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Earth, the Garden of Eden, 4004 BC
Not so long ago, Crawley would have said he was going places. Things were going well. He’d come up with evil schemes that even impressed the other demons with their evilness. Never mind that he’d never actually implemented a real evil scheme before. It’s the thought that counts.
Well, clearly he’d thought too damn positively. That was the trouble with thoughts. Didn’t always line up well with reality.
At least he had legs again. He used them to pace back and forth, bare feet squelching in the relentless sucking mud.
What a useless mudball of a planet. Only had two people, no cities, and not even any alcohol. How the Heaven was he supposed to keep himself from going screaming mad with boredom?
“I’ll be climbing the walls within an hour,” he muttered to himself.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. The walls are quite high, you know.”
Crawley yelped, jumped, and slipped in the mud. He crashed down, hard enough that his teeth clacked together.
“Oh dear!” A figure in all white robes with white wings and flowing white hair rushed over to him and put out a hand. “May I help you?”
“I don’t need help,” Crawley spat. He tried to push up without taking the offered hand, slipped again, and this time nearly wound up face down in the mud.
“We all need help,” the angel said in a serene, dreamy voice. He took Crawley’s hand, tutted softly at the mud, and drew him to his feet. “That’s one of the great joys of life, you know.”
“Mud?”
“Helping.”
Crawley rolled his eyes, then realized Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to see it. He pushed his shades up and rolled his eyes again, for emphasis.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said with delight. “I didn’t know whether your eyes would still be like that, now that you’re not a snake. They’re really quite pretty.”
“Oh, shut up. Demons are definitely not pretty.” Crawley gestured, and the mud vanished. It vanished from Aziraphale too, although he hadn’t consciously intended to do it. Shit. Did that count as a good deed?
“Ah!” Aziraphale looked at his lack of mud and beamed, a bloody great ray of sunshine in the grey murk that lingered after the storm. “See, doesn’t it feel nice to help?”
“No,” said Crawley, unconvincingly.
Embarrassed, he tried to walk off and go back to pacing alone. Aziraphale fell into step beside him. “It’s such a nice day, isn’t it? A bit cloudy for my taste, but every cloud has a silver lining.”
Crawley looked up at the clouds. They were very, very dark, like his mood. “No, they haven’t.”
“Yes, they have. After all, if you hadn’t slipped in the mud, I wouldn’t have been able to help you up. And we wouldn’t be friends.”
Horrified, Crawley looked at the beaming, fluffy-winged angel beside him. “We’re not friends.”
All at once, the brilliant smile on Aziraphale’s face dimmed, like those dark clouds had come in. “Oh,” he said in a small voice. “I thought we were. I’ve never had a friend, you know.”
He gave Crawley big puppy eyes. Crawley tried to put up resistance, to fall back on what had served him so well in Hell. To look out for himself, and not care about anyone else.
But a few more seconds of looking into those big sad eyes, and he melted. “I only meant, we barely know each other. We’re practically strangers. I didn’t mean, er. I didn’t mean we can’t be friends, of a sort.”
“Oh!” And now the sun was back on Aziraphale’s face, as brilliant as before. “That’s quite lovely. I do like the idea.”
Crawley grunted noncommittally. “I mean, we might as well. Who else have we got for company, eh?”
“Oh, good! I do love company!” Expression pleased, Aziraphale rubbed his hands together. “Do you like games? I like games. We could play games together, you know.”
“Okay,” Crawley agreed, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale’s enthusiasm warmed his heart. Demons weren’t supposed to have hearts. “What kind of game?”
“How about draughts?”
---
Wiltshire, 2500 BC
Rain drizzled down, and Aziraphale sighed. He found it quite inconvenient, having to conceal his wings. But he found that as humanity developed, they became rather more skittish about that sort of thing. Ah well. There were worse things in life than gathering storm clouds.
Notably, the storm clouds he could feel gathering around his dear friend. Crawley did have a tendency to fall into sulks, especially when it was stormy. Aziraphale quite liked cheering him up.
He approached the little house, a dot of black atop the green hill. The humans found Crawley’s acquisition of black chalk to be a bit puzzling, but Aziraphale had convinced them that it was merely a paint of sorts. Which was close enough to the truth that Aziraphale didn’t feel guilty about it. They didn’t need to know that Crawley had wished the building into existence.
