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It was nearing midnight when the Bentley’s wheels began to crunch gravel, turning off the snow-lined highway and venturing forward into a dark pine forest. They’d been driving for the better part of three hours, out of the city and into land quite easily classified as barren - though trees were plentiful enroute. A welcome change from the steadily-amassing suburbia of 1990’s London, this trip was something both Aziraphale and Crowley had been planning for ages.
On occasion they would - as per the Agreement - do the others duty, whether it be Heavenly or Hellish. Made for easier work, ‘course. Not the general course of things, but who was going to complain?
Hoodwinking was how Aziraphale would describe it, when plied with enough alcohol. The result? More time together, to do fuck-nothing.
It wasn’t about the tempting though. Never had been, not really. (This would be denied ostentatiously and humorously if inquired about, but somehow it rarely was.) No, the real reason why he didn’t put a stop to it, smothering any traitorous thoughts with the same vigour of someone scouring an inkblot from parchment, was because of Crowley. There’d been many a year devoid of his presence, and those were always the most monotonous ones. Being near him? Ah, it was his very own brand of temptation. He fell prey to that smile far too often.
Didn’t matter, anyway. Aziraphale did his fair share of Heavenly duties, and what secondhand-sinning he performed as a favour here and there could be swept under the rug with the promise of these nights.
Every so often, the schedules aligned, Heaven and Hell turned a disgusted eye, and an angel and a demon had one night of freedom, God bless. (Or, alternatively, thank Satan.)
Above the car, pine trees formed an interwoven canopy of needles, shutting out the cloudy night sky. Inside, Aziraphale sat passenger-side and thumbed through a leaflet in the dark. Every so often his blanket-covered knee would jolt against Crowley’s, gravel and ice making the Bentley bump roughly. Frost adorned the windows, creating slick patterns from edge to edge.
“Two minutes. You have the keys?”
Crowley’s voice had a scratchy quality to it, like the slip of a rasping file on wood, maybe. His bare fingers tapped against the steering wheel in time with some nonexistent tune known only to him.
“Mmm. Right here in my pocket. Bloody hassle to get them redone, so I brought two.”
Neither of them had felt much need to talk throughout the drive, which at first seemed counterproductive, but worked out alright in the end. Aziraphale never let silence linger around humans - time wasted for them was time they’d lost forever. With Crowley though? What bloomed between them on the drive up was less tense and more soft. It always was, after they’d gotten away. During assignment bickering was inevitable, and quite enjoyable, but neither of them were able to keep it up forever.
Occasionally, one of them would remark fondly, “Good to be out, eh?” or “Bastard, change the song back,” but it always returned to a solid, steady calm only broken by the tick tick of the Bentley’s indicator.
Aziraphale fished around and brought out two silver keys. They belonged to a tiny cottage nestled in the forest. It wasn’t for rent, but miraculously became free for lease each and every time he and Crowley wanted for a night or two out. Well stocked with wine, firewood and soft blankets, it was positively lovely in winter.
Spraying gravel and ice, the Bentley ground to a halt. Lights flicked on inside the wooden cottage, dim but warm. An ample difference to the frozen air outside. It was the midst of winter, and a cold one at that.
“Hey,” Crowley whispered. He sounded tired, which was fair considering the time and his utterly fucked sleep schedule. “You alright? Drive seemed a fair bit longer than usual. ‘M tuckered.”
“Oh I see that,” said Aziraphale with a little chuckle. “You look quite shattered. As if you’d fall into my arms over the threshold.”
“Thought we could give it a minute, crack open a bottle or two.” The demon’s eyes flicked to his wristwatch. “Bugger, you’re right, angel. Although, I wouldn’t say no to wine in bed…”
Aziraphale leaned his head back against the seat, imagining it. He and Crowley, cosied up beneath the covers as they always did on nights like these (an… unspoken tradition of sorts), necking a bottle of fine red and passing it back and forth. Soft, pokey bits of unruly ginger hair slipping through his fingers as they fought over space.
Gosh, he’d missed this. Seeing his person unfiltered and unwatched, the cellophane layer of self-containedness and vigilance pulled away in favour of soft smiles and rumbly snorts that could be giggles if you squinted quite hard.
