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"Thanks to our undead Reich here, I have proof. You, Crowley, are in big trouble, and I am going to be the one to report it.”
From his seat on the dressing room couch, Crowley looked at the enemy in question and shrugged. Aziraphale was just as confused. Furfur smugly pulled a small envelope from his jacket. From it he took a black and white photograph and held it up to show them. So he'd been the one to take it then, the picture showing Aziraphale handing the rifle over to Crowley. When Crowley reached for it, Furfur snatched it back.
“Oh no you don’t. This here is evidence.” he said as he returned the photo to the envelope.
“You think that's going to convince them of anything?” Crowley said.
“I am, actually. Now, shall we?” Furfur said.
“We shan't. This is ridiculous.” Crowley scoffed, leaning back on the couch and pulling his hat over his eyes.
“Fine. Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow. Enjoy your last night on earth.” Furfur smirked as he slipped the evidence envelope into his jacket. The zombies behind him chuckled.
Crowley, lounging uncaringly across the couch to prove how little it bothered him, barely paid them any mind. Internally he was much less composed. The miracle block stopped him from doing anything short of a physical altercation and he wasn't really that kind of demon. He may not even be a demon for much longer, given the punishment Hell likely had waiting for him. Thousands of years on this planet and the Arrangement had finally caught up with them. He heard his co conspirator, that delightfully pure hearted angel, clear his throat.
“I must say, I would expect a certified miracle blocker to be at least a little more competent.”
Aziraphale’s voice was calm and even, despite the circumstances. Crowley poked his hat up with one finger, peering at Aziraphale through his glasses. The angel had an odd look on his face. It was an expression of quiet ferocity that Crowley had rarely seen. Aziraphale was confident, and not in the usual holier-than-thou boastful way he used when he reported his various good deeds. This was the confidence one would expect from the Angel of the Eastern Gate. It was a very attractive look on the angel, as much as Crowley would deny making such a claim.
“Why's that?” Furfur ventured, drawing his words out into a condescending sneer.
“You've abandoned your camera device.” Aziraphale pointed out.
“And?” snorted Furfur. Aziraphale took a step forward, maintaining eye contact with the demon.
“And you settled.” he said. Furfur’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, the trio of zombified Nazis stared in equal confusion.
“Settled for what, exactly?” he growled.
“Your evidence. Really, it's hardly even a handshake. If you had any semblance of care for your work you would've waited for a better shot.” Aziraphale said. Crowley raised an eyebrow, although nobody saw it under his hat.
“Juvenile, honestly.” he added, unsure of what the angel was planning but unwilling to pass up what might've been his last chance to talk back to another demon. At least, his last chance without imminent erasure following it.
“Oh well. You best be going then, go and show the dark council your picture.” Aziraphale said. He sighed dramatically. “We can't very well enjoy our last night on earth with you hovering over us.”
“You do realize you're both doomed?” Furfur said. He jabbed a finger towards Crowley. “He's going downstairs and not coming back. And you, you pathetic principality, will be lucky if upstairs doesn’t pluck your feathers and roast you.”
“I'm aware of the circumstances to come, you fiend, but those are for later. The now is currently being very rudely intruded upon.” Aziraphale snapped.
“What could you possibly care about now?” Furfur huffed. Aziraphale tossed his hands in the air in a vague semblance of surrender.
“Don't say I didn't warn you. I've made it quite clear we wish to be alone.” he said.
“You what?” Furfur said.
“He said, bugger off or else.” Crowley piped up again. The angel must have some end goal in mind.
“Quite.” Aziraphale agreed. Furfur shook his head with a frown.
“You two can scheme all you want in private. It won't change the outcome.” he said.
“We know.” Aziraphale said, surprising Crowley enough for him to remove his hat and shift to a position technically related to upright.
“Angel…” he said warningly. He was realizing it was entirely possible that the looming doom in their future had caused Aziraphale to lose his mind. If that was the case he'd prefer that they not get a head start by antagonizing Hell. At the very least, he'd rather the angel didn’t.
“There's simply no reason to hide anymore.” Aziraphale finished his sentence. He turned to face Crowley, that odd look of confidence still visible. Before Crowley could ask what he was on about, he saw a flash of white hair, smelled a whiff of smoke, and anything he had to say died before it could claim words. As it turned out, his lips were preoccupied but it took his brain a second to figure out why.
Aziraphale had leaned down, grabbed Crowley by his lapels, and kissed him.