Aziraphale knocked on the door, eyeing the smoke seeping though the thatched roof. “Hullo?”
“Go away.”
Aziraphale opened the door, stepped inside, and smiled at Crawley’s impressive glower. It was also quite impressive how close he managed to sit near the fire without burning himself, at least today. “Good morning. It’s quite a nice day.”
“It’s not,” Crawley said miserably. “When are the humans gonna get around to inventing central heating?”
“Not for some time, I’m afraid.” With a smile, Aziraphale patted the wall of the house. “They are getting quite good at building things though, aren’t they?”
“It’s made out of mud. Everything’s mud.” With a dramatic sigh, Crawley sprawled back on a bed of furs and draped an arm over his eyes. Then he sighed again and fixed his sunglasses, which he’d just knocked askew. “We shoulda stayed in Mesopotamia. At least the Sumerians have good beer, and lots of it.”
“Yes, but there’s ale here too.”
“S’ not as good. No dates to sweeten it.”
“I like the ale here. Especially when they flavor it with meadowsweet.”
Crawley gave him a withering look. “Well, good for you. Although you’d probably like just about anything if the humans told you it was good.”
Aziraphale ignored the jibe in favor of beaming at his friend. “Would you like to spend some time together today?”
That drew a puzzled frown. “We played draughts two days ago. Hasn’t been a week yet.”
“No, it hasn’t.” And they only played once per week. “I was thinking we might take a walk.”
Now Crawley looked even more miserable and glum. “What, are you gonna drag me around in the rain to look at more big stone circles again?”
“Mhm. They’re quite industrious,” Aziraphale said innocently.
A smile twitched onto Crawley’s face. “Industrious stone circles, eh? This, I’ve gotta see.”
He rose, and Aziraphale took his hand as they stepped outside. He wouldn’t be able to get away with holding hands for very long. Crawley got very self-conscious about affection near the humans. But here, the gesture made him smile more.
And it made Aziraphale smile more, too. It might rain later today, but at least he’d managed to avert this particular storm.
---
Alexandria, 54 AD
Crowley paced his tavern, glancing frequently towards the door. It should have opened by now. It was draughts day, after all, and Aziraphale always looked so happy to be fetching him that Crowley didn’t have the heart to show up on his own more than occasionally.
This might need to be one of those days, bless it. He’d been waiting around for an hour without a sign of that featherbrain. Absolutely ridiculous.
Swallowing hard, Crowley tried to stifle the cold iceberg of terror that was forming in his gut. Aziraphale was fine. Stupid angel had probably just gotten distracted again, wandered off with some rare volume from the library where he worked.
At least, Crowley hoped that was what happened. He adjusted his sunglasses, then set off into the sweltering sun.
It had rained earlier, and he snarled in disgust at the muddy streets. He casually stole a jug of wine off a cart, and that cheered him up a little. Especially when shouting erupted behind him. Every little bit of chaos helped.
At least, it helped on his reports to Hell. It didn’t help with the increasing shakiness, the cold fear. A different kind of fear than he felt when he was in Hell or dealing with other demons. Maybe because the fear wasn’t for himself.
He cast his gaze towards the huge lighthouse, towering over the city, and tried to distract himself by remembering how it had felt to sail into this city for the first time. How excited Aziraphale had been, babbling on and on about the wonders of human creation.
He’d been a lot less excited when the port authorities confiscated every scroll in his possession to be copied for the library. But after being convinced by a brief display of big, pleading eyes, Crowley had loads of fun stealing all of them back, and more besides.
He grinned at the memory. His grin quickly died when he checked Aziraphale’s office in the library, and found it empty.
Heart pounding, Crowley dashed out and sprinted through the library, which earned him a lot of irritated looks from other scholars. Normally, he’d do a tiny miracle to inconvenience them for glaring at him. Right now, he only cared about finding Aziraphale.
He slipped in a puddle as he hurtled out onto an uncovered balcony overlooking the harbor, skidded across the stone, and slammed into the railing that Aziraphale had installed their first year here after Crowley fell in the water.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale’s voice said, more dreamy than usual. “Be careful, dear boy.”
