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Italy - 1511
In the rather crowded marketplace of Florence, amidst the vibrant colours of merchants' stalls and the melodic hum of voices, Crowley found himself drawn to a particular display of exotic spices. His eyes narrowed with intrigue as he examined the intricate patterns adorning the jars, his fingers itching with the desire to touch.
"Quite the collection, isn't it?" a voice spoke from beside him, rich with amusement.
Crowley glanced sideways, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he met the familiar gaze of Aziraphale. "Angel," he greeted, the word slipping from his lips without a second thought.
"Crowley," Aziraphale replied with a gentle chuckle.
A group of merchants nearby paused their negotiations, casting curious glances at the peculiar pair.
"Did you hear that?" one of them whispered to his companion, his brow furrowed in confusion.
The second merchant nodded, his eyes narrowing as he observed Crowley and Aziraphale from afar. "Yes, it seems that Englishman just called his friend 'angel'," he replied, a note of incredulity in his voice. "Do you think they're performers? Or perhaps foreigners?"
The first merchant shrugged. "Who knows?"
“What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?” Aziraphale teased, unaware of the two people eavesdropping on their conversation.
Crowley chuckled, his smirk widening as he reached out to examine a jar of saffron. "Oh, you know me," he replied nonchalantly, his fingers trailing over the smooth surface of the container. "Always on the lookout for a bit of excitement."
Aziraphale shook his head with mock exasperation, though there was a fondness in his eyes that betrayed his amusement.
“What about you,” Crowley continued. “What trouble have you found yourself in lately?”
"Oh, nothing too scandalous, I'm afraid," Aziraphale replied. “I’ve heard of the new restaurant opening in the outskirts of town, and I simply couldn't resist the opportunity to sample their latest culinary creations."
Crowley arched an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Sampling, you say? More like devouring everything in sight, I bet."
Aziraphale feigned offence, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Why, Crowley, how could you accuse me of such gluttony? I'll have you know I appreciate fine dining in moderation."
Crowley chuckled. “Well, let me tempt you with a bit of indulgence, Angel,” Crowley teased, his eyes glinting with mischief as he gestured towards the bustling marketplace. "There's more to Florence than just restaurants and spices, you know."
Aziraphale found himself intrigued by Crowley's suggestion, if only for the prospect of extending their time together. "Oh? And what do you have in mind, my dear?"
Crowley's smirk widened into a devilish grin as he leaned in closer to Aziraphale, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Well, I happened to hear about a certain... establishment that specialises in the forbidden pleasures of the flesh."
Aziraphale's eyes widened in surprise, a blush creeping up his cheeks at the implication of Crowley's words. "Crowley, I-I'm not sure that's quite appropriate..."
But before Aziraphale could protest further, Crowley winked mischievously and took his arm, leading him away from the spice stall and towards the hidden delights of Florence's underbelly.
As they disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of the city, the two merchants exchanged bemused glances, intrigued by the mysterious duo's whispered conversation.
"Performers, indeed," the first merchant mused. "But of a different kind altogether."
The second merchant nodded in agreement.
*
“When you said ‘forbidden pleasures of the flesh’ this isn’t what I had in mind,” Aziraphale said as he put another piece of meat in his mouth.
The establishment was a curious blend of opulence and decadence, with plush velvet curtains adorning the walls and ornate chandeliers casting intricate patterns across the room. Another restaurant, but this one was different. The rich aromas of exotic spices filled the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversations and the soft clinking of crystal glasses.
Aziraphale glanced around, taking in the lavish decor and the elegantly dressed patrons. This wasn't merely a place to eat; it was a sensory experience designed to indulge every whim. Yet, for all its grandeur, there was an air of mystery, as if the true nature of the establishment lay hidden beneath its luxurious facade.
Crowley grinned devilishly, taking a sip of wine as he reclined in his seat, the flickering candlelight casting playful shadows across his face. "Well, Angel, sometimes the forbidden isn't as scandalous as you might think," he remarked.
Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle, his taste buds revelling in the sinful flavours dancing on his palate. "I suppose you have a point," he conceded, his eyes wandering around the lavishly adorned room.
"As I recall, you did say you were open to new experiences," Crowley replied with a smirk, watching Aziraphale take another bite with amusement. “1328, was it?,” he continued, “you were quite keen on that little adventure in Venice, if memory serves me right."
Aziraphale's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink at the mention of Venice. "Oh, well, that was an entirely different matter altogether," he stammered, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a sip of wine.