Crowley was dimly aware of Furfur making a retching noise and the zombies saying things in German that he didn’t dignify with a translation. He'd hardly had time to process the event happening when it ended. Aziraphale released his hold on the now red faced demon and turned to their unwelcome guests.
“You- and him- and that-" Furfur sputtered. Aziraphale stepped up close enough to make him lean away.
“No one will believe you.” Aziraphale stated. Then, in a move so shocking it forced Crowley to suppress a hiss, he reached out and slid a hand into the demons' jacket. “Or, were you feeling jealous?”
“Get off me, you freak.” Furfur spat. He pushed Aziraphale away and glared. Aziraphale simply adjusted his sleeves and raised one eyebrow.
“That’s a no, then. Just as well. There's only one demon for me, anyways.”
“You three!” Furfur yelled at the zombies. “Keep an eye on these two and keep them in the room. I’m going to get my camera. This will get them into much worse trouble.”
“Must we?” asked the zombie with the glasses.
“Yes! Won't be more than five minutes gone. Surely you can handle that.” Furfur said. With a final scowl he disappeared. Aziraphale leveled his gaze at the zombies.
“I trust the peanut gallery will keep their comments to themselves?” he said in a tone that conveyed a whole lot of harm if they didn’t. The zombies grumbled but said nothing. Aziraphale sat himself next to Crowley on the couch. “Right. No time to waste.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Crowley croaked out, immediately hating how insecure he sounded. His mind had only now comprehended the first kiss and froze at the idea of more.
“Absolutely. Do you?” Aziraphale said. He said something after that but without any sound. His face was turned away from their undead onlookers. None of them could read his lips. Crowley didn’t need that particular ability to know what Aziraphale had said.
The angel said “Trust me.”
Crowley did.
“I do.” he said quietly. Before he could think too hard about it he raised one of his hands to rest against Aziraphale's cheek. He added in a whisper- “Always will.”
Aziraphale smiled at him, a small and slightly nervous grin that was out of place in his unbothered façade. Then he closed the distance.
Crowley had sometimes suspected, when he allowed himself to even consider the possibility, that kissing Aziraphale might hurt him somehow. That he would be scorched by holy grace or become the victim of some karmic smite. The reality of it was much more mundane, and much more welcome.
He let the angel direct their movements, the first few chaste connections serving as a warmup. Crowley found himself happy to take things slow. He knew what kissing was, obviously, but had never bothered with it before. He simply hadn’t seen the point, not until now. He raised the hand cradling Aziraphale's cheek to tangle his fingers in the soft curls of the angel's hair. His free hand he busied by putting it on his partner's waist. Aziraphale had put one of his own hands on the back of Crowley's neck and kept the other wrapped around him to grasp at his back. After a while it became easier. Their lips met more frequently. Grips tightened. They technically didn’t need air but found themselves out of it anyways. Crowley took a moment to look past Aziraphale and check on their observers.
The zombie with the glasses had taken them off, squinting at the loving display with a grimace. The woman was peering through her fingers, occasionally dry heaving. The last one had given up on the task entirely, turning away to face the door. Crowley met their staring through his glasses. Then, urged on by the plausible deniability of whatever this plan was, he leaned in to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. The zombies winced. Emboldened, Crowley followed up the kiss with a very light bite. The majority of their undead audience gagged. Crowley didn’t get to enjoy their repulsion properly the second time around as his choice in action had caused the angel to gasp, promptly short circuiting most of his brain. Crowley pulled away, wishing he could apologize out loud, but was immediately taken back in by the most passionate kiss yet. He hadn’t meant to make any noise but a muffled yelp of surprise escaped him. Aziraphale responded by holding him even closer. Crowley practically had a lap full of angel by the time they were interrupted by Furfur returning. Aziraphale leaned back when the demon appeared and it took Crowley a moment to recover enough to do the same.
“Ugh, for Satan's sake, that’s revolting.” Furfur said with palpable disgust. He held his camera in front of him like a shield. “Alright you traitors. Make it a good one.”
“I doubt you'll be getting a good angle from all the way over there.” Aziraphale commented. Furfur walked over to face them on side, cringing the whole while.
“Just shut your mouth and put it on his.” he grumbled.
“Yes, sir!” Aziraphale said with enough condescension to rival the archangels. He placed both of his arms around Crowley’s neck. Crowley, at a loss for whatever the proper positioning was supposed to be, ended up resting his hands on the angel’s thighs.