A prickle of relieved tears stung Crowley’s eyes. He crammed down the emotion, whirling on Aziraphale. “Aziraphale. You didn’t show up for draughts.”
“Is that today?” Aziraphale was leaning back on a couch directly in the sun, smiling vacantly at Crowley. “Why don’t you… bring it out here? And we can play.”
Crowley ignored the comment. He stormed across the balcony and slammed his hand against Aziraphale’s reddened brow. “Oh shit, you’re roasting yourself. Bless it, what are you doing out here, sitting in the sun? It’s the middle of bloody summer!”
Unaffected by his tone as ever, Aziraphale beamed at him. “I was… I was watching the ducks. They’re so pretty. Can we feed them?”
“No. You’re too overheated.” Gesturing in a complicated motion, Crowley conjured a canopy across both of them. “We’d have to go down into the sun to feed the ducks, and I’m not letting you do anything that stupid. You’ve already used up your stupid quota for the day.”
“Oh! That’s very nice. I suppose that meant I can’t get in any more trouble, then.” Aziraphale still spoke more slowly than usual, dazed by the heat, but his eyes had already cleared a little. “So I can go feed the ducks.”
“Nonono,” Crowley said, miracling up a wet cloth. He draped it around the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Means the opposite of that.”
Aziraphale put on a wounded expression along with the pleading eyes, like a kid who’s been denied a favorite sweet. “But I like feeding the ducks, Crowley.”
Ten minutes later, Crowley finished carrying the final deeply confused duck up from the waterfront. He plopped it down on the balcony with the others, then scowled at Aziraphale’s pleased expression. “Happy now?”
“Oh, very much so.” Aziraphale was looking a little better, no longer as flushed, his eyes brighter. He fumbled with the grain that Crowley had brought him and tossed a handful down on the stone. The ducks clustered around, quacking. “I like feeding the ducks.”
Crowley tried pacing to burn off the remaining anxiety, but his legs had gone weak and shaky as soon as he wasn’t in action anymore. He sank down to sit beside Aziraphale, breathless and dizzy. He couldn’t quite catch his breath, and his whole body trembled.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s plump hand fumbled at his wrist, tugging insistently. Crowley yielded, letting the angel take his hand. “Are you too cold now that we’re not in the sun? You seem to be shivering.”
Crowley stared at him. “Do you really think I’m too cold right now, on the hottest day of the year so far?”
“It’s admittedly unlikely.”
Trying not to pay attention to the worried gaze firmly fixed on him, Crowley tossed down more food for the ducks. He still almost felt like he was gonna cry, which was completely unacceptable. He was a demon. He hadn’t cried in thousands of years.
“I’ll get the draughts game set up soon,” he finally said. “And wine.”
“Oh, good. I wouldn’t want to miss our game.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “Thank you, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t show up earlier.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” Crowley’s walls threatened to crumble, and he fortified them with a solid glare at Aziraphale’s gentle smile. “Just never scare me like that again, angel.”
Aziraphale just kept smiling. “It’s sweet of you to worry.”
“I am definitely not sweet. Or worried,” Crowley snapped while flinging more food at the ducks he’d carried up here so Aziraphale wouldn’t be sad. “I’d just be bored if you went and discorporated yourself, s’ all.”
---
Baghdad, 1258 AD
“Are you serious right now?”
Aziraphale studiously ignored the agitated demon pacing around him in a tight circle.
“You realize the city’s under siege, right? Hang that. You realize the city’s currently being sacked, right?”
“Yes, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Aziraphale kept writing, although he picked up the pace a bit. “Good things come to those who wait, Crowley.”
“So do swords, arrows, and a whole lot of fire.” Snarling, Crowley went to the window and peered outside. The shouts were getting closer. “You’re being really stupid, angel. I mean it this time. This might be the most—”
“It would go faster if you helped me.” Aziraphale slid one of the books over to the empty spot beside him. “I told you. These are the only books in the House of Wisdom that have no copies anywhere. I can’t let such marvelous human creativity be destroyed without a trace.”
“Marvelous creativity?” Storming over, Crowley grabbed a book and waved it in his face. “This is poetry. About sex. And not good poetry. The whole thing is just a bunch of—”
“Look at it this way,” Aziraphale interrupted. “Hell would certainly appreciate your efforts to contribute to the corruption of future generations, wouldn’t they?”
