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It was a nice day. But not every day had been as such. No matter, Aziraphale was confident he could make this day into a most brilliant one. So, he met Crowley in the bookshop parlour with a request.
“I need to borrow the Bentley, again,” he announced to Crowley, who was positioned in a chair* perusing a newspaper in search of tales of misfortune.
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*It was Crowley’s favourite chair, although if you asked him about it, he would never admit it.
He did not look up from the paper, only gave a curt, “Absolutely not.”
“Well, but—” he took a quick breath— “you see, there’s this trilogy, and I’ve only two of the books, but I’ve just found—”
“If you need the Bentley, I’ll take you myself. I will not have you turning it yellow again.”
Aziraphale clapped his hands excitedly and thought a brief moment about embracing Crowley out of gratitude. But, as Crowley headed out the door before him, Aziraphale decided against it, settling instead for an enthusiastic, “Oh, thank you, Crowley!”
“Don’t mention it,” Crowley muttered, his secret appreciation for Aziraphale’s thankfulness hidden secretly behind his goggled sunglasses in a secretive manner.
As they got into the Bentley, Crowley reasonably asked, “So, where exactly are we going?”
“Oh, well, there’s this little shop. It’s quite far off, as I understand, but it seems to house some spectacular literature. A quaint place, really—”
“Where?”
“Sorry. It’s in Wales. I’ll tell you where to go.”
“Alright, Angel. Just don’t get us lost.”
“Oh, no, no, I know exactly where we’re heading. I promise, I won’t get us lost. First, it’s straight that way.” Aziraphale pointed ahead to the street past their parking spot. Crowley started the Bentley and followed with a reckless abandon that left Aziraphale clutching to his seat.
Already, the angel was beginning to think of ways he might modify their current travel set-up. Surely, they could at least go 30 kilometres under the speed limit? That is, if the Bentley was still willing to listen to Aziraphale while he was in the passenger seat. And, surely as well, they could do without so much bobbing and weaving between cars and pedestrians.
But, for the time being Aziraphale stuffed the thoughts aside and decided to initiate some light-hearted conversation, “So, this book series, it’s called—take a left, here—” Crowley swerved aggressively left—” the Cambro-Briton; and General Celtic Repository in Three Volumes. Volumes I and III are already in the bookshop’s catalogue, but— a right, here—” Crowley swung right, then a tad left around a pedestrian legally crossing at a cross walk— “but I still need Volume II.”
"And this shop has it?”
“Yes, or so I hear.”
“What exactly makes these books so special?”
“Well, they are somewhat old by human standards, from around 1820, and no longer in print. And they have some delightfully fascinating Celtic Welsh tales, such a pleasure to— Crowley, please do slow down a bit; we’ve to make another right, here.”
Crowley sped up a bit, but, noting Aziraphale’s pointedly displeased expression, finally slowed down an infinitesimal amount. Then, he turned right-- over the sidewalk-- before going back onto the street. He was rather having a lot of fun, driving like so.
Growing tired of these dangerous shenanigans, Aziraphale decided now was as grand a time as ever to take matters into his own hands. He thought to the Bentley, it would be swell if we could go a tad slower. Oh, and of course we could do with some refreshments, like last time. And, well, certainly much more could be done to improve our trip, like….
The Bentley entertained Aziraphale’s suggestions and began to behave accordingly. As such, Crowley noticed, “What are you doing, Angel?”
“Nothing,” Aziraphale replied, slipping a travel sweet into his mouth from the tray above the console.
“Well, we don’t seem to have the same definition of ‘nothing.’ I would call this majorly, ‘something.’”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The Bentley is yellow, again, Angel.”
Aziraphale beamed, “Yes, isn’t it so pretty? It’s my favourite colour.*”
_____
*In all actuality, Aziraphale said this about every colour. However, he said this the most about yellow.
“It’s not the colour of my Bentley.”
“Well, I’ll say, it seems our Bentley enjoys being this colour. I mean, it hasn’t changed back, has it?”
Crowley just grunted in response.
Aziraphale continued, “You know, I think I know why the Bentley and I both love this colour so….” He looked to Crowley with an expectant grin.
Crowley took the bait, after an awkward, long while, “… why is that?”
“It’s the colour of your eyes, and we both do love y—er— like… your company.”
