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Aziraphale loved all God’s creatures great and small.
It was embedded in his very nature. He loved penguins, and giraffes, and he loved dolphins and rabbits, and he loved octopuses and aardvarks and tigers and tortoises and goats and he even loved slugs. Sort of, when he wasn’t stepping in slime. And horses, when they weren’t causing unpleasant pains in his nether region.
And as a being of love, he had also been created to care for all the peoples of the Earth, though it was a generic, non-personal feeling which meant “be kind” to everyone he encountered, and did not go any deeper.
Then there was Crowley.
Crowley was one of God’s creatures, too, even though he had sauntered vaguely away from Heaven (or, depending on how much alcohol he had consumed, had taken a deep dive into a pool of boiling sulfur—he was not the most reliable narrator of his own story). But as such, Aziraphale naturally loved him at first sight—and on second, third, fourth, and five millionth sight.
After some time in Crowley’s company on Earth, Aziraphale found his feelings slowly turning, ever so subtly, from the standard, nebulous affection for all beings into a personal emotion which slowly, and sometimes not so subtly, became an ardent yearning to love and be loved by his best friend in the deepest possible way, even when his best friend had just told him, quite grumpily, to bugger off.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘will you please bugger off. It means, go the Heaven somewhere else before I scream.’”
“That’s what I thought you said.” Aziraphale crossed his arms. “I thought you loved me.”
Crowley groaned. “Of course I bloody well love you! Now go away.”
“You might express your request with a bit more kindness, my dear.”
Crowley rubbed his hands over his face. “Arghhhhnnk.”
“In English, if you don’t mind.”
“Angel.” There was a thunderous pause.
“Yes?”
“I did say please. So would you please kindly get out of this nice sitting room so I can watch my movie in peace and quiet without the constant critical comments from my dearest friend who I love and who won’t shut the kindly fuck up?”
Aziraphale pouted. “I was only offering my opinion. It is simply not physically possible for someone to leap out of a helicopter onto the top of a moving train, and then, while the train is going over a bridge, to jump onto a speedboat.”
“It’s not supposed to be possible. It’s supposed to be entertaining.”
“Apparently, I managed to miss that point.”
“And the dialogue isn’t meant to be something Shakespeare would have written. It’s quick, punchy, and funny.”
Aziraphale huffed a little. He had, indeed, complained about the dialogue earlier, and how it lacked a fundamental literary quality. “I was not amused.”
“I could tell.” Crowley huffed right back at him. “Also, it isn’t helpful to describe the soundtrack as a ‘mind-numbing, bombastic, tuneless cacophony.’”
“I could not discern a single melody,” Aziraphale pointedly pointed out, “Ergo, ‘tuneless’ is entirely accurate, and it is so loud that it drowns out the dialogue, which is probably a blessing, given the infantile nature of what I have managed to hear.”
“Ergo,” Crowley replied, “you don’t like it, ergo, I kindly suggested you find something else to do instead of carping.”
“‘Bugger off’ is not kind.”
“I said, ‘will you please bugger off, and I used my archly sweet tone, too, I might add.”
“Doesn’t matter. You were rude. And this is my sofa, too, I might add, and I don’t feel like buggering sweetly off, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine. Stay.”
“I shall.”
They sat on the sitting room sofa for a while without speaking, while the movie Crowley had chosen for their evening’s “entertainment” continued to blare in the background. Aziraphale should have known better than to acquiesce to his dear friend’s request to view “something I like once in a while”, rather than his preferred classic films, which Crowley had introduced to him after they had moved to this cottage.
What Crowley liked seemed to involve a lot of explosions. And people firing guns while flying sideways, or bouncing off solid objects—such as cars—without harm, and some of them wore bizarre costumes with masks or capes or body armor bristling with pointed metal all over.
Oh, well. It was just for one evening. He hoped. During a brief pause in the movie’s assault on his ears, when one of the characters—he had completely lost track if it was a hero or a villain—was professing some sort of romantic notion towards someone of indeterminate gender in a body suit covered in bright blue fur—Aziraphale let out a long sigh.
