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In the Garden of Eden, God creates every living creature.
Adam and Eve name every beast in the field, every bird in the sky. They dwell among the trees and in the clouds, and the Angel of the Eastern Gate looks upon them with wonder. He adores every one of them, even the insects that crawl beneath his feet, and reveres them the way God would want him to. Aziraphale does not know yet how they will grow and breed and mutate. He only knows they are something worth loving.
As Aziraphale walks through the garden barefoot, grass tickles the soles of his feet. Through his robes he feels the breeze on his legs and his arms. He has never felt so present. Already, Aziraphale prefers the wonders of Earth to the clinical emptiness of heaven, though he does not yet admit that to himself. He pretends his wonder is entirely selfless, born from God’s will, though he doubts Michael or Gabriel would find such joy in these creatures.
Still, still, even Aziraphale recognises his own selfish fondness for the animals as he runs his hand through a lion’s fur. She purrs at his gentle touch, and arches her back. Pleased, Aziraphale presses their noses together.
“What a majestic creature!” He murmurs to her. She rubs her face against him in reply.
A monkey, a curious, clever little thing, jumps onto the grass in front of him, and looks up expectantly. Aziraphale smiles and kneels down - he scratches her head and she scratches his in return, a curious sensation which makes Aziraphale chuckle.
“Nice to meet you too.” He says, and boops her nose with one finger. Her nose crinkles and he laughs again, delighted.
He looks up at the sky and the tops of the trees, where the birds are singing in unison. Aziraphale holds out his arms and they flock to him one by one, settling gently on his forearm. He kisses each one on their tiny heads, just a gentle peck, and they sing for him in return. Aziraphale finds himself captivated by the nightingale’s song, and savours the sound of it long after the tiny bird has finished singing.
He hums to himself as he makes his way towards the pond. When he kneels down, and runs his hand over the water, fish rise to the surface to peck at the skin of his fingers
“Lovely things.” Aziraphale says, captivated by their colours and their patterns. He’s endeared by the tiny frogs and lizards that climb onto his robes.
There are rhinos and elephants and deer and sheep and ducks and horses and butterflies and dogs and Aziraphale greets each one of them in turn, booping their nose or kissing their fur or holding out his hand, if they are shy, and letting them approach. While he explores, Aziraphale finds his heart is completely full, fit to burst and aching. He can hear the thrum of joy amongst the animals in the Garden. What a sacred place this is, a home. Aziraphale never wants to leave.
He first spots the serpent in an apple tree, curled around the branch. It’s sleeping, its black face turned up towards the sun. Aziraphale stares, and stares, captivated by it. Its underbelly of crimson scales shine under the golden sunlight, and though Aziraphale shouldn’t choose favourites, he secretly thinks the serpent is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. As Aziraphale approaches, slowly, the serpent cracks open one eye, and Aziraphale stops, surprised. That eye is as warm as sunlight, the prettiest yellow, and it takes Aziraphale a moment to recover.
The serpent watches him warily. When Aziraphale reaches the tree, and holds out his hand, the serpent hisses.
“Oh, no, don’t be afraid.” Aziraphale says warmly.
He reaches out again, but the serpent recoils, opening its other eye and unwinding to its full size. Aziraphale, surprised, wavers. He has never met a creature yet who has not welcomed him.
“I won’t hurt you,” He says, patiently, “Come. Let me greet you.”
The serpent hisses, louder, its tongue forked, but Aziraphale steps closer and gently touches the underside of its mouth. He runs his finger along the scales and the serpent stops hissing and relaxes, welcoming him instantly. Aziraphale hums fondly, enjoying the sensation of the serpent’s scales beneath the pads of his fingers.
“There.” He says sweetly. “Much better. Oh, aren’t you a pretty thing?”
Aziraphale thinks he hears the serpent makes a noise that is decidedly un-snakelike, a surprised ngk like there’s something stuck in its throat. Aziraphale decides he must have imagined it, and leans his head close to the branch. He presses the tip of his nose to the serpent’s head, and purses his lips as if in a kiss.
“Pretty, pretty thing.” He says, and the serpent just watches him with wide yellow eyes, such a shy, cautious creature. Again, Aziraphale feels ridiculously fond of it, and finds himself playing favourites again. He wants to keep this lovely creature for himself, and thinks the thought might be sinful - he buries it quickly, and turns away, back to the other animals that await his affection.
All afternoon Aziraphale spends time amongst God’s creatures. He thinks often of the serpent, but vows to treat all the animals equally, and so loses sight of it throughout the afternoon. He does not realise how peculiar the serpent’s behaviour was until it slithers by him on the wall of Eden, and morphs - to Aziraphale’s complete and utter horror - into a demon .
A demon! Aziraphale had touched and praised and been completely enamoured by a demon ! He’s flushed and completely humiliated as the demon turns to him with a sly smile, and the worst of it is that the demon still has those wonderful serpentine eyes. They suit his sharp face, such a warm and lovely yellow, and Aziraphale’s eyes linger on them far too long.