Crowley did not respond. Though, some with an especially keen eye may say he did blush, ever so slightly. Aziraphale was one of those people.
“So, can the Bentley stay yellow, then? Please?”
“Fine. But only this once. It changes back when we go back.”
Aziraphale squealed in delight.
“And the rest of this has to go. I can’t stand another minute of driving this bloody slow.”
Aziraphale frowned, “Of course, of course…”
So, the Bentley returned to breakneck speed, and Queen returned to replace Chopin, and the travel sweets returned to nonexistence. However, Aziraphale left the child safety locks on in the back seats. Better safe than sorry, as some might say.*
_____
*It’s rumoured that Aziraphale himself first said this, or at least popularized the phrase.
“You’re going left up here, again,” the Angel indicated.
Crowley, however, felt something was off, “Haven’t we already been that way?”
“Huh?” Aziraphale pondered this for a moment. He was sure he knew where they were going. Crowley trusted Aziraphale and went left anyway.
“I’m certain we’ve been here before,” Crowley insisted.
Aziraphale was sweating now, “No, no, I’m confident we haven’t.”
“No, you can see the statue I hit over there. Was a terribly hideous thing. Had to go.”
Aziraphale could not have been wrong. He knew where they were going. He promised to give directions and not get lost, so he would. He pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at his face. “I’m sure that’s a different statue someone else ran over. We’ve never been here.”
“Well, that’s the fire I started, too. Seems like it could use some more fuel, though.”
“We aren’t lost! No, we are exactly in the right spot! I know it! I know it!”
“Do you think we’re lost, Angel?” Crowley’s tone was playfully accusatory.
“…erm… I… uhm…”
“Angel, did you get us lost?”
“Well… erm…”
Crowley slammed the breaks in the middle of the street. Then he pulled over and parked. He turned to Aziraphale, “If you know exactly where we are—like you said— then where exactly are we?”
“We’re here.”
“Here?”
“Yes, on…” he scanned for a street sign, but the distant fire obstructed it. “Okay. We’re lost. I’m so very sorry, Crowley. I really thought I knew where to go. I looked at this map and everything.”
He braced himself for Crowley’s aggravated reaction, but the demon just laughed, “It’s alright, Angel. Just tell me where we’re going. I actually know exactly where we are. We went the opposite direction of Wales from the start.”
“Oh, dear, why didn’t you say anything?!”
“You seemed so confident. It was… well, I was having fun. You’re shit with directions, but it’s…” he paused and awkwardly cleared his throat.
“It’s what, Crowley?”
“It’s cute. Now where are we going?”
“You think I’m cute?”
Crowley had backed himself into a treacherous corner of his own making. He thought maybe he should take back what he said, but the look of unabashed, taunting glee on Aziraphale’s face made him reconsider. “I do,” he stated, “But don’t we have somewhere to be?”
Aziraphale giggled, “Aww, why didn’t you say sooner? You think I’m cute, well now that’s just lovely. You’re cute, too, Crowley.”
“No, I am not cute. Absolutely not.” Although, at this moment, some might say* that Crowley’s visibly reddening face was cute, despite his generally not-so-cute nature.
_____
*Aziraphale, again, is one such person.
Aziraphale continued to stir the pot, leaning over the console to coo at Crowley, “Oh, no, demon, you absolutely are. Why, you’re positively adorable!”
“No… you’re…”
Aziraphale got closer, “I’m what? Correct?”
Crowley closed the gap, pulling forward Aziraphale’s face and kissing him. It was not a masterful kiss by any means, but neither knew any different. Aziraphale kissed back and relished in the moment until they pulled apart.
Touching his lips, Aziraphale gasped, “Well, now. My, my, you do think I’m cute.”
“I just needed to shut you up.”
“Well, shut-up accomplished. Can we do that again?”
“Not until you tell me where we’re going, Angel.”
“Right, we’re going to Aberystwyth, in Ceredigion.”
“Alright,” Crowley began to reverse the Bentley, but Aziraphale stopped him.
“Don’t I get another kiss?”
“When we get there.”
“Please?”
Crowley sighed, put the Bentley back in park, then kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “Good enough?”
“For now.” Aziraphale leaned back in his seat, grinning from ear-to-ear.
Thusly, Crowley proceeded toward their destination. While his driving remained audacious, it was to a slimmer degree. Now, he began to slow down slightly at stop signs instead of flooring it. Aziraphale took notice, but he kept it to himself. Best not to spoil the moment, as he was enjoying this. What a nice day it was becoming indeed.