“Right, because it got you wet that day, didn’t it?” Crowley interjected with a sly twinkle in his eyes, relishing Aziraphale's discomfort.
"I simply wanted to try sailing on one of those charming boats," he admitted sheepishly, his cheeks still tinged pink.
Crowley leaned forward, taking a sip of his wine. "And instead, you ended up taking an unexpected dip in the canal," he teased, unable to suppress his laughter. “It was quite a sight to behold, Angel, you flailing about in the water like a startled duck."
Aziraphale's embarrassment turned into a reluctant chuckle at the memory. "Yes, well, I suppose it was rather undignified," he conceded.
Crowley grinned, the playful glint in his eyes softening into genuine warmth. "But it was also one of the most entertaining moments I've had in centuries," he admitted.
"I'm glad my misfortune could provide you with some amusement," Aziraphale said wryly, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.
"Ah, but it's all part of the adventure, isn't it?" Crowley replied, raising his glass in a silent toast. "To unexpected experiences, even if they involve a little unintended swimming."
Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the opulent surroundings of the restaurant. "To unexpected experiences," he echoed, clinking his glass against Crowley's before taking another sip of wine, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of music in the air.
Spain - 1764
The sun dipped low over the Iberian Peninsula, casting a warm, golden hue over the sprawling landscape of Madrid. Aziraphale stood outside a quaint bookshop, his eyes alight with excitement as he read the handwritten sign announcing a recent shipment of rare manuscripts. He was about to step inside when a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Can’t resist a bookshop, can you, Angel?” Crowley drawled, leaning casually against the doorway, his dark attire a stark contrast to the bright, bustling street behind him.
Aziraphale turned, a smile breaking across his face at the sight of him. “Crowley! What brings you to Madrid? Surely, not a love of literature.”
Crowley grimaced. “When they invent a way to read books without actually reading them, then I'll be first in line. I'm here on, let's say, business.”
“Business? In Madrid? That sounds ominous."
Crowley shrugged. "Not as ominous as you'd think. Just keeping an eye on a few influential individuals, making sure they stay on the, well, right path." His grin widened. "Or the wrong one, depending on your perspective."
Aziraphale chuckled, shaking his head. "Always up to some mischief, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't be me if I wasn't," Crowley retorted, glancing past Aziraphale at the enticing display of books. "But enough about that. What rare treasures have you uncovered today?"
Aziraphale's face lit up with excitement. "Oh, Crowley, you wouldn't believe it! They have a first edition of Cervantes' Don Quixote. Can you imagine? And some illuminated manuscripts from the mediaeval period that are simply exquisite."
Crowley rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a smirk. "Only you would get this excited over dusty old books."
"Well, someone has to appreciate the finer things in life. Would you care to join me inside? You might find something that catches your interest."
Crowley sighed dramatically but followed Aziraphale into the shop. The interior was cool and dimly lit, filled with the rich scent of aged paper and leather. Aziraphale immediately gravitated towards a shelf lined with ancient tomes, his fingers gently brushing the spines as he perused the titles.
Crowley wandered aimlessly, pretending to examine a book here and there while keeping an eye on his friend. There was something oddly comforting about watching Aziraphale in his element, so absorbed in his love of literature. A smile tugged at Crowley's lips involuntarily, but he quickly caught himself, pressing his lips into a thin line. He knew he shouldn't be enjoying this too much. Yet, despite his efforts to maintain his composure, another wave of warmth spread through him, betraying his attempts to suppress the grin. Crowley cleared his throat, shifting his focus back to the books on the shelf, determined to keep his emotions in check.
After what felt like hours but was likely just a very thorough perusal, Aziraphale finally approached the counter with a few carefully selected volumes. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with spectacles perched on the end of his nose, rang up the purchase with practised efficiency.
“Will that be everything, good sir?” he inquired, glancing over the pile of books with a look of appreciation.
“Yes, thank you. These will do nicely,” Aziraphale replied, his excitement palpable.
The shopkeeper turned to Crowley, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "And will you be purchasing anything today, sir?"
Crowley shook his head. "Oh, no need for me, thank you. Just accompanying my friend here on his little shopping spree."
As the shopkeeper began to wrap the books, his eyes flicked back and forth between Aziraphale and Crowley, a curious glint in his gaze. It was not every day that he saw such an eclectic pair of customers in his shop.
Crowley leaned against the counter. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Angel.”
The shopkeeper's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the casual endearment the gentleman had just used. He glanced at Crowley, who stood nearby with a nonchalant expression, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But the term 'Angel' piqued the shopkeeper's curiosity. He had seen many peculiar things in his years of running the bookshop, but this was a first.