Aziraphale all but crashed into him for their next kiss. The shift in weight forced Crowley to lean back. One of Aziraphale's legs was hooked around his, there were fingers pulling at his hair, and everything felt warm to the point of burning. He tried very hard to suppress any sound but his vocal cords betrayed him, making him moan against the angel's lips. The one he heard in return distracted him enough that he barely noticed the camera flash going off.
Suddenly, the heat and pressure were gone. He blinked a few times and tried to get his bearings. Aziraphale had stood up and snatched the photo from the camera before Furfur could grab it.
“Oi! Give it here.” Furfur snarled, reaching for the picture. Aziraphale held it up and away from him.
“I'm just making sure you got our good sides.” he said.
“Are you gonna sign it as well?” Furfur said sarcastically. He huffed and reached into his jacket. His expression changed from frustration, to confusion, to panic. “Where the hell is-"
“This?” Aziraphale said. He held up the evidence envelope and wiggled it in the demon's direction.
“How the blazes did you-"
“Magic.” Aziraphale said as he examined both pictures. “See, that's much better. Really captured the moment.”
“You sneaky little bugger.” Furfur growled. “Hand them over, right now, or things are about to get much uglier.”
“Tch. Demons. No manners at all.” Aziraphale said. ( “Not you, my dear.” he added as an aside to Crowley, who intelligently responded with “Ngk.” ) Aziraphale slid the photographs back inside the envelope and presented it with flair, flicking his arm out to accompany a little bow. “Your evidence, foul fiend.”
“I can't wait to see what they do to you for this.” Furfur said as he quickly took the envelope back, immediately putting it back inside his jacket.
“What about us?” piped up the zombie in glasses.
“Yes, your promise? Escape from damnnation?” added the woman.
“Right.” Furfur said. He pulled out a handheld clicker and pressed it three times. “There you are. Free to go.”
“Not like this, surely?” said the last zombie, the one who had been facing the wall before. “You need to turn us back into living humans.”
“Oh, no. Clause seventeen. Un-revocable eternal life on earth, as zombies, granted.” Furfur said. He twisted a large ring on his finger and disappeared into a puff of foul smelling purple smoke.
“Might not be so bad.” The zombie in the glasses said. No sooner had he said it, his arm fell off at the shoulder. The trio of undead shuffled out in a few more pieces then when they'd entered. Crowley got up from the couch and snuck along behind them until he was sure they were gone.
“Okay, I think they're gone now. We'll have to go get them after the miracle block is over, the dark council will try to find them if they want witnesses.” he said. He turned to face Aziraphale and was immediately thrown off whatever semblance of composure he'd managed to scrape together so far. The angel looked like he was about to start crying. Worse than that, he was terrified. Crowley racked his brain for a plan, something he could do to help. After a panicked moment of thought he offered:
“Perhaps it would be better to go to your shop first?”
Aziraphale nodded, but didn’t say anything. Crowley led the way out of the theater and down the street to the bookshop, thankful that it was close by. He held the door open and then locked it behind him.
“Right, should be safe in here.” he said. When he looked over to Aziraphale the angel had the same scared to tears expression as before.
“Crowley, I am so sorry.” he whispered, voice wobbly. “It was the only plan I could think of, and everything was happening so fast, and I – “
“Hold- Hold on, slow down. At least you had a plan. It’s not like I was gonna be much help.” Crowley said. “And you managed to magic that envelope off Furfur, for a bit. Though, why'd you give back the pictures?”
“I didn't.” Aziraphale said miserably. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out both photographs. Crowley stared at him, eyebrows raising to his hairline.
“You got them?” he said quietly. “You actually got them without any miracles? Hell, that means your plan worked.”
“I know, it worked, but…” Aziraphale worried the edges of the photos with his fingers. “I can't apologize enough for how it happened. I had absolutely no right to drag you into it, much less… that. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, um, right. That.” Crowley said. His traitorous brain helpfully supplied his recent memories of the plan in action. He pushed them aside and did his best to act unbothered. “Don't worry about it, alright? It was part of your plan and it paid off.”
“But I –“
“No buts, angel. Your idea worked, we're safe, and Hell is none the wiser. It's all fine.”
“It is most certainly not all fine.” Aziraphale snapped. “What I did was wrong, Crowley, and I insist on apologizing. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I’ll do it. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I have to try and make things right.”
“I'm not going to make you do anything as an apology, or let you try. In any other circumstance you'd be right but your plan saved our existences. You don't need to say sorry for that.” Crowley said. Aziraphale faltered, looking down at his feet and then at a wall.