As Crowley drove on, his mind flew out the window. He could not believe himself. Kissing Aziraphale once, a lapse in judgement. But twice? He knew well enough that meant he wanted to do it thrice. Then, of course, next was four-ice, and so on. Now, that was all he could think about.
Aziraphale, feeling quite sublime, began to hum to himself a little tune. It was from one of his favourite symphonies,* Tchaikovsky’s Symphonie No. 6, “Pathétique.” As he hummed, he thought merrily about the book they were seeking. How fun it would be to read those stories, to fill in all the blanks between Volumes I and III. So satisfying, the thought of sliding that book in between, completing the set.
_____
*As with colours, Aziraphale said this about all symphonies. Except one, which sounded so tragic he burned the record on which he first heard it and took a week off from all things to recover.
Crowley, on the other hand, was listening to Aziraphale’s carefree humming while strangling the steering wheel. He felt quite “pathétique” himself, although more in the anglicized way than its original meaning. That is, pathetic. But he pushed the feeling away and resumed focus on driving the perfect amount of reckless so as to appease himself, but not to distress Aziraphale too much.
The radio, unaffected by Aziraphale’s humming, switched onto a new song. The angel found he actually quite liked this one, so he quieted down to listen to it. This time, Queen was doing “You and I.” What a pleasant tune, he thought.
“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale began, “I do believe this trip is going quite well. Thank you for taking me.”
Crowley swerved around a car absent-mindedly, “Well, I didn’t trust you to drive. Especially considering you didn’t even know which way to go.”
“Oh, well, suppose I had known, would you have let me drive, then?”
“I might have thought about it a second before saying no.”
This admission pleased Aziraphale, who was scheming a way into getting another kiss. Although this time, he wondered about giving it himself. He attempted to navigate the conversation in a kiss-ward direction, “I do think I owe you now, yes? So, say, there’s something I ought to do to repay you, like…”
“Like getting these bastards out of the middle of the road! Can’t they see me coming?”
“They’re on the sidewalk, Crowley… but I meant something more… well, delightful.”
“What the hell are you on about, Angel?”
“Uhm. Well, I just… you look very nice today and I think that you deserve something for that. And for driving me. And so, I’m thinking about this transactional action here, you’ve done this for me so, I—”
“Christ, you sound more like you’re asking me for another favour. Whatever it is you want to do for me, just do it already!”
“Oh, alright. Don’t you think you should pull over for this? Or, maybe slow down?” Aziraphale began to feel nervous, now. But he found he quite liked the idea of kissing Crowley, and he knew Crowley quite liked the idea of kissing him.
Crowley sped up, and meandered between lanes, “I’ve slowed down. Go ahead.”
“No, you haven’t! Oh, never mind. Just, hold still.” Aziraphale leaned over, faltered a bit with uncertainty, hovered a bit closer, then sighed and returned to his seat.
“That’s for me? Wow, thanks,” Crowley laughed.
“Uhm… well, I was going to kiss you, but… I don’t know how you do it so confidently.”
Flashing a pointy smile, Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s deflated expression, “I wouldn’t call that confidence. It’s more like… desperation. But, just come over here. I’ll show you.”
“Oh, alright.” Tentatively, Aziraphale hovered back over the console. Crowley took one hand off the wheel to tilt Aziraphale’s head towards him, then leaned over and kissed his cheek again. Then again. Then a few more times.
Aziraphale laughed nervously, “Uh, this is fun, but should you be driving now?”
“Hmmpht,” Crowley considered this point. On one hand, multitasking was his favourite kind of tasking.* On the other, Aziraphale was easier to kiss while not driving. And on a third hand, Aziraphale nervously interrupting every few seconds when Crowley almost hit another car or tree ruined the mood. So, for both their sakes, Crowley pulled over and parked the Bentley before continuing.
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*Unlike Aziraphale, this is Crowley’s only favourite type of tasking.
Pausing from kissing, he took Aziraphale’s face in his hands, just to admire it. The angel’s eyes were bright, so full of life and love. It was almost infectious. Crowley kept the image in his mind as he closed his eyes and kissed Aziraphale’s lips again.