“Just some light reading, Crowley,” Aziraphale remarked with a smile.
Crowley arched an eyebrow. "Light reading, eh? Those books look quite hefty to me. Are you sure it's not more like heavy lifting?"
Aziraphale chuckled softly, his amusement evident in the crinkle of his eyes.
The shopkeeper couldn't help but wonder about the nature of their relationship. Were they simply close friends with an unusual fondness for nicknames? Or was there something more to their connection?
Aziraphale and Crowley made their way out of the shop and the shopkeeper watched them go with a mixture of amusement and fascination. He began to tidy up the shop, his mind still lingering on the nickname. It had a certain charm to it, he thought, and he couldn't help but imagine using it himself.
Later that evening, as the shopkeeper was closing up the shop, his thoughts were still consumed by the intriguing encounter he heard earlier. Upon arriving home, he found his wife preparing dinner in the cosy kitchen. The aroma of her cooking filled the air, welcoming him home with its comforting embrace. His wife looked so radiant, her smile lighting up the room as she moved gracefully between the stove and the counter and the shopkeeper couldn’t resist the urge.
"Angel," he said. "I'm home."
His wife turned from her place in the kitchen, a curious look on her face. "Angel?" she echoed, a smile spreading across her lips. "What's gotten into you?"
The shopkeeper chuckled, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Oh, nothing. Just felt like trying something new."
United States - 1903
Crowley strolled through the city, hands tucked casually in his pockets, savouring the chaos of the human world. The bustling streets of Chicago pulsed with life, brimming with innovation and excitement.
Aziraphale, adorned in his customary tweed jacket and bowtie, wandered through the crowded thoroughfare, his attention captured by the towering buildings and electric lights that illuminated the night sky.
Crowley turned a corner and found himself face-to-face with Aziraphale, but the angel had not spotted him yet. With a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, Crowley adjusted his sunglasses and sauntered over to Aziraphale, who was engrossed in examining a particularly intriguing volume displayed in a bookstore window.
"Hello, Angel," Crowley purred, his voice dripping with amusement as he sidled up beside Aziraphale.
Aziraphale jumped slightly at the unexpected greeting, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face Crowley. "Crowley, what on earth are you doing here?" he exclaimed, a hint of suspicion tainting his usually jovial demeanour.
"Just enjoying the sights, Angel," he replied casually. “And what brings you to this neck of the woods?"
Aziraphale's brow furrowed as he regarded Crowley with a mixture of scepticism and concern. "I heard about the fire at the Iroquois Theatre," he said, his tone accusatory. "Don't tell me you had a hand in it."
Crowley's smirk faltered, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "Me? Start a fire?" he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I may be a demon, but even I have my limits."
Aziraphale studied Crowley carefully, searching for any hint of deception in his words. Yet, to his surprise, he found none. "I suppose I owe you an apology then," he admitted begrudgingly, his pride momentarily wounded by his hasty accusation.
"Apology accepted, Angel," Crowley said as two young women passing by turned their heads at the exchange, their curiosity piqued by the peculiar terms of endearment.
"Did you hear that?" one of them whispered excitedly to the other, nudging her companion gently.
The second woman nodded, her eyes widening in fascination. "Yes! That man just called the other 'angel'," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Isn't that sweet?"
The first woman giggled, her cheeks flushing pink with excitement. "It's positively scandalous!" she exclaimed, her eyes darting back to Crowley and Aziraphale, who were oblivious to the attention they had attracted.
Aziraphale let out a small sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I suppose I let my suspicions get the better of me," he admitted, offering a sheepish smile.
Crowley waved off the apology with a casual flick of his hand. "No harm done, Angel. We all have our moments of doubt," he replied, his tone surprisingly gentle.
Aziraphale nodded, a grateful smile spreading across his face.
Their brief moment of camaraderie was interrupted by the distant sound of sirens echoing through the city streets. Crowley's demeanour shifted, a flicker of nervousness crossing his usually composed features
"Well, it seems our evening stroll might be cut short," he remarked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Aziraphale glanced in the direction of the approaching sirens, a furrow forming between his brows. "Indeed," he agreed, his mind already racing with thoughts of potential trouble.
Crowley's gaze hardened, his eyes scanning their surroundings with a practised intensity. "Best to be on our way," he suggested.
“Yes, best,” Aziraphale replied, though he wished they could linger a little longer.
“Goodbye, Angel,” Crowley murmured, his voice carrying a touch of regret as he reluctantly turned to leave.