“You can't…” he mumbled.
“I can't what?” asked Crowley.
“You can't just… forgive me, like that.” Aziraphale said, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. Crowley walked up to him and took a moment to gather whatever thoughts he could find. He reached up and carefully slid his glasses off his face, gaining an unobstructed view of the distraught angel.
“I'm a demon. I can do whatever I want.” he said in low tones. He met tear filled blue eyes with his own reptilian yellow. “I forgive you, Aziraphale. I want to, so I will."
“You mean it? Truly?” Aziraphale whispered.
“Yes. I do.” Crowley replied. He put his glasses back on and did his best to flash a fittingly demonic smirk. “Now, what do you say to copious amounts of alcohol to celebrate not dying?”
“I think I'd rather like that.” Aziraphale sniffled.
True to form, the atmosphere in the shop relaxed significantly after several glasses of whatever booze was at hand. Crowley let the alcohol sit in his system, enjoying the pleasant buzz it created.
“I still can't believe you pulled off that trick.” he said, gesturing to where the photographs sat on the table. The one of the rifle handover sat on top of the other. Aziraphale reached over and picked up the first picture.
“Just simple slight of hand. All I need to do is say the magic words. Banana, fish, gorilla, shoe lace, with a dash of nutmeg, and-“ he said as he attempted to replicate the effect. The photo fell out of his hands and drifted down to the floor. Aziraphale cleared his throat and grabbed his drink. “Well. I got it right the time it mattered.”
“Right.” Crowley said. He looked anywhere but at the now revealed second photograph.
“Thank you, for helping me.” Aziraphale said. After a moment he clarified: “With the, uh, the bullet catch. I knew you'd come through for me. You always do.”
“Well, you said trust me.” Crowley said, taking another sip of his drink and very purposely not thinking about the other thing he'd helped with.
“And you did.” Aziraphale said softly. He smiled and Crowley suddenly felt like he'd do anything to make sure Aziraphale smiled like that more often. He immediately attempted to drown the feeling in alcohol. All it accomplished was a burning sensation in his throat. It didn’t help when Aziraphale followed up with: “You said you always would.”
“ ‘course I did. We've been together more than five thousand years. If I didn’t trust you by now there'd be a serious problem.” Crowley rasped, coughing a few times into his fist.
“I want you to know, I trust you as well.” Aziraphale said. He took a large gulp from his own glass and winced as it went down.
“Shouldn't. I’m a demon.” Crowley said.
“You're a demon who keeps saving me from trouble. Any other demon would let an angel deal with the paperwork, or worse.” Aziraphale pointed out.
“Yeah, well, that's…. forget it.” Crowley grumbled.
“You saved my books as well.” Aziraphale continued. “You didn’t have any reason to, but you did.”
“If I didn’t, you would've been inconsolable for at least a decade.” Crowley said. “Then who would I have to talk to? Other demons? Unlikely. It was a purely selfish act.”
“It was very kind of you.” Aziraphale said.
“No, it wasn’t. Just, drop it, okay?” Crowley said.
“I'm simply pointing out good when I see it.” Aziraphale said. Crowley could hear the smugness creeping into his voice. He didn’t want to deal with another lecture or argument about morality, especially after the night he'd had. His mind attempted to swing things in the opposite direction.
“I am not. Good. Don't try to tell me I am. I’m a demon and I do bad things. End of story." he said.
“Perhaps. There's always room for a sequel.” Aziraphale said.
“To what?”
“You said end of story. I was merely pointing out that it doesn’t have to be.”
“Back to your precious books again.” Crowley grumbled into his drink. He took a sip long enough to empty the glass. Of course, as he didn’t want the glass to be empty, it wasn’t.
“There's nothing wrong with books.” Aziraphale said, sounding wounded.
“Of course there isn’t, angel, that's not the point.” Crowley said.
“What is your point then?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley continued drinking until he felt sufficiently intoxicated to deal with the situation. He put down his glass, sighed, and leaned back in his chair.
“My point,” he said, “Isss that you're the one who does good thingsss, and I’m the one who does bad thingsss. Your plan, earlier? SSSaved us. You think it wasss a bad thing, but it wasssn’t. Me, I played along with it.”
“That doesn't make you bad, Crowley.” Aziraphale said quietly.
“No, going with the plan wasssn’t the bad thing.” Crowley said. His brain, swimming in booze, pushed on to reach the point before it was lost at sea. “The bad thing isss…. it'sss that...”
