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Crowley sidled out from the kitchen into the bookshop, carrying a mug of tea for his partner, and couldn’t help but grin when he spotted Aziraphale on the couch already reading. They’d just gotten home from a nice date at a new restaurant and Aziraphale had changed right into pyjamas to read. Crowley had realised his mistake in exposing Aziraphale to the idea of ‘joke gifts, when he received pyjama pants with ducks all over them. Still, they were soft, so he had changed into them despite the clash with his usual black aesthetic. Aziraphale glanced over the top of his book as Crowley approached and couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of the duck pants.
“Comfortable?” Aziraphale snorted, slipping a bookmark in and setting his book to the side.
“Very funny. Maybe I’ll drink this tea myself.”
Aziraphale pouted. “No!”
Crowley handed him the mug – he could never keep something from his angel –, and Aziraphale took a sip before setting it on the side table. Crowley knelt down on the couch, sat on his lap so he could face the angel, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Aziraphale grinned, gently caressing Crowley’s cheek before kissing him back, this time on the lips.
“Mm,” Crowley grinned, looping his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, “tastes like dessert.”
Aziraphale chuckled and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair – which he’d convinced the demon to start growing out and stop putting so much gel in it. “And you taste like wine.”
Crowley gave him another kiss, “Good thing you like wine.”
“Though you’re not too fond of desserts…” Aziraphale pulled away with a teasing pout, given away by the upturned corners of his mouth.
“Oi! You’re a dessert.” Crowley grumbled, burying his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder.
Meanwhile, somewhere in America, a cult had gathered in a large, empty warehouse, rank spread as thinly as the demonic ranks of hell. Their leader, a short, balding man, knew that everything was going to swiftly end when the summoning didn’t work. He had been given what seemed like someone’s old journal, and if you skimmed through all the weird bits about loving some guy named Crowley, it contained a diagram of a demon summoning circle. His stomach churned in doubt, and he finally regretted his actions and that he’d tricked vulnerable people. While his underlings drew the large circle and symbols with chalk, he felt sweat beading on his head with the realisation that everyone would turn against him once they figured out he’d made everything up. The summoning wouldn’t work, and he would lose everything he worked to gain in the last six months.
“It’s done, my lord.” A middle-aged woman bowed in front of him.
He inspected the symbols, specifically making sure that the curled, zig-zagging snake was drawn accurately.
“Light the candles.”
They followed his instructions; their faith was unwavering, despite his own doubt. Once all the candles were lit, he instructed everyone to step back, and a rift formed between everyone and the circle. The next step was to visualise the demon, and luckily there was a drawing in the book of what looked like an androgynous human, so the man stared at it. Nothing happened. Maybe it wasn’t a drawing of a demon? He’d imagined more scales and horns. He waited another few minutes.
“Is something supposed to be happening?” Someone called out to him.
But he couldn’t respond before a loud whooshing sound began, and a tartan couch containing two beings appeared inside the circle.
Crowley grinned into another kiss, and Aziraphale’s soft nose pressed against his cheek as he pressed against him on the sofa. Aziraphale’s soft hands crept up the back of Crowley’s neck and his fingers laced gently through the hair at the base of Crowley’s skull.
The cultists fell into hushed confusion, gasping and whispering amongst themselves.
“Uh, excuse me?!”
Crowley pulled away, not looking away from his husband. “We’re closed, fuck off.”
Though when he snapped his fingers to lock the bookshop door, nothing happened – they weren’t in the bookshop. The beings looked around in disbelief, before Aziraphale giggled, probably out of shock.
“Oh, you’ve been summoned, my dear!”
Crowley growled, stood up off his husband’s lap, and glowered around at the group. “You stupid fuckers decided to summon a demon, yeah?”
No one looked remotely scared, though, and Crowley realised that he didn’t look demonic at all in his duck pyjama pants after sitting on his angelic partner’s lap. There is a certain expectation about demons, hellfire and brimstone and whatnot, and Crowley didn’t seem to fit the bill.
“You morons realise that you summoned an angel, too, yeah? That’s worse. They’re awfully scary-” Aziraphale didn’t help that case, grinning around at all of them and giving a shy wave, “and I’m sure my angel won’t be pleased that you pulled us to- wherever the fuck we are in the middle of date night.” Crowley frowned at the sun still shining through the windows.
The leader of their group stepped slightly closer. “Well, uh, you have to do whatever we want, now, right?”
Crowley paled. That was always the worst bit, he’d have to trick them, or actually do what they wanted, or hope that Aziraphale would rescue him.
“Nah, that’s a myth.”