Crowley looked at the erotic poetry with new interest, and Aziraphale smiled. He knew Crowley’s weaknesses, and had an entire arsenal of arguments lined up. It seemed he wouldn’t need all of them today.
Even as it was, though, Crowley’s ever-present fear finally overrode both his duty to evil and his devotion to Aziraphale’s wishes. He scribbled the last few sentences, waved a hand at the page to miraculously dry the ink, and then slammed the book shut. “Okay. Okay. That’s it. We’re getting out of here.”
Aziraphale glanced at the remaining stack of uncopied books and bit his lip. “But—”
“Aziraphale, if we don’t get out of here, we’re absolutely doomed.” Crowley grabbed the books and flung them in a bag with the copies. “Here, look, I’ll carry them for you. Now, will you come on?”
He stuck out his hand. Even with the sunglasses firmly in place, his desperation was clear. It seemed this really was a time when Aziraphale ought to yield to the demon’s better judgment.
Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and let himself be pulled out of the chair. He cast one final look back at the repository of knowledge, longing. But so it goes, especially in war.
Crowley was swearing under his breath as they ran through the burning city, a steady stream of “shitshitshitshitshit…” Ordinarily, Aziraphale would be tempted to chide him for profanity, just to make him prickle with annoyance. Right now, though, he was a bit shaken up for that.
They didn’t slow until they were well out of the city, a light rain falling on them. Wind whipped around them, and Crowley started to shiver. Or perhaps that was due to the fright.
“Shall we shelter there?” Aziraphale asked shakily, gesturing towards a house ahead. “I suspect any occupants have fled.”
“Okay.” Crowley glanced back towards the burning city. “Guess you and I are gonna have to find a new place to live, eh?”
“It seems so.” Aziraphale tried to think of a lovely little platitude to cheer them both up, but nothing came to mind.
They ducked into the house together, and Crowley dropped the bags of books. He was breathing hard, trembling. “Maybe we should, er. Go to somewhere that’s not getting invaded anytime soon. But humans being humans, I dunno where that would be.”
“Oh, don’t be so cynical. There’s lots of… of… of places that don’t get…” Aziraphale looked at the floor.
For once, Crowley didn’t poke at him for his optimism. He just sighed and flicked a hand at the fire pit, which ignited. “Better warm up, eh?”
“Yes. Rather. Um.” Aziraphale eyed his best friend, then made a decision. He stretched, focused, and pulled big white wings into the physical plane. Then he wrapped them around Crowley.
“Gah! Hn. Oy,” Crowley sputtered, making a halfhearted attempt to pull away. Aziraphale mantled him closer. “You feathery bastard, what are you doing?”
“Warming you up,” Aziraphale said, putting on his most plaintive tone. “I only want to help.”
Crowley’s struggle ceased at once. He sighed, then chuckled. “You’re a manipulative bastard sometimes, you know that?”
“I’m an angel.”
“A bastard of an angel.”
Smiling, Aziraphale leaned closer, close enough that their shoulders pressed together. Crowley tensed, and then relaxed into it. Practically snuggling.
“Thank you for getting me out of the city,” Aziraphale said after a few minutes of silence. “Afraid I was being a little bit stupid. But you must admit, you were too. By staying to save me.”
“S’ part of our little agreement. That’s all,” Crowley said, in the least convincing irritated tone ever. “But will you stop getting yourself in trouble? What would I do if you left me all alone on this useless little mudball of a planet, anyway?”
His voice shook, and Aziraphale snuggled closer to him. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
“Won’t get into trouble, or won’t leave me alone?”
Crowley was still trying to sound tough and sarcastic. Instead, though, he sounded rather as if he was pleading with Aziraphale. No doubt he felt awfully self conscious about the vulnerability.
So although Aziraphale ached to promise never to leave him, he merely patted Crowley’s arm. “Don’t fret. I have no intention of missing our weekly game by getting myself discorporated. Or killed, for that matter.”
---
On the road to London, 1992
Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale again. And again. Trying to reassure himself that his angel wasn’t a burned, blackened husk.