Aziraphale reached up as well, bringing one hand to the side of Crowley’s face. They gave their best effort at however they figured a kiss should go (for a rather awkward, lengthy time) then pulled away.
Aziraphale giggled as if he’d been injected with all the world’s silliness, and exclaimed, “Okay, okay, it’s my turn now. Get ready.”
“I’m ready.”
Aziraphale was not ready. Or at least, he did not feel as such. But, while he didn’t know this, Crowley had not felt ready for a moment either. Especially not after he said, “I’m ready.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, then kissed Crowley’s cheek once. It felt exciting, but something felt lacking.
He brushed the side of Crowley’s sunglasses. Then he grabbed the edge and imagined lifting them off. But he didn’t dare commit without first asking, “Can I?”
Crowley’s breath was held as he had the steering wheel earlier, suffocatingly. He nodded, and Aziraphale carefully pulled the glasses off, revealing a pair of glowing, awe-struck eyes. Aziraphale blushed deeper, and so did Crowley. Then the angel smiled, saying, “Much better. Now I can see my favourite colour.”
Unable to control his smile, Aziraphale pressed his lips best he could across Crowley’s face. Elation guided him, as his hands gently propped Crowley’s head whichever way seemed most sensible. The demon was still dumbstruck, having never felt loved in such a way before. Aziraphale’s touch was so tender, so careful. As if he worried he might shatter Crowley if he touched too hard, or drop him if he touched too soft.
Crowley now felt overly conscious of his own way of touching. Could he be too abrasive? Not abrasive enough? Was it obvious to Aziraphale how much he loved him, how much he cared about him? Currently, Aziraphale was working his way down Crowley’s neck, seeming eagerly intrigued by the concept of kissing there. Though, he felt no urge to go any further, and returned to look at Crowley’s face.
Aziraphale gave a quizzical look, noticing Crowley’s clouded expression. “Oh, no,” he whispered, “Am I doing this wrong?”
“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley blurted out.
Glancing away, Aziraphale responded sheepishly, “Oh, so I’m doing good?”
“You’re excellent.* But that’s not the point. I’ve loved you for a long time.”
_____
*As neither have any prior experience kissing, Crowley’s definition of excellent may not be the same as most.
“I know. I love you, too. I always have.”
Now, Crowley did something which surprised Aziraphale more than kissing. Somehow, it felt even better. He put his arms around him and hugged him tightly. Aziraphale thought about how it felt so tender, so careful, and so full of love. Maybe, to the trained eye, there was still a slight bit of desperation, but it was negligible. Aziraphale returned the embrace, folding his arms around Crowley and sinking into him.
They stayed that way a while, relaxing into each other. Both of them thinking that this was a rather pleasant way to be, and they should do this more often. But Crowley then remembered what had gotten them here in the first place, and said, his face buried against Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Aren’t we looking for a book?”
“Oh, right,” Aziraphale replied, his own face against Crowley’s shoulder. They separated, and Crowley put his sunglasses back on and returned to driving. He swore the music seemed a little louder now, as if the Bentley was feeling left out of the all the fun. He thought absently, I love you, too, and the car quieted down.
Then, before they knew it, they were in front of a quaint bookstore, just as Aziraphale had described it. As they approached the door, someone else walked out, shrouded in a lengthy cloak. While they walked with a dignified demeanour, they allowed the door to shut in Aziraphale's face. Crowley gave the character a glare, taking note of their antiquated get-up.
That was a bit rude, Aziraphale thought, but he didn't harp on it and proceeded inside with Crowley. The interior was stuffed with all manner of literature, although older books were predominant. They lined the shelves, from floor to ceiling, spilling into the walkways. Aziraphale was about to deem it one of his favourite shops, until he noticed it lacked any organizational system.
Now, they had reached the counter, where a woman sat with her face in a book, and her beaded braids in her face. Aziraphale rang a bell labelled "Ring for assistance" because it told him to, and because he did so like ringing bells. The woman did not look up, but said, "I can see you; you don't need to do that. Just let me finish this page."
"Oh. My apologies." Aziraphale folded his hands at his waist and waited patiently. Crowley grew instantly impatient, beginning to pull off random books from the shelves around him and skipping to their endings. He put each one back so that it was on the shelf just enough to not fall off on its own, but that walking by would knock it down.
Finally, the woman behind the counter closed her book, and looked up. "How can I help you?" she asked.