“It's what?”
“The bad thing isss… I enjoyed it.”
This was not, Crowley realized, the point he'd wanted to make. He'd planned on saying something incredibly clever to end the debate swiftly. His carefully chosen words had abandoned their posts and left only the deeply repressed truth behind. He hastily shut his disobedient mouth and just about burned a hole through the tablecloth with how hard he stared at it. He waited for Aziraphale to say something, to curse him or kick him out.
“…. It can't be both, can it?”
“Whassat?” Crowley slurred as he finally looked at Aziraphale. The angel was clutching his glass close to his chest and had his gaze locked on the lone photograph sitting across from him.
“Enjoying…. That. It can't be a good thing and a bad thing, right? If only you enjoyed it that would make it a- a bad thing, but if only I enjoyed it, then, well, that would make it a good thing, by your logic. If we both, well, liked it, then…” he rambled. He cut himself off by finishing his drink, still holding the empty glass like an anchor afterwards.
“You- you're telling me that, that you…. You enjoyed it too?” Crowley stammered. “The- the plan, with the, uh, kissssing, and such?”
“Well I, um, I knew I shouldn’t, it was wrong of me to do it in the first place, after all, but….” Aziraphale trailed off. His eyes hadn’t left the photo. Crowley followed his line of sight to the picture he'd been ignoring since they started drinking.
Black and white, just like the other, capturing their final attempt to keep up their cover. Crowley faced the reality of connecting what he'd felt to what he was seeing now. He remembered the weight of the angel against him as he observed their lopsided embrace. His hands recalled the soft feeling of Aziraphale's hair when his fingers had woven into it, and how it had felt when the angel did the same in return. That warm, almost burning feeling in his chest, in his head, in his whole body, encapsulated by the image of his own face pressed to Aziraphale's like they'd been made to fit together. He was only snapped out of his memory fueled trance when the echo of the sounds he'd made proved too embarrassing to revisit.
“You lot, you alwayss sssee thingsss in black and white.” he managed eventually. He hadn’t looked away from the picture but he was trying very hard to not see it properly. “Sometimesss you jussst gotta… blur the edgesss a little.”
“I suppose there's something to be said for…. shades of grey?” Aziraphale suggested. Crowley heard him refill their glasses. He gladly took the refreshed drink and willed himself to hold it up for a toast. Looking at the angel didn’t make him feel as bad as he expected. Aziraphale simply smiled and clinked his glass to Crowley's. They both had a sip.
“Well, shadesss of… dark grey.” Crowley said after a moment.
“Shades of very light grey, I would think.” Aziraphale countered. After another sip from his glass he paused. “…. you don’t really think feeling that way was… bad, do you?”
“Uh, no. Not really.” Crowley said. “Also not all good, but, humans aren’t all good or all bad either, and… kissing isss a very human thing, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is.” Aziraphale agreed so fast it was dizzying. “A rather morally grey and human thing to do. No sense debating the good or evil merits of it.”
“Exactly.” Crowley said. He hoped the topic would be dropped but the thoughtful look on Aziraphale's face dashed that hope before it could go anywhere significant.
“But… we're not human. Would that… change it?” he said slowly.
“I, um, I’m not sssure.” Crowley admitted. He accepted that the night wasn’t going remotely how he'd planned and threw what remained of his caution to the wind. “I mean, it wasssn’t really the best scenario for resssearch, if you catch my meaning. Survival instinctsss probably override most of the… intent.”
“That's fair.” Aziraphale said. He put down his drink and looked at Crowley with such intense hope that it nearly made him seem desperate. “Perhaps if the, uh, plan, as it were, was repeated, without the pressure present-"
“Are you asking me if we could kiss each other again?” Crowley interrupted him, hardly believing the words despite actually wanting them to be true.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, his expression changing rapidly to one of panic, “If you don't want to I completely understand, I’m sorry I suggested it-"
“No, no, no, I was just making sssure you were actually asking for it.” Crowley said. “Didn’t want to assume…. SSSo, are you? Asking for it? Jusss’, wanna be clear, I do, want to, but you have to be certain that you want this firssst.”
“Well, I, um….” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Right then.” Crowley said before knocking back the remainder of his drink. Across the table, Aziraphale stood up. Crowley did the same, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. They both took a very purposeful step towards each other and stopped just short of colliding.