He swallowed hard and gripped the Bentley’s steering wheel more tightly. Aziraphale was fine. Crowley was fine. Out of a job, sure, but fine.
“So,” Aziraphale finally said. “Um. I don’t suppose you’d like to, well. Um.”
Crowley shot a sidelong glance at him, this time to gauge his expression. And to make sure he wasn’t a burned, blackened husk. “How am I supposed to know what I won’t suppose to… er. What are we talking about?”
“I was talking,” Aziraphale corrected, spreading his hands and studying them. He was definitely avoiding eye contact. “Um. I was going to ask what you… meant to do. Now. Are you going to keep running the nightclub?”
Crowley had definitely not thought that far ahead, for the most part. In fact, despite being fired and therefore free, he was having a distinct amount of trouble dragging his mind anywhere near the future. Or even the present.
It was still stuck back there. Stuck to the ground, trapped, forced to turn into a snake. Crawler.
But not only that. Being stuck to the ground, trapped, turning into a snake, watching as Satan set Aziraphale on fire. Helpless. He hadn’t been able to do anything. Had only been able to watch the angel—his angel—burn up.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped, nudging his arm. “You’re about to run into that car!”
Crowley hit the brakes, but he wasn’t seeing the blackened road. The Bentley nearly slipped away from him completely, and he couldn’t hold on.
A warm, plump hand clamped across his, prying it off the steering wheel. Fingers slid between his own, soft fingers, so gentle. And then, just as gentle, a kiss pressed to his cheek.
That snapped him back. He looked sideways again, into Aziraphale’s worried eyes. “What was that?”
“A kiss,” Aziraphale said defensively.
“I know it was a kiss.” And oh, gosh, Aziraphale had just kissed him. Where had that come from? And why was Crowley’s whole body going hot? “Why was it a kiss?”
“Because you were slipping away from me again, and I didn’t want you to.”
Crowley tried to pull himself together. “Been right here the whole time, angel.”
“No, you haven’t.” Aziraphale pouted at him, the pleading eyes making their familiar appearance. “You’re getting all anxious and upset, and you keep drifting off. It worries me to see you like this.”
“M’ fine.” But he was slipping—again, he could only see Aziraphale burned up. He looked back, breathing hard, and then tried to put on an unimpressed expression. “Right. Okay. What are you guilting me into doing now?”
“I certainly wouldn’t do such a thing,” Aziraphale said primly. “I merely wondered whether you’d like to come back to, well. To my place.”
“Your place?” Crowley asked, taken aback. “Like, your house?”
“You didn’t think I lived in the British Museum, did you?” Aziraphale still had the slightly snippy tone, and it made Crowley feel at least a little better. “I have my office there, but I also have a flat, and I also have a lovely little cottage. It’s in the South Downs.”
“Of course you do.” Crowley felt like an idiot. He had his own flat, of course, even if he rarely spent time there other than to watch films and telly. And sleep, when he felt like it. “Er. I dunno.”
“I’d feel much better, if you did.” Aziraphale was doing the pleading eyes again. “It has been quite a week.”
“Yeah. It has, at that.” After all, although Crowley couldn’t stop seeing Aziraphale on fire, Aziraphale was the one who had actually been set on fire. He was probably just as freaked out, if not more. “Okay. Okay. Fine. I’ll come back with you, wherever you wanna go.” The words came out sounding loads more tender than he liked, and he quickly added, “As long as there’s alcohol.”
Aziraphale beamed at him. “There is.”
They opted for the cottage in the end, since it was on the way to London. The Bentley careened down a narrow dirt road and screeched to a halt in the middle of a garden.
Crowley glared at the cottage. “That’s the most old fashioned building you could have possibly got. Thatched roof and everything.”
“Well, at least it’s not made out of mud, hmm?” Aziraphale climbed out of the car a little unsteadily, and Crowley followed suit. “Oh my. Shall we get our luggage out?”
“Not unless the luggage has alcohol. I need a drink.”
Crowley followed Aziraphale inside, looking around curiously. As in his office at the British Museum, art lined the walls. Art of a white-clad figure and a black-clad figure, all through the past of this insignificant little mudball. The mudball they’d nearly died trying to protect. The mudball that, for all its flaws, was their home.
“Did you steal these?” Crowley asked curiously as Aziraphale poured scotch.
