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“Angel?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You're always getting on at me to read Jane Austen, yeah?”
Aziraphale pulled a face. “I don't ‘get on’ at you,” he huffed, air-quoting. “I encourage you to appreciate Literary Classics.” His voice now held a decidedly pompous air about it. Crowley fought the urge to laugh.
“Right, well, whichever. Potato potato. Anyway, I’d like to read one. What do you recommend?”
Aziraphale's brow furrowed as he considered the question. "Anything but Pride and Prejudice,” he decided.
Right then, Crowley resolved to read it. Aziraphale got up from his chair, and piled up a bunch of Jane Austen books-sans Pride and Prejudice, of course. Naturally, that made Crowley more determined than ever to peruse the novel.
“I’ll make sure to just read these ones,” Crowley grinned, head cocked to the side, a cheeky glint in his eyes Aziraphale recognised well.
“Crowley, I’m serious,” he warned, wagging a finger at him. “You’re expressly forbidden from reading it.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, playfully. “Says who?” he challenged, smiling like a snake.
Aziraphale sighed and shook his head. “Do as you wish,” he relented, resigned. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he added.
Crowley put down the pile of books, smirked and sauntered off, intent on finding it.
He never could be trusted with forbidden fruit.
*
Three days later, Crowley burst into the bookshop, his eyes wide, his body trembling.
Aziraphale looked up from his book. “Are you quite alright, my dear?” he asked, concern visible in his eyes.
“No, I’m not!” Crowley spat out. “Mr Darcy, he’s based on me. Isn’t he?”
Aziraphale frowned. “Do you mind that?”
Crowley pulled Aziraphale towards him. “All this time. You should’ve told me, you idiot,” he growled, and kissed him. Aziraphale smiled into the kiss, and kissed him back.