"Oh, well I telephoned earlier about a book. I'm, uh… Mr. Fell. It was about the Cambro-Briton volume. You told me you had it."
"Ahh, yes. That. Well, we did have one. Though, I'm afraid to say I just sold it to someone."
Aziraphale deflated, "Oh, okay. For how much?"
"Over double what I was asking. Seemed to be an avid collector."
"Right, well–"
Crowley interjected, "What did this person look like?"
The woman cocked an eyebrow, but continued despite her suspicion, "Well, it was the bloke here just before you."
"Wearing a big cloak?"
"Yes, that one."
Nodding thoughtfully, Crowley turned to leave. Aziraphale quickly thanked the shopkeeper, hurrying after Crowley. "Wait," he called, "what are we doing?"
"Don't worry about this. I'll handle it."
"Oh, no. That's not your diplomatic 'I'll handle it,'* that's your violent one!" They reached the door, and Crowley held it open for Aziraphale. "Thank you. But it's okay. I'm sure I can find the book elsewhere."
_____
*The only time Crowley used his “diplomatic ‘I’ll handle it’” was in 1745, when a rather tense political situation could have otherwise ended in world-destruction.
"I'll handle it."
"Please, stop saying that! I can find a different copy."
"And I can get you this one, if you just give me about 4 minutes and 38 seconds. Look, there’s the person now."
"Oh, please, no…" Aziraphale bemoaned. He grabbed Crowley's arm to halt him, but the demon was too determined. Instead of stopping, he dragged Aziraphale with him toward the cloaked figure ahead. But just as they approached, the stranger turned down into an alley.
Crowley paused. Flattening against a building, he scooted over to the corner to eavesdrop. Aziraphale followed suit, listening in:
“Look, this is it, okay? Do you have what we agreed upon?”
“Yeah, of course. Just uh… just give me a moment.”
There was some rummaging. Then a few curses. Then some more rummaging.
Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, “What do you think they’re doing?”
“I think I could take them both out easily.”
“I—what? No, you’re not allowed to kill anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Well… the book’s no good if it’s covered in blood.”
“And ‘murder is wrong’ I suppose…?”
“Er… well, that’s a given. I don’t need to explain that.”
Conversation resumed in the alleyway, “Here, here, I got it.”
Presumably, one of the strangers was holding out something to the other, but must have then retracted it, as the other said, “C’mon, what gives? You’re backing out?”
“No, I just want to clarify something. Why is this book worth so much, again?”
“It’s the only copy. And they’re banned everywhere. Rare misprint, too. It’s a really hot item, I promise you. And this is a good deal. Just a couple thousand quid, that’s a steal.”
But, to Aziraphale’s bewilderment, that was a steal in a different sense than implied. In fact, you’d be a fool to pay that much for a book worth £100 at most. And you’d have to be doing some shady business to ask for that much.
Huffing, Aziraphale muttered, “None of that’s even true. They’re lying.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow, suddenly very interested, “So, you’re saying it’s a scam, Angel?”
“Absolutely.”
“And scams are wrong?”
“Correct.”
“So, if say, I interfered, that would be the moral thing to do?”
Aziraphale caught on to Crowley’s logic, “Depends on how you interfere. Excessive violence surely counteracts any morality here.”
“Oh, no, nothing violent. Just fighting fire with fire.” Crowley fished around in his pocket, procuring a sumptuous pen. He smirked, “Did you know this pen is over 300 years old? It was used by Queen Anne to ratify the 1707 Acts of Union between Scotland and England. I reckon it’s worth a fortune.”
For a moment, Aziraphale followed along, until he realized that he had five of those very pens on a desk in the bookshop. He laughed lightly, “Oh, I see. You’re going to scam the scammer.”
“I don’t know what you mean, this is all very legitimate. And moral enough for you?”
“Well, I suppose, just this once. We’re helping someone avoid legerdemain, after all.”
The people were still talking in the alley. The scammer coaxed, “Oh, come on. You want to become a collector? This is a good first start. With just this one book, you’ll have a better collection than those with a hundred, just—”
Crowley walked by the alley, stopping to acknowledge the commotion, “You’re collectors?”
The cloaked stranger straightened. The person they were scamming was hunched in on themselves, only looking up briefly. The one in the cloak responded, “Well, I am. A book collector. Are you, too?”