Aziraphale watched his friend's retreating figure, a weight settling in his chest, a quiet ache that mirrored the fading sunlight. Despite the urgency of the situation, he couldn't shake the feeling of longing that welled up inside him.
England - 2019
The cottage looked like one from a fairytale, if you consider only the faint outlines and hints of charm that could be glimpsed in the dim moonlight. The Bentley came to a stop, its engine purring softly before falling silent. Crowley stepped out first, his sunglasses incongruous in the darkness, while Aziraphale followed, fussing with his coat. They helped Anathema out of the back seat, her eyes scanning the familiar yet mysterious silhouette of her home.
“Oh, look, no gears,” Aziraphale remarked happily as the bicycle propped itself to the side of the fence. “Just a perfectly normal velocipede.”
“Bicycle. Can we get on? Get in, Angel.”
And suddenly it clicked for Anathema. She had nothing to worry about after all. She hid a smile as she observed the interaction, the way Crowley's seemingly gruff exterior softened when he addressed Aziraphale.
As the Bentley drove off, its taillights fading into the night, Anathema stood at her gate with a thoughtful expression on her face. It was a simple word, yet it carried a depth of emotion that Anathema found unexpectedly touching.
Slipping through the gate, Anathema paused briefly, her lips curling into a smile. Maybe, just maybe, she would give it a try as well. After all, in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, a little bit of sweetness could go a long way. She closed the gate behind her and made her way up the cobblestone path to her cottage, the soft glow of lanterns guiding her way. She couldn't wait to settle in and reflect on the evening's events, perhaps even jotting down a few notes in her book of prophecies.
“Did you hear that?” Aziraphale asked, attempting to hide his curious glance back at the lovely couple who had just walked by.
Crowley's heart skipped a beat as he followed Aziraphale's gaze, catching sight of the couple walking hand in hand behind them. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at their obvious affection for one another, a reminder of the forbidden desires that simmered beneath the surface of his own heart.
"Hear what?" Crowley replied, feigning innocence as he glanced around, hoping to divert Aziraphale's attention elsewhere.
Aziraphale smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on the couple for a moment longer before returning to Crowley.
"Someone just called their partner 'angel'," Aziraphale remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips as he turned back to Crowley. "Isn't that lovely?"
Crowley fought to keep his expression neutral, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to maintain his façade. "Oh, that? Yes, quite, I suppose.”
“I always find it fascinating how humans come up with such endearing terms for one another. Where do you think they got it from?”
“Ngk, no clue, An- I mean uh Aziraphale. Haven't the faintest." Crowley promptly stared straight ahead, hoping that staying perfectly still might let him vibrate at just the right frequency to pass through the floor and escape this situation. He could almost feel the atoms in his body resonating, attempting to slip through the cracks of reality, if only to avoid Aziraphale’s probing gaze.
Aziraphale chuckled softly, oblivious to Crowley's discomfort. "It's quite clever, really. I wonder who first thought of it." He turned to Crowley, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Perhaps it's just one of those linguistic mysteries we'll never uncover." Crowley breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful that Aziraphale seemed content with the mystery.
"Indeed, Aziraphale, just one of those delightful mysteries," Crowley replied with a forced grin, internally relieved that Aziraphale hadn't pressed further. After all, some secrets were better left untouched, even if they brought a smile to Aziraphale's face. Hell would not take kindly to Crowley's involvement in such a tender exchange with an angel, especially if they discovered he had a hand in shaping human language in a way that might foster affection towards their celestial enemies. If his infernal superiors ever caught wind of his inadvertent act of endearment towards Aziraphale, Crowley shuddered to think of the punishment that awaited him–perhaps an eternity of listening to elevator music while being forced to watch reruns of daytime television.
As they walked on, Aziraphale began to chatter about the latest addition to his collection of rare books, his enthusiasm infectious as he described the intricate details of the tome. Crowley listened intently, grateful for the distraction it provided from his own troubled thoughts.
The evening deepened and the city lights flickered to life, and Aziraphale paused, turning to Crowley with a warm smile. “You know, Crowley, I’m glad we have these little walks.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, the soft glow of the streetlights casting a gentle halo around the angel's head. “Yeah, Aziraphale,” he said softly, a genuine smile curving his lips. “Me too.”
And for that brief, stolen moment, as they walked side by side through the night, the boundaries between them seemed to fade, leaving only the unspoken, unbreakable bond that had always been there, stronger than any force that sought to keep them apart.