Crowley picked up the remote, clicked it, and the film paused. “Right.” He let out an equally long sigh. “You’d rather watch Pride and Prejudice again, wouldn’t you.”
Aziraphale looked at the screen, which had frozen on an image of the blue furred creature aiming a blue-footed kick at the hero’s, or possibly the villain’s, genital region. He pursed his lips. That scene might almost be entertaining.
But it really wasn’t worth the two and a half hours of the rest of it. “Yes, please.”
“Would you prefer the 1940 film, the 2005 one, or the 1995 miniseries?”
“The 2005 movie. Thank you. Shall I make us some tea?”
“By all means. And do we have any of those Eccles cakes left?”
“We do.” Aziraphale rose and went happily into the kitchen. He bustled about with the tea things, and set the kettle boiling. They had driven up to London just two days ago, and visited the bookshop, and picked up quite a lot of comestibles from various favorite establishments. Half of the dozen Eccles cakes had been eaten, but the remaining ones were still fresh.
Thank goodness Crowley’s mood had changed. True, Aziraphale had not helped matters this evening. He had to admit that he had started making unkind comments about the movie from early on, which no doubt interrupted Crowley’s enjoyment. But the thing was so dreadful! His dear friend who he truly loved dearly could not possibly have known just how awful a choice he had made. Clearly he couldn’t have seen it before, knowing Aziraphale’s more refined tastes, though perhaps the title should have been a Clue to its inappropriateness.
When he brought the tea tray out and set it on the coffee table, he saw that Revenge of the Megadroids had been replaced by the lilting strains of the delightful music from Pride and Prejudice’s opening credits. Perfect.
He settled in on the sofa, quite close to Crowley, as always. He patted his dear friend’s thigh. “I put milk and sugar in your tea, just as you like.”
“Thanks.” Crowley picked up his cup and sipped. “Sorry about earlier.”
“Hm?”
“You know. The bugger off thing.”
“Ah. Well, you do have what humans so colorfully term a ‘short fuse’ at times. I am quite used to it, my dear, because you don’t truly mean it. No harm done.” He leaned over to kiss Crowley’s temple. “There. Would you like a cake?”
“Sure. Thanks, Angel.”
They watched the film together, while drinking tea and eating cakes in a companionable silence. Occasionally, Aziraphale would clasp Crowley’s hand during one of the more romantic scenes, and sometimes, they would exchange light kisses, or brush their hands through each other’s hair. This sort of thing would never have happened, he felt certain, if the characters on the screen were shooting, punching, or kicking each other in sensitive areas instead of flirting discreetly at a dance.
By the time the end credits rolled, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging light kisses, and not looking at the screen at all.
The warmth between them, and the love, made Aziraphale feel blissfully content. He loved to be held, and to hold on, and he enjoyed these touches so much, given so freely, with so much ease. They had truly settled into a delightful routine here in the South Downs, in their own home together—two friends who loved each other, with that deeper love he had come to find only within Crowley’s arms, and nowhere else.
During a pause in their affectionate caresses, Crowley said softly, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the classic films are better entertainment than a lot of things exploding everywhere.”
“Possibly.” Aziraphale smiled. “Though I admit to being intrigued by that last scene we were watching, right where you paused it.”
“Oh, yeah. I know what you mean. Dark Blork is about to be temporarily emasculated by Shondor of Parallel Earth 2.” He grinned. “Want me to play it for you? Good stuff.”
Aziraphale gaped. “You mean to say you already know what happens? Have you seen this movie already?”
“Of course I have. That’s how I knew I’d enjoy it.”
“And you showed it to me anyway? ” He couldn't believe this. “Honestly! In which universe, or even on which imaginary parallel Earth, would you even begin to think for the smallest fraction of a nanosecond that this sort of half-baked, overblown, inestimable amount of twaddle would have the remotest appeal to me?”
Crowley pursed his lips. “YOU said we should watch something I liked for once. I thought you loved me enough to actually enjoy watching something I enjoyed watching, because you could enjoy my enjoyment vicariously and maybe even like some bits of the movie too, and what’s wrong with seeing a movie more than once? How many times have you watched Pride and Prejudice?”
