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Aziraphale really hadn’t meant to upset Crowley. He was trying to compliment him, but evidently, he had gone about it entirely wrong.
“You know, Crowley, I've always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice–” he was cut off by a sudden force against his chest, back being pushed up against the office building walls.
“Shut it! I'm a demon. I'm not nice. I'm never nice. Nice is a four-letter word.”
He stared, startled but not by any means frightened by the other. There was quiet for a moment, although the sounds of paintball guns blared from outside, neither seemed to acknowledge it. How could they, when the space between them suddenly felt so small. If he had a heart, he was certain it would be beating out of his chest.
“I beg to differ,” he breathed, eyes trained on the face of the demon. The way his eyebrows pulled together, barely hiding his confusion, a hint of frustration hidden by those dark glasses he insisted on wearing. (Not that the angel particularly minded, he just wished he could see those glowing eyes more often.)
“What?” Crowley responded, simply. Aziraphale knew better than to assume his mind wasn’t racing, however. He could see it in the way his hands almost shook as they held his coat. Silence hung between them, faint shouting drowned out by the pure force of their ever-quickening breaths. There was something here, something intense rearing its curious head between them. It always lingered in their tender glances, the little favors they did for each other. They’d just never acknowledged it. The implications it would bring, the complications it would create. Nothing would ever be the same.
“I said I’d beg to differ,” he moved his gaze to the others lips, and then back up again. Now wasn’t the time for that. Despite that thought, when he looked back up, he noticed how the demons shades had slipped down his nose. He fought back the need to just shamelessly sit there and take the other in, watching those snake eyes peer back at him. “I would argue being a demon has nothing to do with how you turn out. If it was any different, I don't think we’d have ended up like….” his voice trailed off.
“This,” Crowley finished for him, grip loosening slightly. He felt less like he was being pushed into the wall then being held against it now. He didn’t find himself moving away, but neither did his counterpart, for the time being. Aziraphale nodded, lips parting as he tried to explain himself more, but the other beat him to it. He noticed how tense he became, and the scarcely hidden stress in the lines of his face. There was a sudden urgency when he spoke, and the words just tumbled out.
“Even if that was true, you seem to have forgotten I’m the
Serpent of Eden.
I’m the original tempter, the entire reason we’re even on an Earth like
this
in the first place. One wrong move and you could–they could–” he took a shaky breath, “I’m too dirty for your clean hands, angel,” he rushed out, abruptly pulling back like the very act of touching the other had burned him. It made him think of the church, all those years ago, and how even through shoes, the holy ground had charred the snakes skin.
Aziraphale paused, taken aback at the sudden admittance. It was laced with insecurity and fear. How long had the demon worried over this? He took a deep breath, eyes searching for some kind of answer in the others frame. All he found was hesitancy.
The angel stepped forwards. The demon looked up. His eyes glowed a deep yellow. It reminded him of the first sunset they had experienced together, back when the Earth was still new and you could still see all the stars in the sky, no matter where you were. Life had been much quieter then. Their emotions were still so fresh, so new. Their respective bosses were kinder, still figuring things out for themselves. Though he thinks back on that time fondly, he wouldn’t trade his moments with Crowley for anything Heaven or Hell could offer. That much he knew for certain.
“Do you think I don’t know what you are? What you were made to do? I’ve known you for this long, and I’ve stuck around, haven’t I?” Aziraphale replied, watching as the other stared in disbelief, the slightest bit of relief hidden in the way his shoulders subtly relaxed.
Soft but well worn hands came up to hold the serpents face gently. Physicality had never been something they’d worried much about. On the off chance an angel or demon spotted the two of them, it could be career-ending, possibly even life ending if the offices were feeling particularly unhappy. Plus, why waste time embracing when they had eternity? (Or so they thought.)
But now? It was all he could think of. He never wanted to see the fearful look on the others face again. He wanted to reassure him for as long as it took, end of the world be damned. He wanted to hold him, flaws and all, and let him know that they were together through everything. He knew all these feelings bubbling up inside him had to be dealt with. He knew there was a very certain way to show how much he really did love the demon, despite his background.
Love. Such a small word for such an endless emotion.
“I would fall for you.” Aziraphale whispered, almost as if he feared that if he spoke too loudly the Almighty would strike him down where he stood. He didn’t find himself minding. No punishment could be greater than being apart from Crowley.
“Angel,” Crowley muttered, desperately.
“In some ways I already have.”
If a small choke had escaped from the demon, neither of them mentioned it. The angels hold was reverent, so gracious. He didn’t dare be anything but gentle. Crowley deserved nothing but grace. He decided he’d make sure he got nothing short of perfection, for as long as Aziraphale had the ability to give him it. If everything worked out the way he planned, they’d have all the time in the world.
“Your hands are not stained, my dear. Besides, even if they were, I’d still hold them in my own. You deserve warmth; this I know,” he murmured, knowing that the serpent would hear the genuineness of his tone. They’d known each other for so unfathomably long that they were able to pick up on each others emotions rather easily. This included body language and tone, which could be very helpful at times like these. (Although he guessed he had never confessed his love before this. Kind of the entire point of love confessions, isn’t it? They're usually a one-time affair.)
“I fear you are still too kind for me, angel, but if what you say is true….then I suppose I have no choice but to accept your love, right? It’s not like I don't feel the same way, trust me. I just never thought you’d actually feel this way about
me
. I mean, The Serpent of Eden and a Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate? Doesn’t make a lot of sense, even if it is ineffable like you insist everything is.”
“Nothing She does makes sense, darling. It’s how She works.”
Without warning, heels began to click against the suspiciously new-seeming floors. They both looked up, feeling like teens caught in the middle of something they had sworn not to do.
“Sorry to break up an intimate moment. Can I help you?”
“You,” Crowley hissed, breaking away from Aziraphale’s hold, much to his dismay.
“Saints and demons preserve us, it's Master Crowley,”
she yelped.