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“Whose turn is it to pay?” Lemmiscate's home rumbled.
Turning from the familiar voice, the snake tattoo slipped downward, weaving her way along the curved surface of her demon’s arm towards the stretch of angel skin she longed to explore.
She'd been born of fire, blood, and darkness, a tracing left behind by Satan’s claw. She was the unholy symbol of the union of this demon with a snake. But over the millennia, as she’d traversed every inch of Crowley’s skin, mapping every ginger dot and unnatural scar, she’d gained awareness.
Awareness of not just the being who animated her domain, but his eternal companion. The one who gazed at Crowley with longing whenever the demon was looking elsewhere. The one who concealed his pristine skin beneath many layers of clothing. What glories was he hiding? Lemmiscate wanted to to slither all over his corporation, and from the way his gaze admired her, she didn’t think he’d reject her. But the idiot she existed on scarcely dared to let his pinky brush against the angelic being next to him. Anytime she thought they would touch, Crowley jerked away before she could escape.
Tonight, both of them had drunk so much wine they were careless. Aziraphale had been careless enough to expose his oh-so-tempting forearm. Crowley flung his arms around so wildly he never felt Lemmiscate slip down to his wrist. She waited patiently for her chance to strike.
Now!
As the two man-shaped beings simultaneously reached for the check, their arms crossed over each other. The sentient tattoo dropped onto Aziraphale, then slithered possessively up his arm to circle his bicep.
Ssso warm. Ssssmellsss ssso good. Ssstaying here.
She had to remain hidden until the angel and demon were sober enough to realize what she was trying to tell them: they belonged together.
***
As soon as they left the Ritz, Aziraphale quickly brushed the sleeves of first his shirt, then his coat, back into place. He couldn’t let any observers on any plane of existence suspect this dinner was less than professional in purpose.
“So my…my point, dear frie—fiend, my point is that people aren’t reading enough these days. They’re losing the opportunity to build not just knowledge, but empathy and imagination.”
“Which means your refusal to sell a single volume of yours is something my lot would encourage,” Crowley said dryly.
“To the contrary, my dear!” Aziraphale repressed a hiccup. “By making my books inaccessible, I make them more desirable!” His arm felt oddly tingly as he gestured. “Which means I’m doing Good!”
His deliciously handsome companion raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Something seemed off about his familiar features. Before Aziraphale could figure out what it was, he felt a squeezing sensation on his wrist, as if his wristwatch was too tight.
But I don’t wear a wristwatch.
Aziraphale sobered himself up, then stared at his wrist. It looked like a spot of ink had splashed on his skin, but he hadn’t written in his diary today.
He halted, causing Crowley to stop mid-step.
“What the…what’s on my wrist?”
He showed the mark to Crowley. It wasn’t just a drop, but a curving red-and-black image that looked like a bigger version of Crowley’s snake tattoo ...
Which wasn’t on his face.
“Oop! Sorry, angel!” Crowley crossed his arms in front of him. “It’s never done that before.”
Perhaps Aziraphale wasn’t as sober as he thought, for he blurted out the first thought that crossed his mind. “Wait! Does this mean…” A circular adornment from his beloved… “We’re engaged!”
“Wot?” Both crimson eyebrows expressed their astonishment.
With his face flushing with heat, Aziraphale looked away. Had either Heaven or Hell been spying on them at that moment? Would they be torn apart from each other again?
Silently, they quickened their steps until they reached the illusionary sanctuary of the Bentley. They slid inside, but Crowley didn’t start the car.
“Y’know, it’s not an actual proposal unless sssomeone sssayssss sssomething.” Crowley’s words tumbled over each other in his haste to speak. “You know, ssssomething about loving sssomeone sssince the dawn of time…not wanting to be apart from…you…for a sssingle moment…”
“And saying yes!” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand. “I would marry you this moment if it was safe, my love!”
“In the meantime, we wait….”
“Another six thousand years if we must.…”
They faced each other and snapped their fingers at the same time. The Bentley’s windows fogged. No one Above, Below, or on Earth could see them kiss, though if someone outside dared touch the antique car, they would discover it was unusually warm. The scent of apple blossoms filled the Bentley, which was surprised to find itself playing “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.”
When the song ended, Aziraphale and Crowley pulled slightly apart. The angel placed his hand tenderly on the demon’s cheek. “Off you hop for now,” Aziraphale told the tattoo. “We’re all safer when you’re where you’re supposed to be.”
***
Satisfied she’d made her point, Lemmiscate assumed her usual position. Perhaps someday she’d be allowed the honor of occupying the angel’s ring finger. No matter if she shaped herself as an infinity symbol or as an ouroboros eating her own tail, she would proclaim her demon’s eternal love for his angel.