“We’ll have tomorrow,” he assured Crowley. Fingers crept gently down his knee, making him raise an eyebrow. He sought out Crowley’s hand with his own, squeezing it in the dark, thumbing his pulse and feeling it beat, closing his eyes and willing the beat of his own heart to sync up. “For now I’m just grateful for the peace.”
“Psh. You’ve never fancied sleeping.”
Yes I do, you idiot. I do if it’s by your side.
“Mmm, but I absolutely fancy the breakfast we’ll make tomorrow morning, and you’ll be not a bit of help unless you get a few hours shut-eye. Come, my dear, it’s doing neither of us any good to sit here all night”
With the door cracked, cold air spilled inside unrestrainedly. Crowley shivered, legs bouncing restlessly. “Inside sounds nice,” he conceded.
__________
Aziraphale wandered around a tad aimlessly, fixing up everything he could think of. The windows latched shut. The fridge stocked, despite their leaving by lunchtime tomorrow. Blankets aired out and tucked over the back of the small-but-lovely couch. With one snap of his fingers a fire lit, and logs fell, burnt and charred, as though they’d been burning for hours already.
“Go have a shower,” he’d told Crowley, pulling an arm around his lithe waist. “Don’t put obligations on yourself to fancy the night up. I don’t doubt we can do that later. Just… relax, alright?”
It took a second for his muscles to untense and give a quick nod. A feisty comeback sat at the tip of his tongue, Aziraphale was sure, bitten back when his mind caught up to the fact they were no longer putting on a show. It wasn’t obligatory for him to argue with every adjacent point and question, because no one was watching for once. They were simply them once more.
And so he had gone, and Aziraphale was left to his own devices for what he knew was going to be a while. It was impossible not to come around to the imperceptible idiosyncrasies of someone having been with them for the better part of 6,000 years. Crowley took his time in the shower, relishing in this particular human invention. Drunken revelry turned sour had revealed that - a couple times Aziraphale had soaped down a spitting demon, teeth gritted as he told himself Heaven will think of it as divine mercy. Heaven will think of it as divine mercy.
When calm though, they’d bathed together more than once. Out of Heaven’s sight, it went without saying.
He turned down the covers on the bed, put out a few candles on the dresser (making sure they flickered low, away from anything flammable), shut the blinds and made to sit down. Allowing himself the luxury of a deep, steady breath, he ran a hand over the soft duvet. It was a queen bed, big enough for both of them to lay comfortably, two pillows propped up against the intricately carved headboard.
Another breath. Bigger, bigger, and then he let it out, sagging forward with his head in his hands. It all felt a bit surreal - not a day passed where it didn’t. In a way that not even the bookshop could induce, his shoulders untensed, his whole corporation becoming unbound. Safe - that’s what it was. He felt safe.
Oh he absolutely shouldn’t have - this was the textbook definition of a Bad Situation, alone in a secluded cabin with a demon of Hell where Heaven wasn’t watching should he get in trouble! But he felt only peace right now, hearing Crowley hum through the thin walls, wind blowing through the pine trees outside.
Pyjamas. Probably the right way to go. Carefully, he began to undress, taking each item of clothing and folding it neatly before moving on to the next. They were then placed on the chair next to the dresser, stacking up in a repeating pattern of cream, pale blue and tartan.
Aziraphale looked up when Crowley finally emerged from the bathroom, long hair falling around his face in damp ringlets, towel hanging low on his hips. He pulled his own nightgown over his shoulders. “Good shower, my dear?”
“Splendid, I have to say,” drawled Crowley, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Blasted miracle I’m still awake, ‘t be honest.” With a quick finger snap, the towel was replaced with a pair of soft shorts.
“You’d have given me a fright if you fell asleep in there.” Turning, he beckoned. “Would you mind helping me with these buttons? I can’t quite reach.”
Wordlessly, Crowley moved to stand behind him, fiddling with the cloth. One fingertip slipped down his back, running down and slipping over each vertebrae. It made Aziraphale’s hair stand on end. He let it happen though - would have let anything happen. Might have even moved a tad closer, so their thighs brushed.
It felt good to touch him again. They scarcely touched anyone else, in day-to-day life, so different to the humans they walked among.
“Let me see you properly,” he breathed. Crowley’s finger paused in its steady trail down his spine, and grasped his arm instead, turning him.
Not bothering with more words, he took his chance and embraced the demon tightly, burying his head. Crowley smelt like soap, his hair falling about Aziraphale’s shoulders in a rather lovely way.