The leader, emboldened by the fact that Crowley seemed reluctant to approach the edges of the circle, yelled out. “Smack yourself in the face, then!”
The sigil on the side of his face burned with energy, and though Crowley tensed all his muscles to try not to move, his arm came up and smacked himself in the face. He felt rage burning in his stomach and he clenched his fists by his sides as the leader laughed excitedly, and the group bustled with ideas of what they should have him do.
“Excuse me,” Aziraphale was standing – or he had been, now he was floating, levitating about half a metre off the ground, his wings unfurling into this plane, “but you have only contained my husband, not me.”
He continued to rise off the ground, too many eyes and wings popping into this plane, beginning to glow with holy light (that miraculously did not impact Crowley).
“Usually this is when I say ‘be not afraid’, but you’ve just made the demon I’ve loved for over 6,000 years slap himself in the face, so you are quite right to be afraid.”
Crowley grinned as he watched fear spread among the group as they were filled with the understanding that angelic power was much scarier than anything they’d thought of before, and panicked. Heavenly energy pulsed through the room and in the veins of the unsuspecting humans. Crowley felt his own skin tingle, despite being the safest in the room by a long shot.
“Now,” Aziraphale’s voice echoed around the room with power, “how did you know to draw this?”
The leader was shaking, holding out the journal in fear, squinting against the light of the heavenly being.
Aziraphale landed, suddenly back in his human-shaped form, outside the circle, and took it. He walked back into the circle, scuffing his socked feet through the chalk to break the power holding Crowley there. He turned to face him, and Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale’s look of embarrassment, before the angel glanced up at him with a shaky smile.
“I’m afraid this is all my fault.”
Crowley cocked his head in confusion, gold eyes wide and questioning. Aziraphale looked around at the panicked cult members, all on the verge of running for their lives. He snapped his fingers, and they all collapsed onto the ground instead, asleep. Empty bottles that previously contained alcohol appeared, littering the floor, and any semblance of the chalk sigils or candles vanished.
“That was a strange shared dream, for you all.” Aziraphale said, and his voice echoed again, but softer and gentler. “And… dream of whatever you like best.”
With a shared miracle, the two beings and their couch transported back to their bookshop in Soho, and Crowley’s legs wobbled with motion sickness. Aziraphale helped him sit slowly, pale blue eyes searching the demon’s exhausted face.
“Are you alright, my dear?”
“Mn,” Crowley grumbled and nodded, “why’s it your fault? What’s in that book, angel?”
Aziraphale hid it behind his back, grinning sheepishly. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it, dear. Ready for bed?”
He squinted at the angel, frowning. “Lemme see.”
“It’s nothing bad, I-”
Crowley snapped, and the book was miraculously pulled from Aziraphale’s grasp and deposited into Crowley’s hands. He flipped through until he found a diagram of the sigil, where, front and centre, was his snake sigil. The page next to it housed a detailed portrait of Crowley, with longer hair and sunglasses, as well as a bunch of notes haphazardly around it. He looked closer. There were doodles of hearts that contained the initials A+C, a note that said ‘Are demons really that bad?’ and a doodle of a cartoon angel and a cartoon demon (that looked distinctly like Aziraphale and Crowley) kissing.
Crowley raised his eyebrows and looked up at Aziraphale, trying to hold in a laugh. “And you didn’t think you were in love with me?”
Aziraphale sputtered in embarrassment, snapping, and the journal vanished from Crowley’s hands (and reappeared in storage near his desk – it was a nice memory). “I- we- we’ve talked about this! I thought I couldn’t-”
Crowley tugged him down gently, kissing him. After a moment, he pulled away with a soft smirk.
“‘S alright. I think it’s cute.”
Aziraphale pouted, pulling Crowley off the couch gently and leading him to their bedroom, mumbling about how writing in a journal was stupid. As they got into bed, Crowley shot Aziraphale a nervous look.
“Was that the only journal you’ve lost track of?”
The angel froze, thinking.
“Angel.” Crowley paled.
“It’s the only one with a summoning diagram.”
Crowley’s eyes widened. “Are there others with important information in them?”
Aziraphale pulled the covers up to his chin, closing his eyes. “Don’t worry. They’ll think it’s all silly, anyway. No one thinks it’s real.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Right, angel. You still owe me for savin’ you so much. Can pay me back if anythin’ happens”
They both chuckled, memories flooding back to them, and Crowley settled into bed. They slid closer to each other, cuddling up. Crowley, being cold-blooded, always loved Aziraphale’s warmth, and that was a great excuse for wanting to snuggle. Crowley buried his face into Aziraphale’s chest, and they hugged contentedly. The exhaustion flooded them both, and they fell asleep in each others’ arms.