“Oh, no, no. I know nothing of the sort, but I do collect pens. In fact, I just found one that’s quite rare…”
“How rare?”
“Quite. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Yeah, well… how do I even know if I can trust you?”
At this point, Aziraphale made his appearance, another passerby noticing a very lovely non-suspicious collection of collectors collecting in an alleyway. He gasped, “Hold on, are you holding what I think you’re holding?”
Crowley turned to Aziraphale, “Who, me?”
“Why, yes, that’s the pen that... uh…” Not wanting to lie, Aziraphale gave Crowley an awkward expression.
Crowley completed it himself, “That Queen Anne of England used in 1707 to ratify the Acts of Union between Scotland and England.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose it’s quite rare?”
“Quite.”
The stranger’s interest was piqued. But they still had a few doubts, “Wait—” he swivelled to Aziraphale, “How do you know about this pen?”
“Uhm. Well, I happen to have a collection.*”
_____
*Aziraphale did not have what he considered to be a “pen collection.” But he had collections of many other things: books, buttons, pencils, etc. As he didn’t specify what collection he possessed, he figured he was telling the truth.
“Oh, I see… how much would you say that pen is worth?”
“Well… I’m not sure…”
Crowley interrupted, “A couple thousand quid, maybe more.”
The stranger fell for it, “Well, I’ve got this book worth about the same. How about we make a trade?”
“Well, sure. I’ve always wanted to start collecting books…” With those words, the two exchanged scams, and the cloaked stranger disappeared. Crowley handed the book off the Aziraphale, who took it graciously.
But the other person remained in the alley, looking quite confused. “What… what the fuck?” they stammered.
Aziraphale felt the situation deserved to be addressed, “Sorry about all of that. That person was lying to you. This book isn’t worth that much. Here—” Aziraphale pulled a card from his pocket— “this is a list of legitimate books to collect. But, well, I guess you could collect this one as well, if you…”
“No, no, you keep it. I owe you anyway.” The person took the card from Aziraphale. “Thank you,” they said, walking away.
Now, with the book safely obtained and somehow no casualties, Crowley and Aziraphale returned to the Bentley, which was waiting for them patiently, still yellow. Crowley had almost forgotten this and nearly walked the car by, before recalling their compromise (and the subsequent events, which he sent away with a sigh). Upon entering the Bentley, the demon stole a glance at Aziraphale. He was grinning at the book with pure elation, smiling so hard Crowley thought it must hurt. But he then caught himself smiling, too, and figured it might actually feel quite nice.
Aziraphale turned to him, gushing, “Oh, I can’t thank you enough for this! This book is going to be so lovely to read. Oh, and once it’s on the shelf next to the others, I’ll no longer feel so bothered by the gap. Really, Crowley, this was so benevolent. Why, I could just kiss you!”
Crowley gave up on his too-cool-for-school act, and leaned over to Aziraphale, grinning, “Then why haven’t you?”
“Well, because you’re still wearing those ridiculous glasses-- I mean, they look good on you—but I want to see your eyes.”
“Normally, your eyes are closed when you kiss, Angel,” Crowley joked, but he removed the sunglasses anyway, watching Aziraphale’s expression soften as he did so.
“Ahh, still so pretty,” Aziraphale breathed, drawing a hand from the side of Crowley’s face down to his chin. He cupped it gently, propping the demon’s face to the angle he felt was best for admiring him. Humming lightly, Aziraphale thought about all the times he’d seen this face, and how it had never been so flushed.
Crowley, growing more bashful at an exponential rate, mumbled, “Can you get on with it already?”
“Oh, sorry. I got distracted.” Aziraphale edged tauntingly closer but didn’t close the gap.
“The suspense is killing me, Angel.”
“My, my, you’re so impatient. Good things are worth waiting for, you know.”
“At this rate, I might have to take matters into my own hands…”
Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley couldn’t help but join in. Then, tilting Crowley’s head back towards him, Aziraphale finally kissed him. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but he certainly did it. Then, they separated, and Aziraphale went back to cuddling his book. Crowley put his sunglasses back on, unable to avoid looking at the angel one more time before starting the Bentley.
It was then he realized it was still yellow, and children couldn’t open the back doors on the highway. Aziraphale noticed this, too, commenting, “Oh, right. We’ve got to change the Bentley back.”
