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Crowley has just left the shop for the night and Aziraphale is locking the door when it hits him out of the blue. Why are they doing this? Why is Crowley leaving?
He twists the key and is out the door before he's thought beyond that.
“Crowley!”
The demon is crossing the street towards the Bentley, but turns at the sound of Aziraphale's voice. Aziraphale hurries over, not running because he doesn't want Crowley to think there's anything wrong, but definitely walking faster than normal.
There’s a moment when time seems to stand still, when Aziraphale is walking towards Crowley and Crowley frowns at him in confusion. Then, with the certainty that comes from 6000 years of companionship, a moment of deep understanding passes between them.
Crowley pulls off his glasses, letting them dangle from one hand as Aziraphale approaches.
This moment here is inevitable. It always has been. Perhaps it is even ineffable.
In the space of a few heartbeats they're in each other’s arms and Aziraphale tilts his head up. Lips meet and all at once they’re kissing.
The kiss is soft but not hesitant, loving but not desperate. Lips gliding together; Aziraphale’s hands resting on Crowley’s waist; Crowley’s arms sliding around Aziraphale’s shoulders.
There’s a sureness in their movements. This was always meant to be.
This is where the last six thousand years was always going to lead.
“Angel!” Crowley breathes the word against his lips, and Aziraphale hears the way that one word contains a whole multitude of thoughts, ‘what on earth are you doing? Why did you kiss me?’ But also an undercurrent of, ‘This is good. This is not a big deal. Let’s do this some more.’
Aziraphale kisses him again, a quick brush of their lips before he pulls back a little; enough to let Crowley speak.
“I'm not saying I mind, angel,” Crowley says eventually, sounding just as unbothered as Aziraphale had expected, “But what on earth was that all about?”
‘I know you,’ thinks Aziraphale. ‘I know you and I love you.’
“I love you,” Aziraphale says the words aloud in the end, and it's oh-so-easy, as if they haven't been avoiding naming this thing between them for over six thousand years. “I love you and I know you love me and I wanted to kiss you. Kissing is nice. I thought it was time; I thought we should.”
“Oh,” says Crowley. Words have never been his strong point; words are Aziraphale's area of expertise. “Right,” he adds, eloquent as ever. “Okay.”
Aziraphale feels they could easily become stuck here in this moment and realises it’s up to him to rescue them.
“Come with me,” he says.
Crowley frowns at him, confused.
“Where? When?”
Perhaps words aren't really Aziraphale's strong point tonight either. He hastens to explain.
“I mean now. To the book shop. Come back inside, with me.”
“Oh,” says Crowley again, “Why?”
“Because I want you to. Because we can,” Aziraphale says simply, “Because it would be nice to wake up next to someone. It's a nice thing, to go to sleep and then wake up with someone you love. It’s what humans do.”
“We aren't human,” Crowley says, as if this is an important consideration when talking about waking up with someone. He looks at Aziraphale as if he's gone quite mad.
“I know,” Aziraphale says, hoping desperately that he isn’t about to be rejected on a technicality, “But it will be nice anyway.”
“Were you planning on sleeping?”
“I do sleep, Crowley, sometimes,” Aziraphale huffs, “I was going to sleep tonight, I'm quite tired.”
He stifles a yawn, because human bodies tend to do things like that when you aren't paying attention.
“Okay,” says Crowley again. He wriggles out of the embrace and starts to saunter back towards the bookshop. Aziraphale smiles fondly at his back and hurries to catch up.
He locks the door whilst Crowley takes off his coat and climbs the stairs. It's only then that it occurs to Aziraphale that Crowley has never been in his bedroom before. There's never really been the need.
By the time he gets upstairs Crowley is standing just inside the doorway with his hands on his hips, smirking as he gazes into the room.
“Of course you have a four-poster bed, angel,” he says. His eyes are sparkling with affection as he looks at the offending article, which admittedly is rather too big for the room. It's an old one – an antique – although Aziraphale has updated the mattress, and the bed covers, and replaced the old heavy hangings with looping swirls of pale silk.