“Hey, angel.”
“Do shut up,” Aziraphale whispered, and felt the vibrations of a laugh in Crowley’s chest. “I’ve missed you dearly, you demonic fiend.”
“Oh, you’re never gonna let me forget it if I start acting all sappy, huh?”
Swaying them from side to side a little bit, he shook his head. “Perhaps you’re excused - just this once.”
“Mmm, so you’re saying I can be as much of a sappy bastard as I want?” The smile in his voice was tangible, giving Aziraphale goosebumps all up his corporation. “‘Cause that’s what I heard.”
One night. That’s all they had. One night and then it was back to the threadbare route they ground into so comfortably, of bickering and tight lips and handshakes and just enough disobedience to disregard the notion of any further fraternising. An angel and a demon, nothing more.
Away from the prying eyes of Heaven and Hell? He and Crowley were so much more. Entities with feelings and wants and needs, who wouldn’t - shouldn’t, couldn’t be asked to imitate the statureless and impassive beings they were hewn from the same stone as.
They were unfailingly and irrevocably human at their emotional cores. It hurt to feel that much.
“By all means,” Aziraphale replied, tired eyes sketching a map over features he knew so very well. The bridge of Crowley’s nose, where it slanted down a little and to the left. His scarred lip, souvenir from a fistfight in Rome he’d left bleeding for far too long. Shadows marred his neck. He smelt tantalising, like cinnamon aftershave. “Have at it, darling.”
“Let me take you to bed,” he whispered, hands flitting comfortably over Aziraphale’s clothed shoulders, coming to rest with one thumb caressing a soft cheek. “Let me take you to bed, angel, and lie with you. You’ll never understand how much I truly miss this.”
“…Show me?”
Ever so gently, Crowley nudged forward and pressed the most chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, pulling his head just the tiniest bit closer. As they connected, it felt like jolts of static electricity were running up his spine, stealing his breath straight from his lungs. When he pulled back, Crowley’s eyes were nothing but glossy amber.
“I’ve waited for that for a very long time,” he admitted softly, rasp still in his tone. “Oh Somebody, Aziraphale, you’re gorgeous.”
The words were enough to send happy tears slipping down his cheeks. No matter how many times they did this, unconventional as it was, he was never quite convinced it would return.
“Do it again,” Aziraphale pleaded, winding his arms around Crowley’s lithe torso and backing them up until his calves hit the bed frame. It wasn’t fiery, or rapid, but there was still a sense of urgency to the way he spoke. “Oh, please do it again, Crowley.”
They fell back together in a wicked embrace of limbs, soft mattress folding and dipping around their combined weight. They were so old; older than even the stars; but that didn’t dim the light in their eyes as they entangled together, trying to get as close as possible like children huddling together for warmth.
“‘So kiss me once, then kiss me twice,’” Crowley quipped in a teasing tone, lips pulled back sarcastically, a tinge of the constant fire that dwelled within coming to the surface. “‘Then kiss me once again.’”
He began pressing light, tiny kisses all over Aziraphale’s face, travelling from the top of his forehead to his cheeks to the tip of his nose. Aziraphale made room for him in between his thighs and he lay there, gazing up adoringly.
“‘I thought you were oh so tired,” Aziraphale said, scritching a hand through Crowley’s copper curls, running over his scalp and relishing the small, fleeting moan he let out. “Is my company good enough to forgo sleep for?”
“Dove, you know sleeping is a formality,” the demon hissed, resting his head on Aziraphale’s soft tummy and fluttering his eyes closed like there was no place he’d rather be. “I’m perfectly happy right fucking here, you know that? Sleep be damned. I’m not missing your company if the cursed world is ending.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Let’s not dwell on that matter, I think.”
A slight pause followed. Crowley’s ankles bumped against his own as he shifted, letting out a long breath. “No, you’re right. Tonight is about us. I don’t wanna get caught up in shit, I just want to enjoy your company. C’mere angel, let me hold you.”
He slithered up Aziraphale’s body, lying on top of him like a sloth of sorts, head on his chest. Aziraphale made a little knicker, nosing into his soft, fluffy curls. “There we go. All comfy.”
“Cold,” Crowley murmured, digging down into his side. “Think we can get some blankets over here?”
