eyes narrowing with bemused suspicion.
“But please know, I think you’re devilishly handsome no matter your disastrous choice of facial hair.”
“…Did you just insult me?”
“No!” Aziraphale paused, a contemplative look coming over his face, “Yes? But I do mean it in a good way. Even any of your…fashion mishaps, they still look good because they’re on you.”
“Thanks?” Crowley echoed with a growing sense of both amusement and annoyance, unsure if he was really supposed to be offended or not.
“I did like it, in its own way. I thought it was a unique choice! Courageous of you to have a beard that was both objectively and conventionally not that good-looking.”
“Ouch, you’re really wounding my confidence here, angel.” He said with a fake cool expression that was significantly less cool when Crowley happened to not have his glasses on.
“Yes, well,” Aziraphale replied haughtily, sitting up more primly as he affixed a glance over to his lover. “You were definitely confident enough to try it out regardless of what anyone else might think.” And the angel gave him a playful sort of smirk that had all of Crowley’s annoyance flying out of him, the demon smiling back, positively lovestruck.
“You’re a bastard, you know that?” He asked. “What if I grew one, huh? Would you still kiss me?”
The look he gave him was killer, and Crowley wanted to kiss this bastard of a fussy angel already. “Oh darling, I could hardly even be seen in public with you like that, never mind kissing you while your face has a dead animal attached to it.”
Crowley barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “Really angel?! Didn’t know you’d be so cruel!” Then smirking, throwing up an arm causally behind his chair to look cool, he snapped his fingers and a big bushy beard instantly grew upon his face, it was a deep ginger-orange, a tad lighter than he kept his hair nowadays, and the beard spread down and across his chin, down to his collarbone. Maybe it was even bushier than it had been even then.
“Oh good Lord!” Aziraphale let out a laugh, and his smile would warm Crowley’s heart forevermore. He wasn’t even peeved with him anymore. “It’s even frizzier than I remember! Good God, Crowley, it really doesn’t work at all, especially not with your hair the way it is now.”
“Not a fan of some killer beards then?” He asked him.
“I oddly have the urge to run my fingers through it, but absolutely not a fan. No kissing until you snap it back off,” Aziraphale declared with a teasing smile
“Oh! So it’s good enough to touch, is it?!” Crowley laughed, coming to plop besides Aziraphale on the sofa, throwing his arms around his man, “C’mon then, give me a kiss!” He pressed an exaggerated kiss, an audible mwah to the angel’s cheek, and Aziraphale nearly squealed, wiggling away from Crowley as he pressed several kisses to his face and cheek, all while they both were breaking into shared little giggles, as Aziraphale tried (not very hard) to scramble away from the demon who was pressing his bearded face against him.
“You’re a hairy beast!” Aziraphale exclaimed, even as he gleefully leaned into the kisses, the angel’s hands going up to cup his lover’s now hairy cheeks. “You missed a spot however, I should say.” And before Crowley could say a word, Aziraphale leaned in and pressed his lips to his, Crowley’s eyes immediately falling shut as he savored the contact, their lips pressed so sweetly together. How neither of them would ever tire of this simple pleasure. A walk in the park with their hands intertwined, a date at dinner, a shared kiss under the stars, holding each other close and never letting go, making love in the privacy of their own space, capturing each other’s noises and beauty. Living for each other, living their life together.
“Not so bad in the end, eh?” Crowley grinned like the cat who had caught the canary, once they separated. His hands moved to hold Aziraphale’s in his, and they settled together on the sofa, Crowley leaning his head on his shoulder, pressing small kisses to his jaw and collarbone, with what he could reach under the tartan.
“Ticklish,” Aziraphale complained under his breath, before he pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead. “Well, I don’t mind a hairy man with a terrible beard I suppose. Especially when he’s you. You could make me like the ugliest thing.”
“Such a romantic,” Crowley replied dryly, though his smile that refused to leave his face would beg to differ. “Really know how to compliment a bloke. All your sweet smiles? Your politeness? They mean nothing, I tell you. You’re a menace, and I love you for it.”
“I love you too, Crowley, so much. How I adore you.” A curious hand drifted up then, gently stroking fingers through the hairs of his thick beard, the two of them “I could get used to this, if it was what you wanted to have, it’s not as horrid when you’re touching it. Just expect some glances.”
“Only glances I need are yours, who gives a damn about what anyone else thinks?
“A good way of thinking about it. For goodness sake, you look as if you could be a part of a low-budget Christmas Nativity play. I love it.”
“…” Crowley snapped, instantly removing the facial hair from his face.
“Why did you go and do that?” Aziraphale asked, a little put-out.
“Too far, angel. Too far.”