“Um. No. Not at all.” Pink crept into the angel’s soft cheeks. “Merely, um. Storing them here.”
“I knew it.” Crowley grinned. “My dear Aziraphale. You really are something.”
“Oh, stop.” Blushing, Aziraphale passed the drink to him, and they settled on the living room sofa. “You’re an awful old flatterer, dear boy.”
Longing stirred in Crowley’s chest as he and Aziraphale worked their way through a few bottles of scotch. Right now, going through the cottage’s entire supply of alcohol sounded like a good call. It would definitely be better than trying to figure out what to do with his life now.
He said as much to Aziraphale and added, “At least I’ve got our weekly game to look forward to. Probably be more of a challenge now, if we both play fairly. Unless you’re planning to keep cheating, now that you’ve done it once?”
“No, I don’t think I am. That spoils all the fun.” Aziraphale beamed at him. “You are silly, you know.”
Crowley growled vaguely. Yes, for all that he tried to be cool, being around Aziraphale made him silly. Right now, he was having some particularly silly thoughts, like wondering what Aziraphale looked like with his clothes off.
Which was especially silly. He and Aziraphale had spent six thousand years in each other’s company. Spent loads of time naked in bathhouses, for example. He’d never thought about Aziraphale naked before, not really.
Now, though? Now, he was definitely thinking about it. And about what it would feel like for Aziraphale to kiss him again, preferably on the lips. Or starting on the lips, and moving on to everywhere else.
Oh. Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit.
Crowley crammed that sudden barrage of longing in the back of his head and frowned at Aziraphale, who smiled in response. The sort of smile that lit up his whole face, like he was the sun…
Ohhhhh shit indeed.
“So,” Crowley said, without any idea where he was going with the sentence. Aziraphale smiled even more brightly. “Are you, er. Okay? Just, y’know, you did get set on fire yesterday, and you haven’t said a word about it.”
The smile dimmed a little, and Aziraphale’s hand trembled as he took a drink. No, he wasn’t okay either. “Well, neither have you.”
“Just did, actually.”
Aziraphale sighed. “You did. I don’t know. I’m a bit… unsettled.”
“Understatement.” Crowley bit his lip. He’d failed at not caring about anyone except himself, failed a long time ago. But although he wanted to ask if there was some way he could help…
He still couldn’t do it. Demons absolutely were not allowed to offer help to anyone. Never mind that he helped Aziraphale all the time with stuff. Offering it was different.
Instead of asking, he topped off Aziraphale’s drink. And then, deciding to blame it on the alcohol, he casually draped one arm along the back of the sofa. “Got any good films?”
Aziraphale didn’t have many good films, at least by Crowley’s standards, but after a little arguing they finally settled on The Maltese Falcon. It didn’t have quite as much action as Crowley was in the mood for right now, but at least it wasn’t something saccharine.
Although, he thought as he looked at Aziraphale, saccharine wasn’t so bad sometimes.
---
Normally, Aziraphale quite liked films. He liked this film rather a lot, particularly because he’d seen it in theatres with Crowley. But then, that was the case for nearly every film he’d ever seen.
At the moment, though, he couldn’t quite focus. Mostly because it was taking nearly all his self control not to giggle at how slowly Crowley’s arm was inching down the back of the sofa, with the eventual intent of wrapping around Aziraphale’s shoulders.
It seemed the emphasis was entirely on “eventual”. Crowley wasn’t paying attention to the film either. From the intense look of concentration on his face, he was still waging an internal battle with himself over the longing that was written all over his face, plain as day.
That, and he was likely trying very hard to calculate how to best look cool while “casually” putting his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. It was really quite cute.
Finally, he made contact. Aziraphale found himself almost dizzy at how good it felt. A soft, pleased sigh escaped him, and he leaned into the touch. Crowley stiffened a little, then grinned and relaxed.
And oh, that felt good too. Very soothing. Aziraphale’s heart rate had been rather high for the past few days, his stress levels much higher than usual. And for much of the time, he hadn’t been able to stop seeing Crowley writhing on the ground, transforming, held down by infernal power as Satan loomed over him.
And then Aziraphale had failed to protect him, despite trying. He’d been quite helpless against the Devil. Only able to watch as his best friend in the whole world was transformed against his will into a serpent.