“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” The demon drawls. He makes no mention of Aziraphale’s earlier… affection, but the shared knowledge of it lingers unspoken between them.
“Sorry?” Aziraphale squeaks. He can’t stop thinking of the feeling of the serpent’s scales beneath the pads of his fingers, the way the demon had melted beneath his touch-
Oh, goodness, he’s such a fool.
“I said, that went down like a lead balloon.” The demon says. And then he starts talking about Adam and Eve, and sins and apples, as if the whole thing hadn’t even happened, and Aziraphale goes along with it because the alternative is far worse.
Over the centuries, Aziraphale often wonders if Crowley ever thinks about that moment in Eden.
It wouldn’t bother him so much if they’d spoken about it even once, but because they haven’t, the unspoken festers and grows and lingers. If only they’d laughed about it in the beginning, it may not seem so big now. As it stands, Aziraphale often finds himself caught in daydreams about serpentine eyes and scales that shine in the sunlight, and has to drag his mind back to more sensible, celestial things.
It’s so difficult, though, when there’s so much of the serpent in Crowley, in his eyes and his movements and the slight hiss of his voice. Aziraphale often finds himself wishing he could lift Crowley’s chin by his thumb and finger, or press his nose to Crowley’s, the way he did when he was a serpent - they are the same being, after all, and the curious, fascinating beauty that Aziraphale was so enamoured by in Eden is present in Crowley always.
Pretty thing , Aziraphale often thinks, when he sees Crowley leaning his arm on the Bentley, or sitting in an armchair in the bookshop, or walking under the sun in St James’ park. What? Crowley always grumbles, when Aziraphale looks at him too long, and Aziraphale always has the urge to spill his heart into Crowley’s hands, confess all the fondness and affection and wonder he has kept hidden for 6000 years. Instead, he just ducks his head shyly and smiles, knowing it isn’t possible.
He might have been able to keep it hidden forever, if he hadn’t come home from a visit to the patisserie to see a serpent curled up in one of his armchairs, snuffling in its sleep. Aziraphale had stopped by the doors, his heart into his throat. Crowley had told him before he sometimes shifted shape when he slept (annoying habit - he said - happens when I’m dreaming, can’t help it) but Aziraphale had never seen it happen. He hadn’t seen the serpent, in fact, since that very first day in Eden.
An overwhelming wave of affection makes Aziraphale feel warm from head to toe. He steps closer, carefully, and then kneels down to the serpent’s level.
“Hello.” He murmurs sweetly. He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t dare stir.
The serpent - Crowley, Aziraphale thinks - cracks open an eye sleepily, as if sensing his presence. When he sees Aziraphale, he lets out a long, low hiss, and starts to change, morphing back into a demon. But Aziraphale stops Crowley with a gentle hand on his serpentine head, and the transformation stops.
“One moment.” He says, warm as the glow in his chest. He tilts up the serpent’s head and presses a gentle kiss there. Crowley, surprised, stays still beneath his touch. “There. Much better.”
Pretty, pretty thing he thinks to himself, but can’t bring himself to say.
The serpent looks at him, wide eyed and wary. Then, to Aziraphale’s wonder, Crowley nudges his head against Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale’s heart jumps. He trembles still as he runs his fingers over Crowley’s scales, but though he’s afraid, he’s also pleased by the way Crowley leans into him, melting under his touch the way he did in Eden.
Oh , Aziraphale thinks, and wonders what it would be like to touch Crowley’s skin this way, to hold him this close and gentle. He presses his nose to the serpent’s head the way he did in Eden and Crowley nudges against it. His forked tongue pokes against Aziraphale’s bottom lip, and Aziraphale laughs, surprised and delighted.
“Change back, Crowley.” Aziraphale says, because as much as he loves this serpent, he loves Crowley’s other form too, those same eyes with a face and a body that is so completely and utterly him. “Come here.”
Crowley obeys, and when he’s in his vessel again, he’s flushed and embarrassed, his words stuck in his throat. He chokes as he tries to speak, but Aziraphale quiets him with a gentle hand, smoothing the hair away from his forehead.
“Hush.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss there. Then he leans back, and considers Crowley. Kind, cunning, wily, grumpy, beautiful Crowley, who melts beneath his touch and glitters in the sunlight. Aziraphale couldn’t look away from those eyes even if he tried.
“Oh, you really are so very pretty.” Aziraphale says.
Crowley starts to bark a protest, but Aziraphale is already kissing him, soft and quick and sweet. Crowley makes an ngk of surprise, and his hand rises to hold Aziraphale’s cheek, reverent and gentle the way Aziraphale’s touch has always been. It’s surprising and wonderful to be touched in return, for the first time, and Aziraphale almost falls apart when Crowley’s thumb brushes over his skin.
“You always were my favourite, you know.” Aziraphale murmurs, and Crowley chuckles, low in his throat. He even smiles when Aziraphale brushes their noses together. How soft he is, how beautiful. Aziraphale loves him wholly and completely.
“Yeah, I know.” Crowley drawls, and Aziraphale laughs and pulls him closer, this lovely, pretty thing.