Work Text:
It was only fair, he had argued, that he handle the preparations for a New Year’s Eve bash. Aziraphale had worked himself to the bone, providing the Boxing Day feast for their odd assortment of adopted family members. It balanced the scales, he said, to let him pull the weight for the midnight celebration. He knew that had been a bit of a cheating slide because angels always loved to balance things - especially his angel. It was the most perversely adorable thing to watch how Aziraphale spent the years trying to even out his wicked ways. Crowley grinned to himself before shifting his load of packages and bags to one precariously clutching arm so he could work the door open to their bookshop.
Their bookshop? Yes, he supposed it was. He spent more nights in the fussy little flat behind it than he did anywhere else. His old apartment was long abandoned and the back-up apartment seemed only fit to hold his excess wardrobe, a few “lost” masterpieces, and any presents he was currently hiding from Aziraphale. It wasn’t like he slept there, after all. If he slept anywhere, it was right here with his angel.
A heavy bag almost slid from his wrist and he cursed bluely under his breath before catching it with a quick twist. “That would’ve been messy,” he murmured, belatedly remembering that particular bag held the Very Nice Bottle of Port he rescued from where he had stashed it in, oh what was it? Somewhere around World War II. Right before the Incident at the Church.
“Crowley? Is that you?”
He banged the door shut with his hip and made his waddling way across the bookshop floor towards their flat in the back. “It’s not Jolly Saint Nick,” he answered cheerfully, chuckling at his own admittedly stupid joke. “Get the door, will you? My arms are full.”
“What? Oh, dear.” The immediate appearance of Aziraphale’s round worried face signaled the granting of his request and Crowley beamed. The warmth that had been provided by the six shots of espresso while shopping had long since left but the concern in Zira’s eyes replaced it nicely. “Crowley, you’re going to drop something. Here.” He came forward, arms outstretched. “Let me help you.”
“No, no. Against the deal, my Angel, and we can’t have you breaking your word, can we?” Crowley gave his eyebrows a little up and down wriggle, just visible over his stylish dark sunglasses. “In quite enough trouble already. Just get the door and let me through and we’ll be…” He trailed off significantly.
Aziraphale relaxed at the old familiar patter, rolled his eyes, and took a step back to hold the door open. “Tickety boo.” He laughed. “Yes, yes, I know. Come on in then, Crowley. I won’t offer to help again.”
“Good. I hate telling you no.” As he slipped past, he managed to contort himself enough to brush an affectionate kiss over Aziraphale’s cheek. “You pout.”
“I do not.” Puffing with mock indignation, Aziraphale waited to close the door until it was safe. Then he carefully locked it. “I have never been accused of pouting in my entire existence.” He paused and then, with reluctance, he added, “Except by you.”
Crowley snickered. His partner still could no more lie than he could stand hellfire and it just went to prove that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. “It’s okay, angel,” he consoled as he moved quickly with his badly balanced burdens to the kitchen. “I just see you more than anyone else so it’s bound to happen.”
“Or else you are the most wretched tease and manage it when everyone else is properly polite and kind.”
“Ooo, was that a swipe?” A few dexterous movements resulted in the kitchen table suddenly covered with a profusion of bags and boxes. Crowley shook out his arms, blowing a faint hiss from between pursed lips. “I will take it as a compliment,” he continued before proceeding to peel off his stylishly sleek leather moto jacket. “And a pleasure, too.” His voice softened and he smiled more gently at Aziraphale as the other came to retrieve the coat in order to hang it up for him. “Can’t imagine spending such an eternity with anyone else.”
Aziraphale pinked with pleasure at the comment and rewarded him with a warm kiss on the cheek. “Silver tongued,” he murmured. As usual, though, he left the final word of the well-known phrase unsaid. They both knew what they were, after all. It had almost become a private joke at this point.
Thoughtfully, Crowley unpacked one of the boxes to reveal an elaborate charcuterie tray. Then he straightened and pulled off his sunglasses, tucking them away into his shirt pocket as he cast his yellow eyes sideways at Aziraphale. He grinned enough to show a pair of somewhat worrying canines. “Don’t you know it,” he purred. “Later, angel. Midnight’s only a few hours away. I should think you could wait. I mean, I know I’m irresistible and all but…”
“I will wait past midnight for those exact details, Crowley.” Aziraphale stood a bit straighter and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, shoulders back and chin lifted in a show of play defiance. “We can’t be rude in front of our guests.”
For all the sass, his cheeks still went pink and Crowley loved him even more for it. “You can’t but I can. It’s expected of me, still.” He turned to dig into another box. When Aziraphale blew out an exasperated sigh that masked a barely contained chuckle, he let his own control slip to snicker in tandem. Their laughs were diametrically opposed, he thought. One breathy and surprised, one low and two steps away from rude, but they made a sort of lovely layered music. He pulled a packet of crackers from the box and then a fresh loaf of bread. “How many were coming again?”
Silence answered him and, mildly alarmed, Crowley spun to set his back against the kitchen table’s edge. He lifted one eyebrow and watched as Aziraphale’s blush deepened. “Yessss?” he drawled.
“Well, I… That is… I mean, you had said…” The blond angel threw his hands up in a mixture of confusion and resignation. “I thought that, when you said you were taking care of the New Year’s celebration, you meant all of it.”
They stared at each for a long moment and he thought he heard himself blink. Finally, he slouched back until he was nearly sitting on the table. “Oh, angel.”
Aziraphale deflated and hung his head. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t invite anyone for tonight.”
“... Oh, angel.” Crowley repeated his words but he made sure they were soft and as affectionate as he could make the three little syllables. Pushing away from the table, he crossed the kitchen in order to wrap his long arms around his partner. “No matter. Just means we’ve got more than enough food for the two of us and enough drink that we might even get properly plastered.” He brushed a kiss over pale hair and felt relief hit his heart when Aziraphale relaxed into his hold.
“You’re not angry?”
“Do I get to kiss you at midnight?”
Aziraphale twisted in his arms, then reached up to slip his arms around Crowley’s neck. His smile was absolute beatitude. “Oh, yes. Most certainly.”
Crowley felt his insides liquify, all traces of the Big Bad Demon or even the Sneaky Snake evaporating. His arms tightened around Aziraphale’s waist and he dipped his head to press their foreheads together. “Do I get to kiss you now?”
“Oh, yes.” Before Crowley could oblige, Aziraphale lifted himself up on the balls of his feet and kissed him lingeringly. Their lips touched, parted, and then touched again with slow exploration of the familiar landscape. “Happy New Year, Crowley. My very own demon.”
“All yours, my angel.” He deepened the kiss, holding Aziraphale even tighter. Champagne and charcuterie could wait, he decided. Letting brie sit out for an hour (or three) wouldn’t kill it and what was it humans always said? How you spent the first hours of the new year set the trend for the rest of the year? And deli meats, however fancy, would always come second to anything at all with his Aziraphale.