“I was scared.” The words slipped from Aziraphale, unplanned.
Crowley flicked a hand, pausing the film. His arm tightened around Aziraphale. “You didn’t show it much. Tougher than I gave you credit for. Or was that just because ‘after the storm the sun will shine’ or some similar bullshit platitude?”
“It was because you were in danger, and it was all my fault.” Sudden tears stung Aziraphale’s eyes, and he started to shake. “If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t talked you into fighting Satan…”
“Oy, stop that.” Crowley’s voice was sharp, but his touch was gentle as he took Aziraphale’s hand. “It was my choice. Really stupid choice, but… it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
The last phrase came out strangled, as if Crowley hated himself for saying it, and Aziraphale chuckled. “I suppose it did, yes. And I’m… I’m so happy to be here with you, even if I am a bit shaken. I love you, Crowley.”
Peace settled in Aziraphale’s chest as he said the words, a sense of rightness. He did love Crowley. He had loved Crowley for ages. It was only proper to have it out in the open now.
Poor Crowley looked a bit as if he was about to overload, though. He gaped and sputtered, face bright red. He’d never been very good with emotions.
Aziraphale waited patiently. He’d always been very good at waiting patiently. Patience was a virtue, after all.
“You absolute bastard,” Crowley finally snarled, and then kissed him.
Aziraphale pressed closer, as hungry for this as he’d ever been for anything else. In fact, he was rather hungry for Crowley in general. After all this time, perhaps it would be rather fun to enjoy some new, more intimate pleasures of the world.
For now, though, all he wanted was to kiss Crowley for the rest of the night. Their lips slid together, learning each other’s rhythms, settling into a dance that quickly became comfortable.
The passionate, hard kiss yielded to something softer, slower. Light presses of lips together, exploring, testing out new things. Aziraphale managed to collect himself enough to get one hand up, brushing against Crowley’s sharp jawline. Oh, he was beautiful.
Finally, they drew apart. Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s, breathing hard. He didn’t return Aziraphale’s words of love, at least not verbally. But that was quite all right. They had all the time in the world.
And anyway, Aziraphale knew him well enough to understand all the nonverbal ways that Crowley practically screamed out his love. After all, it’s the thought that counts.
---
Crowley awoke to the soft chirping of birds. His head hurt, a heavy throbbing in his temples. He’d definitely had too much to drink.
The birds chirped again, insistent. He groaned, trying to turn deeper into his pillow. Instead, he got a face full of hair.
Startled, he jerked back and opened his eyes. His sunglasses were knocked askew, leaving only part of the world in shadow. He looked around, trying to get his bearings.
He was in an unfamiliar room with loads of art on the walls, art with a white-clad figure and a black-clad figure. Not a bedroom—looked like a living room.
Oh. He was lying on a sofa. And Aziraphale was curled up in his arms, head resting on his chest.
Crowley’s cheeks went instantly hot. A blast of demonic panic went through him. Should he shove Aziraphale off? Scramble out from under him? Steal something?
But then Aziraphale stirred a little, humming contentedly, and snuggled closer to him. His arms wrapped around Crowley, squeezing. “Mmmm. Crowley.”
Every process in Crowley’s mind screeched to a halt. All his panicked plans to flee and put up walls faded, at least for the moment. Later, he was pretty sure he’d freak out again and probably get really, really sarcastic.
But Aziraphale would just beam at him—or pout at him, depending on the situation—and he’d crumble again. Like he always did. Like he was currently doing.
Crowley pressed his face back into Aziraphale’s white hair and inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent. Blushing furiously, he pressed a slow, tender kiss to Aziraphale’s head. “I’m here, angel.”
Aziraphale hummed again and settled back down. Hesitant, Crowley wrapped both arms around him and kissed his head again. That was absolutely not a demonic thing to do, not at all.
Right now, he didn’t care. He only cared about this moment and about the angel in his arms. He could stay here for as long as he liked. And later, when Aziraphale awoke fully, they could go explore the garden. Or have more drinks. Or do whatever they liked.
Even with all the uncertainties, Crowley was sure of one thing. Whatever he and Aziraphale did next, they would do it together. Just as they always had.