“That is beside the point.”
Crowley frowned. “How many?”
Aziraphale sighed. He closed his eyes, the better to access, without distraction, the immense memory banks and calculating brain power of his vast angelic intellect. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and said, with just the slightest amount of chagrin, “I have viewed the 1940 version fifty-six times, and the 1995 miniseries thirty-four times. But I have only seen the 2005 film eleven times.” He paused. “Make that twelve, counting tonight.”
Crowley grinned triumphantly. “Ha!”
“But that wasn’t the point.”
“Oh. Right. What, exactly, was your point?”
“Um…not sure.” Aziraphale shook his head. “Something about not knowing my tastes?”
“Of course I know your tastes. You like classic literature. And black and white films.”
“Yet you chose Revenge of the Megadroids.”
“Thought you could try branching out a little.”
“A little?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Since when have I ever expressed an interest in making extreme departures from the things I enjoy on this Earth? Have you not been paying attention these past six thousand years?”
“I have.” Crowley smiled. “There isn’t much else I ever did pay as close attention to. Mostly just you.” He brushed an errant curl from Aziraphale’s forehead. “I know all about what you like. Doesn’t mean you can’t try something new once in a while.”
“I do not care to.” But Aziraphale softened at the touch of Crowley’s hand on his hair, as he continued to caress him. “Though… perhaps something new would be fine, if it didn’t stray too far from my tastes.” He smiled. “Which you say you know so well.”
“Don’t ever doubt that, Angel.” Crowley wound his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, gently massaging his head. “I’ve made a lifelong study of my best friend. I know you like classical music, and old books, and Regency snuff boxes for reasons that have always eluded me, and you like sushi, and the Ritz, and traveling by train, and antiques, and art, and going to the theater or to the symphony. You like taking walks in the park, and you like bowties and tartan and picnics and the gavotte, and you prefer yellow roses over red ones, and you think Sondheim’s Bounce is sadly underrated. And I know you like rabbits, and feeding the ducks with me, and you love all creatures great and small including the slugs, with slight reservations when you step in a slime trail wearing your nicest shoes, and you like wine but not whisky, and you like the way the rain patters against the windows on a Spring morning, and you like tending the garden with me, and you like the bakery in the village even though nothing compares to the brioche in Paris. And you like crepes, and you like listening to the crackle of a fire on a cool Autumn evening but only after I’ve put a protective miracle in place over the whole cottage, and you like Aubusson rugs better than Persian ones, and you like strawberries best of all the berries in the world, and you like the aroma of freshly made cinnamon rolls. And you like sitting on the sofa cuddling with me, especially after we’ve disagreed about something completely idiotic.”
When this litany finally ground to a halt, Aziraphale pulled Crowley into an embrace. “Yes. I suppose you do know what I prefer.”
They hugged for some time, completely relaxed within each other’s arms. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s upper back, and whispered sweet nothings into his ear.
He was a being created to love…in so many ways. But here and now, Aziraphale loved, and was loved, by his best friend, in the deepest possible way. And all it took for that love to endure was a touch, or an embrace, and soft words of understanding.
“That was nice,” he said as they relaxed their hold.
“Yeah, it felt good.” Crowley smiled. “Sorry about that movie.”
“Never mind. Though perhaps next time, you might choose something lighter? A romantic comedy might be more to my liking.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead. “As you already know so very well.”
“Oh, I’m getting another shot at this?”
“You are. Do you want to know why?”
Crowley nodded.
“Because I love you.”
“Got it.”
“More than any being in all of creation, great or small.”
“Love you, too, Angel.” Crowley kissed him on the lips. “Good to know that I outrank the slugs.”
“And the rabbits. And the giraffes, and penguins, and elephants, and anteaters, and—”
“Quiet. I’m not done kissing you yet.”
“Ah. Do please continue, then.”
Crowley did.
*
One week later, when he was given another chance to choose a movie to watch, Crowley showed Aziraphale When Harry Met Sally.
It went over quite well.
***