Chapter Text
1795 – Marlborough
Wiltshire, England
Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves seated at a charming outdoor cafe on the high street, in a town they had selected due to its small size and out of the way location.
Crowley sipped his tea, while Aziraphale nibbled on a crepe filled with raspberry preserves.
“See?” said the demon, grinning. “You don't have to put yourself in danger of a beheading to have crepes with me. You can just ask.”
The angel chuckled. “That was rather outrageous of me,” he agreed. “But you were quick to jump to my rescue, which I greatly appreciated.”
“Now,” continued Aziraphale. “Tell me everything you've been up to in the past week.”
The angel and the demon had gone from seeing each other only once every few centuries, to once every few years, to now several times per month, and sometimes days in a row.
They had developed a habit of meeting in a small town, in an unobtrusive tavern or cafe or inn, where they would share a meal, and tea or wine, and talk about anything and everything.
Aziraphale would talk about the books he'd read and philosophies he'd discovered, as well as people he'd met during the course of his work as a Heavenly ambassador to Earth, while Crowley would discuss art and whatever technological advances that were currently fascinating him.
These were meetings filled with laughter and teasing, and Crowley looked forward to them eagerly.
This time, Crowley was regaling the angel with stories of steam engines and how this was going to revolutionize transportation, when he suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Looking over Aziraphale's shoulder, he whispered, barely moving his lips, “Don't look, but there's another demon nearby."
Aziraphale calmly took a taste of his tea, and responded, under his breath, “Has he seen us?”
“Not y … oh, never mind. He's coming this way.”
Without needing to say a word, both Aziraphale and Crowley shifted their postures – Crowley leaning forward aggressively, baring his teeth, and Aziraphale leaning back, crossing his arms and legs, looking prim and put-out. With a surreptitious, simultaneous wave of their hands, the crumbs, cups and plates from their meal disappeared, leaving an empty table between them.
“Crowley! What an unexpected delight!” enthused the demon, his voice a velvet cadence designed to lure and distract. He turned to Aziraphale, feigning surprise. “And with an angel, no less! I am so sorry to interrupt what appears to be quite a … romantic dinner.”
Without being invited, the demon miracled a chair from a nearby table and sat, placing himself between Crowley and Aziraphale, transferring his curious gaze between the two of them.
“Beleth,” said Crowley, casually. “I know you're a Demon of Lust, and you see couplings everywhere, but seriously … romantic?” Crowley scoffed.
“Ugh, it's bad enough to have to deal with one demon,” said Aziraphale, looking disgusted. “Doesn't Hell have any concept of resource management? Or have you been neglecting your job duties, Crowley? Is this your replacement?” The angel's tone was derisive.
“Oh fuck off, you self-righteous twat,” spat Crowley. Turning to Beleth, Crowley said, “The angel here called a meeting to try to negotiate an exchange of souls. I was just putting him in his place. Not that it's actually any of your business, demon.”
Beleth's crimson eyes lingered on Crowley, and then Aziraphale, both of whom continued to look disgusted with each other.
“And what are you doing in this area anyway?” asked Crowley, narrowing his amber eyes. “This is my territory. So I suggest that you, also, fuck right off.”
“I was just passing by,” oozed Beleth. “When I felt quite a surge of … sexual tension … somewhere around here. Naturally, I had to stop and investigate. See if my services were needed.”
“I'm done here,” snapped Aziraphale, standing and pushing his chair back forcefully. “I should have known better than to expect … reason … and rationality … from such an inferior being.”
With that, the angel stalked off, not looking back.
Beleth chuckled. “He's a spitfire, that one. Feisty. You ever thought about … “
“Beleth, if you aren't out of here in five seconds, you'll be picking up pieces of yourself,” snarled Crowley.
Beleth made a show of standing slowly, brushing off his tailored coat, trying to look unconcerned. But when Crowley made a move to push his chair back, the demon startled and backed up, raising his hands.
“No need, Crowley. I'm leaving. Save your claws and fangs for that uppity angel.”
Later that evening
Crowley stayed at the outdoor table, nursing a glass of wine and watching the stars as they spun in their age-old patterns.
Several hours later, Aziraphale rejoined him.
“He's well gone,” said Crowley. “No worries. He thought I was about to discorporate him and then track you down and do the same to you.”
He poured a glass for the angel, sliding it across the table to him, and hoping with all of his being that this incident hadn't frightened Aziraphale into another speech about how they should stay away from each other, for safety's sake. If it had, he would personally delve into the deepest pits of Hell to find Beleth and strangle him.
Instead, Aziraphale took the glass, and presented a query.
“You know, I've never asked. You called Beleth a demon of lust. Are different demons assigned to specific … errr … vices?"
Crowley tried not to breathe a sigh of relief.
“The simple ones, yes, they usually focus on just one vice,” he said. “Which unfortunately makes them quite excellent at it, but also rather single-minded and, frankly, boring.”
“But you … you don't seem to have a specialty, other than just general, you know, tempting.”
“Well, I'm far more nuanced, complex and intelligent than most demons,” said Crowley.
“Obviously,” responded Aziraphale. “But, just as a lark, let's say you had to pick one and have that be your one vice to tempt people into. What would you choose?”