A thought managed to bob to the top of the drunk soup that was Crowley's brain, and that thought complained that he couldn’t see Aziraphale properly with his sunglasses on. Recognizing the logic of the thought, such as it was, he removed the offending eyewear and tucked them into his pocket. With his vision now unobscured, he made eye contact with the angel. Both of them were still quite drunk but there wasn’t any indication in those bright blue eyes that alcohol was influencing his decision.
“Should I, uh…” Crowley said, the last of his nerves stopping him from finishing the sentence.
“Yes, please.” Aziraphale said with a small sigh, catching the demon's meaning. Crowley wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to proceed but replicating the first time would probably be his best jumping off point. He reached up with one hand to cup Aziraphale's cheek.
“You tell me if you want to ssstop.” he said.
“I should say the same to you.” Aziraphale said. He raised one of his own hands and mirrored Crowley's positioning, gently holding the side of his face, running his thumb lightly over Crowley's skin. That warm feeling from before was already starting to come back. Crowley drew on every ounce of his strength to focus, to not fuck things up, and leaned in.
Much like the first time, things started out fairly chaste. There wasn’t any pressure to make it convincing or hurry it up. Their kisses were slow, careful, and a fair bit clumsy. Their noses kept bumping into each other and they didn’t really know what to do with their hands. Crowley considered all of this, cataloged the whole mediocre experience, and decided that yes, he still enjoyed it. The awkward movements meant nothing when the person he was trying to figure them out with was this particular angel.
“Is- is this alright?” Aziraphale asked after a while.
“More than alright. Why the hell didn’t we try this ssssooner?” Crowley said, inebriated enough to slip up on some of his words.
“Mmm. While I could list several reasons, I agree with the sentiment.” Aziraphale said. He initiated their next contact, finally finding a good angle. Crowley felt himself relax into the kiss. This was something he'd wanted, he realized now, for a long time. He repositioned his arms, letting them wrap around Aziraphale's waist, while the angel held Crowley's face with both hands. Things went on very well until Crowley lost his balance.
He'd never quite gotten used to the whole ‘having legs' thing. There hadn’t been a reason to use them in the Before times, when everyone flew or floated everywhere, and even once he became a demon he'd had the excuse of being a snake. Six thousand years of practice was essentially a speck compared to millennia spent with no need of the things. Crowley would deny this, of course. Currently, he blamed the alcohol. Whatever the reason, he’d leaned a little to hard into one of their kisses and drifted sideways, only stopping when his hip collided with the table.
“Perhaps we should sober up before continuing our… experiment.” Aziraphale suggested.
“Issss fine.” Crowley insisted. Aziraphale didn’t buy it.
“No, it's not. I won’t have you getting hurt over this, Crowley.” he said.
“Look, all of thisss, that we're doing,” Crowley pointed back and forth between them for emphasis, “wouldn’t be happening if we were ssssober. Tha'sss jusss a fact.”
“Be as it may, it's certainly happened and we can’t take it back.” Aziraphale said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Are you saying you wouldn’t want this if you weren’t drunk?”
“What? No, no, I think I’ll alwaysss want thiss after tonight.” Crowley said “I'm jusss sssaying, being not drunk might make it…. hard, to actually sssay that I want it, to not jusss… do it.”
“Well, I certainly have no qualms on the matter.” Aziraphale said. He winced as the alcohol in his system left rather abruptly, then relaxed. He watched Crowley with an expectant expression. When he demon hesitated, he sighed. “Crowley. Are you scared that I won't want this when I’m sober?”
“Not ssscared. Jusss wowwi- wooree- wweer- concerned.” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Rest assured, I am currently stone cold sober and I want to continue things.” he said. His voice had a gentle yet firm tone that left no room for argument. Crowley gave a final disgruntled groan of protest before doing as the angel wished. Being rather suddenly not drunk always left him a tad dizzy. He shook his head lightly.
“There. One demon, completely free of alcohol.” he said. His sour mood regarding being sober was put to rest as soon as Aziraphale smiled at him.
“Good. Now, shall we?” he said. Despite now feeling much more vulnerable than he was with his liquid courage, Crowley smiled back at him.
“If I ever say no to that, it's not me and you should smite the imposter.” he said. Aziraphale laughed softly and it was the best thing Crowley had ever heard. He pushed aside any doubts he still had and moved in to kiss the angel.
Begrudgingly, he admitted that kissing was indeed an act best enjoyed sober. He set his now clear mind on the task of committing every moment to memory. They had an eternity to do things like this now, but he wanted to remember the first real time it happened.
The moment they went from a them to an us, Crowley thought.
He liked the sound of that.