“How did I not know you had this?” Crowley flings himself forward towards the bed, and by the time he's landed, a sprawl of long limbs and red hair atop the pale sheets, his clothes have transformed, leaving him in sleek boxers and a t-shirt that’s as black and figure hugging as everything else he wears. Aziraphale shakes his head in despair but a fond smile curves over his lips.
“What?” says Crowley glaring at him, “You can mess about changing your clothes the human way if you like but I've got better things to do.”
“Like what?” says Aziraphale, raising an eyebrow.
Crowley ignores the question.
“Are these sheets silk?” he says instead and fusses around a bit so he can slip under them. “Oh. Okay. They are. Why do you have silk sheets, angel?”
“They're nice!” Aziraphale says. He's in the process of removing his clothes and hanging them carefully in the wardrobe but he sneaks a glance back at Crowley who is now even more sprawly than usual, a dark smudge amid rumpled cream silk.
He looks exquisite, but then he always does.
“You're such a hedonist,” he mutters, sitting up and fixing golden eyes on Aziraphale, watching him unbutton his shirt.
“What are your sheets made of?” Aziraphale asks out of interest, because surely Crowley could have whatever sheets his heart desires?
“Egyptian cotton.”
“If you prefer silk, why don't you have silk?”
“Because it's a bed. For sleeping. I'm not making porn videos!”
“Neither am I!” Aziraphale says tartly, hanging up his trousers.
“Well thank fuck for that,” Crowley says smirking as he flops back down, examining the canopy over the bed with determined interest as Aziraphale strips off his underwear and chooses his pyjamas.
They aren't tartan. He does own tartan pyjamas but he thinks they might be a bit much right now, so he selects a pale blue set in a light cotton and pulls them on.
When he’s satisfied with his preparations he crawls into bed next to Crowley.
For a moment they both just lie there looking at the canopy above them. It isn’t awkward per say, but there’s also a definite suggestion in the air that neither of them quite knows what to do next and each is waiting for the other to initiate anything further.
Aziraphale thinks that since he’s brought them this far it’s rather Crowley’s turn to decide what’s happening next.
Another few seconds pass. Just when Aziraphale starts to feel it might be up to him after all, Crowley hums under his breath and slides across the bed. He still has the graceful, sinuous movements of the snake he was back in Eden, but there are rather more limbs now and before Aziraphale can work out Crowley’s intentions, he finds himself wrapped up in them, legs tangled together, an arm curving over his chest as Crowley pillows himself against his shoulder.
Bright red hair tickles his chin and he wriggles to get his own arm comfortable around Crowley’s back. For his part Crowley wraps himself around him more tightly, pressing so the whole of his body is in contact with some part of Aziraphale’s.
Aziraphale is pretty sure human bodies don't really bend like this, that the shoulders and hips don't twist in that way or flex quite so much, but they aren't human and neither of them have ever been any good at following the rules.
“You're right you know. I do love you,” Crowley murmurs when he’s finished squirming.
“I know.” Aziraphale has worked out how to position his arm so he can run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, pleased at the way the demon shudders under his touch.
“I just thought I should mention it. I’m not as good with words as you are.”
“It's all right, dear. I know you.” Aziraphale drops a kiss on the top of Crowley’s head, then tucks his cheek against the softness of his hair. “I'll just assume it's true until you tell me otherwise, shall I? You will tell me if you change your mind?”
Crowley chuckles. “It's been six thousand years, angel, I'm not going to change my mind.”
“Jolly good,” says Aziraphale and closes his eyes. He's drifting off when he notices the body wrapped around him is no longer breathing. It's automatic for them both to breathe when in human form; to not breathe requires conscious thought, or at least a thought serious enough to arrest the natural inclination to inhale.
He realises that whilst he may not be good at saying words, Crowley still very much needs to hear them and there is something Aziraphale has forgotten to say.
“I won’t change my mind either,” he says sleepily, “For the record.”
The breathing resumes and Aziraphale lets himself drift off to sleep. His last thought is that he was right – it is nice to fall asleep with someone you love.
It will be even nicer to wake up with him in the morning.