Crowley sat up a bit straighter. This was getting interesting.
“Oh, I dunno. You know me pretty well, what do you think I'd choose?”
“You're avoiding the question,” said Aziraphale.
“So are you,” said Crowley
“Ugh, fine. But don't think I missed what you did there, you manipulative snake,” said Aziraphale, fondly. “Let's see. You're not greedy, I've actually seen you give money away to the poor, when you didn't think anyone was looking. Don't even try to argue,” he held up a warning hand.
“Unless it comes to alcohol, you're not very gluttonous,” he continued. “You definitely don't seem to envy anybody. You come across as prideful, but knowing you as I do, I think most of that is just pure swagger. You seem wrathful on the surface, but mostly you're just irritable, especially when someone calls you nice. So that leaves … hmmm … only sloth and … um, lust.”
Crowley raised one eyebrow. “So, of those two, which one best suits me?”
Aziraphale said, “I'm going to have to go with sloth. Of all the things you tend to tempt humans to do, it usually involves avoiding responsibilities in order to engage in other, lesser, temptations.”
“Interesting,” said Crowley. “So, definitely not lust? You don't think I exude lustful energy?”
“Your hips certainly do,” said Aziraphale. “I have no idea how you can walk or even stand with those things slinking about all over the place.”
“Ah, deflecting with humor. That means I'm making you uncomfortable.”
“You certainly are not,” huffed Aziraphale.
“You don't think I could do lust?” asked Crowley, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Not as well as Beleth,” Aziraphale said with a mischievous grin. “That demon was just a walking advertisement for carnal desires.”
“I sense a challenge,” said Crowley.
“Possibly,” responded the angel, hiding a smile under his hand.
“What are the terms and the stakes?” asked Crowley, wondering how far he could push this.
And then Aziraphale responded in a way that Crowley had only dreamed of:
“You have to seduce me into kissing you. If I can resist for … let's see … 24 hours, then you have to take me to that show at the theatre that I've been begging you to attend. And if I give in, well, what stakes do you want?”
Crowley was silent for a long time, not meeting the angel's eyes. This had gone better than he'd ever thought it could. He was at a point now where everything he'd wanted – longed for - for centuries, was within his reach. He just had to … take it.
Instead, he shook his head.
“I can't,” he said, numbly, trying not to scream at himself internally.
“Oh why ever not?” laughed Aziraphale. “Don't you have confidence in your … ”
“I can't because this isn't a game to me, angel,” interrupted Crowley, looking into Aziraphale's startled eyes. “I know, it started as one, and it was fun, but now …”
“I'm sorry,” said the angel, crestfallen. “I know you don't think about me like that, and I shouldn't have pushed you. I was just ...”
Crowley swung his chair over to the angel's side of the table and gripped the armrests of Aziraphale's seat, his face inches away. He noted, with interest, that the angel didn't flinch or draw back. Crowley moved his legs so that they were flanking, but not touching, Aziraphale's, so that he could move even closer to the angel. He was practically in his lap, but still not touching any part of his body.
“Aziraphale,” he said, softly. “I want nothing more than for you to kiss me, and for me to kiss you back. I've wanted that, beyond all reason, for at least the last 300 years and quite possibly longer than that.”
He was trembling, being so close to the angel yet still forbidding himself from making physical contact. It didn't help to see Aziraphale's stormy blue eyes widen and dilate as they stared into Crowley's.
“But I promised myself that I would never, ever actively use my powers on you. If we ever do kiss, it will be because you want it, without any magical influence from me.”
Aziraphale pressed his lips together. He was clutching his hands in his lap so hard that his fingers were turning white.
He broke Crowley's gaze and turned his eyes towards the clouds. Crowley could see a hint of tears forming under his lashes, and saw his chest hitch, once, twice, as he fought to catch his breath.
Crowley realized that, even though he wasn't using his demonic powers, he was, in fact, creating quite a temptation for the angel, just by his physical proximity and his words. A temptation that, no matter how Aziraphale may tease, the angel wasn't ready for.
Crowley released the armrests and gently slid his chair away, so they weren't within touching distance anymore.
“Oh, angel,” he said. “It's OK. Everything is fine.”
“It's not,” said Aziraphale, a tear escaping and sliding down his cheek.
Crowley tried not to panic, but was inwardly berating himself, you stupid, idiotic demon. You've driven him away. Now he'll never …
“It's not,” repeated Aziraphale in a whisper. “because I can't … I want … I've always ... but I can't... give you … it's too dangerous … it's …” the angel was starting to break down, tears now flowing freely.
“But I can't lose you Crowley!” he cried. “Please … don't give up on me!”
And, hearing that, seeing the desolation and the fear on Aziraphale's face, Crowley was able to move and to take his lovely, sad angel into an embrace. Not an embrace of passion or need, but of friendship and comfort.
Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley's shoulder and wept, and Crowley just held him, gently, his arms wrapped around his waist, not pressing further, content to just be.
He wanted to assure him of his love, his devotion, he wanted to bare his soul.
But that's not what his angel needed now.
And so, he gave him what he needed – friendship, unspoken and unconditional.
It was enough, again.