“Nah,” Crowley shook his head. “Just leave it.”
But Aziraphale knew how much the Bentley mattered to Crowley, so he made a proposition, “How about this: we leave some of it yellow and some of it black. Then, we both get what we want.”
Making a thoughtful face, Crowley concurred, “Not a bad idea.” The Bentley, too, seemed to agree, changing to a pleasant assemblage of both yellow and black.
With the day rather brilliant indeed, Crowley took off at an irresponsible speed. But, after receiving a searing look from Aziraphale, his speed became more or less ill-advised. Aziraphale began to prattle on about the book, gesturing wildly as he described stories from the other volumes, and then he said, “You know what, Crowley? If you like, we could read some of it together back at the book shop.”
Crowley cut through the middle of a traffic circle, replying, “Well, I don’t see why not.”
Finally, back at the bookshop, Aziraphale and Crowley came inside, the former scurrying over to the shelf containing Cambro-Briton; and General Celtic Repository in Three Volumes: Volumes I and III. He slid the new book between them a couple times, giggling wildly. Then a couple more times. Then a couple more, and then—
Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, stopping the book while it was out. He asked, “Shouldn’t we read it, first? Before you keep doing… uh, that.”
“Oh, right, right! Of course.” Aziraphale cradled the book, finding a chair to settle in. But he quickly realized there was only one chair*, and looked to Crowley with mischievous dejection. He simpered, “Oh, well, it seems there’s only one chair. I guess… we have to share.”
_____
*Actually, there were more chairs and a sofa in another room, but Aziraphale accidentally on purpose chose to forget about it. Crowley did the same.
Crowley was suspicious of this, although he played along, “That’s too bad, Angel. Who’s sitting on whose lap?”
“… erm…” Aziraphale blushed, “… could I, perchance… well… let’s suppose that…” He fidgeted with his cuff, making eye-contact with the floor.
“You want to sit in my lap this time?”
“Be quiet! You say that like we’ve done this before!† But, uhm… yes, I do.”
_____
†They had. Many, many times.
So, Crowley sat down in the chair accordingly. Aziraphale followed, sitting rigidly on Crowley’s lap. The demon raised an eyebrow, then rubbed a hand along Aziraphale’s back. He relaxed, melting comfortably against Crowley, who left his arm around the other’s back.
Now situated successfully, Aziraphale procured his reading glasses, put them on, opened the book to the first page, and began to read aloud, “’The three Fleet-owners of the Isle of Britain— ‘”
“Wait, wait.”
“What?”
“You’ve got something on your face.”
“Oh, really? Wh—”
“Yes, really; it’s me.” And of course, such a remark could only be followed by a few kisses on the cheek. And then, reasonably, another on the forehead. And, understandably, a few more on the other cheek. And while Crowley could go on, he paused to correct himself, taking off his sunglasses.
Aziraphale waited eagerly for Crowley to continue, but when he didn’t, he queried, “What’s the matter?”
“Well, you have to take off your glasses.”
“Oh, you—demon!” Aziraphale laughed, pulling off the reading glasses. He set them aside carefully as Crowley resumed, kissing back to his ear. Then they switched roles, as Aziraphale began to kiss Crowley. Then they kissed each other, just a bit. And then, they broke apart, cachinnating whimsically.
“Wow, this is a great book,” Crowley joked, still laughing.
“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale chuckled, “I especially liked the part where everybody kissed and lived happily-ever-after.”
“Well, my favourite part was… uh…” he faltered.
“Was what…?”
“Never mind. Forget I said that.”
“Oh, please! I already know what you were going to say, you might as well just say it.”
“Well, if you already know then there’s no point.”
Huffing and frowning, Aziraphale waited for Crowley to change his mind, as he knew he would. He also knew that Crowley’s favourite part of the book was Aziraphale himself, as it had been for many millennia. Of course, the same could be said about
Aziraphale’s feelings toward Crowley.
As anticipated, Crowley caved, “You. My favourite part is you, Aziraphale.”
“And mine, you, Crowley.” Then they embraced, as they discovered was also their favourite part. The two of them remained that way for a while, melting into each other. They relished the ability to simply breathe and relax, knowing they were safe in one another’s company. Eventually, they separated enough to actually read the book, remaining folded into each other.
But before too long, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves both fast asleep, with the book lying on the floor. It was a most brilliant day, indeed.