“Oh, I’m not warm enough?” Aziraphale teased, but he flicked a finger to cover them in knitted rugs and duvets anyway. The demon gave a contented hiss and buried further into the nest of wool, face pressed against Aziraphale’s tummy. “I should be offended, I feel.”
His heart fluttered in the way he’d become so used to when Crowley touched his lips to the soft, vulnerable flesh above his waistband and kept them there, breathing soft when he said, “You’re the cosiest of them all. Could never be offended with me anyway, either. ‘M too fantastic.”
“You’re a sadist, that’s what you are.”
“And you fucking love it.”
“Pull me closer,” Aziraphale said in response. “Pull me close and never let me go, I beg of you.”
I beg of you. A demon, a demon of hell, I beg something of you.
He wasn’t ashamed anymore. All he felt was overwhelming love when Crowley complied, hooking a knee over his thigh and looking up at him.
Sharp teeth befit for ripping out throats were put to use with gentle, adoring kisses. Sultry yellow eyes meant to scare humans in submission were that of a predator, but gazed upwards with all the kindness in the world.
“Let’s have some wine,” he whispered, snapping his wrist and grasping a bottle of vintage Château Lafite that hadn’t existed in this realm a moment ago. “It’s been so long since we’ve split from the bottle.”
The alcohol went down smooth with a velvety, sweet tone. He passed the bottle to Crowley who manoeuvred himself into a slightly more upright position and took a long swig. Maroon liquid dripped down his chin and Aziraphale wiped it with a finger before it could stain the sheets.
Nestling it against the headboard propped up by two pillows, he made sure it wouldn’t fall and spill wine all over them.
“I don’t want tonight to end,” admitted Crowley after a few peaceful minutes wherein they simply snuggled against each other. The sheer honesty in his tone made him go a little gruff, cheeks flushing in a way not entirely caused by the intermittent gulps of wine he threw back. “It’s always too short. I want to make this last forever - fuck them all and just stay here.”
Aziraphale twisted a curl around his forefinger and focused on Crowley’s heart beating against his own as he thought about what to say.
He didn’t want it to end either. But stopping time was a power neither of them could employ while trying to lay low and keeping any and all attention off themselves. They weren’t the ones in control here. The world kept on spinning and they were dragged right along with it, catching stolen moments whenever possible. Aafter so long, he didn’t know there could be any other reality for them.
“I have all I need right now,” he said slowly. “Do you truly believe these thoughts would still linger if we were left to live out our own fantasy - if Heaven and Hell turned a blind eye? Would you still feel the same?”
“Yeah, I would,” Crowley replied, barely hesitating. “Fuck, Aziraphale, this is the closest to Heaven I’ve ever felt, next to you.”
“And I to Hell,” Aziraphale said cheekily, before metaphorically sobering up and cradling Crowley’s freshly shaved cheek in one palm, bending and kissing him sweetly, the taste of burnt sugar slipping across their lips. “No, no, I jest, my dear.” Trembling a little, he settled into the nest of pillows and curled around Crowley’s body. They fit together so perfectly it was hard to believe they were made to be hereditary enemies. “I don’t want the end to come any more than you do. And I will do anything in my power to stop it.”
“I don’t need you to stop it right now.” The demon’s breath hitched, and he hiccuped. “I just want you to…”
Aziraphale started rubbing slow circles into his back, moving clockwise, lifting his fingers up slightly as they passed over the bumps of his spine and tailbone. “To…”
“To forget about the world.” And… “To forget about the world, and hand me that bottle of wine, and forget about all the goddamn sides, and just exist. Okay?”
Centuries ago, he would have protested.
He wasn’t a perfect angel: he was broken in more ways than one.
But Crowley had a way of making him feel whole again; letting him not remember.
“There is nothing I would like more,” he said.
“‘S all we ever needed,” Crowley finished, the light in his eyes fueled by another sip of wine, still lying on Aziraphale’s chest, between the angel’s warm thighs. “Now, please-“ his eyes were huge and soft “-let’s get drunk an’ just have a good time.”
Aziraphale took the bottle.
__________
Snow fell hard, and inside the tiny rented cottage, under a nest of blankets, an angel and a demon snuggled together with arms wrapped tightly around each other, wine on their breath, laughing and crying.
While Heaven and Hell turned their backs, Crowley and Aziraphale lay, and kissed each other like it was the first time, and forgot the world.
And maybe the world did stop… just for a little while.