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Crowley had been feeling off all night since the bombing. Yes, he did stand right where a bomb just went off, but it wasn’t that. It felt like a pin slowly getting pushed deeper and deeper near his stomach. Maybe he’s getting sick… but he’s a demon. Surely a being like him couldn’t get sick, he hadn’t in almost 6000 years. He enjoyed spending more time with Aziraphale, found his companionship comforting and entertaining, he felt like he could finally be himself around his angel. Well, the closest version to himself at least—still, a great deal better than Anthony J. Crowley who looks identical to his father and grandfather. So he toughed out the rest of the night, trying to fully enjoy the magic show and the secret dinner after, but still felt a bit… bleh.
“Have a nice night, dear. I hope we meet again soon!” Aziraphale waved to Crowley as he started towards the door.
“Mn, yeah—” Crowley was very drained. A good decade’s sleep should get this thing to fuck off. The demon stumbled on seemingly nothing, falling into the doorframe.
“My dear, are you alright?” The angel grabbed his arm with a concerned tone. Crowley felt his cheeks get hot, quickly hiding his face from Aziraphale and his now tingly arm.
“ ‘m fine. Stupid carpet.”
“Right…okay then, have a good night.”
“Night” He flailed an arm in the air like a half wave, attempting carelessness.
The snake shuffled to his Bentley and climbed in rather messily, lacking the certain elegance he tended to have when sauntering around. The Bentley thrummed to life as he shut the door, already pulling out of the spot in front of the bookshop before he even reached the pedals.
The Bentley sped down the streets of Soho towards Crowley’s flat, even faster than the demon’s steady pace of 90. The Bentley was driving the car more than Crowley it seemed, getting him home before the demon even realized they left. Crowley slithered into his flat, ready to not talk to anybody for a number of years.
Aziraphale watched Crowley leave his shop, shuffling out the door grumbling something unintelligible. He did not look well. He walked out of the doorframe, watching as Crowley slid into the Bentley and sped away. He was well enough to drive, apparently. He shouldn’t worry about him. He’s taken care of himself since the fall, despite everything—Crowley was always fine.
He walked back into the bookshop, determined to relax with a book and forget about the whole thing. He plopped down into his favorite armchair, grabbed a cookbook off the shelf, and pulled up his favorite blanket. Snuggled up and ready to enjoy the enticing world of cooking, he ran a hand through his hair and stood up. No matter what, all he could think about was Crowley toppling over into the doorframe. He’d better call Crowley before he spirals…
He walked over to his brand new model 302 telephone that Crowley got him the year before, a smile tugged at his lips as dialed his flat’s line.
No answer.
He dialed again, silently hoping Crowley just didn’t get there in time and lost to the timer.
No answer.
It’s been a solid 20 minutes since Crowley left, he should have been back by now. Aziraphale thought a second, then decided that it would be fine if he just popped in for a check. He straightened his bowtie and found some wine to bring as a peace offering, if everything was alright. Maybe they could continue the night for a little while longer if that meant he could see Crowley again.
Within minutes, the angel was at Crowley’s doorstep with a bottle in hand and a collar that felt way to tight at the moment. He stood there, gaining the courage to knock on the door, if Crowley hadn’t felt his presence already. After all, he could feel Crowley behind the door, somewhere in the flat. Beings on their plane of existence could sense when another was nearby, every being had a distinct footprint of a sort. Crowley’s was unlike any demon’s presence, usually a smokey taste in the back of one’s throat with a prickle at the back of the neck.
Crowley’s however, was a fluttery brush of scales, like a ghost of something that has touched before.
He knocked, not really sure what to expect. He’d only seen the inside of his home a few times, but only a few flashes from when Crowley opened the door. There was no response, yet again. This was unlike the demon he knew, even if he didn’t want anybody with him at the moment, he would at least say something… right? Aziraphale bit his lip and pressed an ear to the door, hoping to hear some shuffling or at least some movement. Nothing, except the humming of a small metal fan in far from the door.
Peculiar.
He tried the door, locked. He felt a pang of worry, that descended into… well, worry, not just concerned, full on whatifhellfoundouthewaswithanangel and desperation.
Apparently, Crowley’s door heard the angel’s worst fears about what lay behind it, and unlocked with a loud click.
Aziraphale pushed the door slowly and whispered “Thank you.” under his breath.
The flat was bare and dim, as it had always been. Aziraphale felt like stepping inside was probably either the worst or best decision he could make. He stepped in anyway, openly accepting any consequences to his current actions while making sure not to make too much noise, in case of something—like an unpleasant demon. To his left were three vases on podiums, the only familiar sight he would see in this apartment.
He continued across the room through a doorway, leading to Crowley’s office-ish room containing a large throne and a desk. Aziraphale started to fidget with his hands, it started to seem like he was in a minefield and didn’t have a map.
He assumed the rest of the house was behind the ‘hidden’ door, spoiled by the fact it was cracked open. He lightly pushed the spinning door, and saw a more personal touch of an angel and demon ‘wrestling’ in a sculpture. Best not to dwell on that.
To his left was the bedroom, lights on and bed sheets askew like somebody just left bed. Not in there.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he entered, just to see what Crowley—not so much—lived like. He saw a big bed directly in the middle of the room, and a table next to it.
“Mhnhgngnnn…”
Aziraphale snapped his head towards the bathroom and saw the demon wrapped around the toilet bowl half naked with a blanket spread upon the floor.
He quickly set the bottle down on the nightstand and quickly ran over, kneeling a safe distance from Crowley.
“Angel…?” He said hoarsely as he squinted and blinked rapidly.
“Oh heavens, are you okay? You poor thing…”
“No. ‘mnot—hic—a poor thing” He winced as he said poor.
Aziraphale looked at Crowley unimpressed, and pulled the blanket up back on the demon. He responded with an angry growl but snuggled with the blanket.
“You look positively terrible, my dear.”
“Why’re you even here, angel?” His voice was raspy and slurred, not unlike a demon who just threw up a barrel of wine’s worth.
“I got nervous, after you stumbled out of the doorway and practically fell into the Bentley. You never get that bad—even when drunk.”
Crowley’s face seemed to soften at this, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Can you gimme my glasses… please?”
Aziraphale reluctantly agreed and found them on the edge of the sink, saddened that he didn’t feel comfortable enough to keep them off around him. He kneeled back down, this time right next to the demon, touching shoulders. Aziraphale turned his body towards the snake putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Here… but you don’t need to wear them with me. I think your eyes are nice.”
Crowley took the glasses but held them in his hand for a second.
“Promise you aren’t just saying that?” A playful smirk twisted itself upon the demon’s lips.
“Why would I ever lie to you? They are beautiful, I’ve always enjoyed the times when I got to see them.” Aziraphale replied, truthfully.
“Hm. I guess it’ll be fine… if you don’t—” Crowley dropped the glasses and grabbed the side of the toilet bowl, leaning over and letting loose.
After it passed, he retreated back to where he sat before, wiping his mouth with his hand and panting. It killed Aziraphale to see him in this state, throwing up, shaking, sniffling, he wondered how humans go through life with the knowledge that this could happen at any point.
“You’re fine,” He softly reassured as he moved his hand from Crowley’s shoulder to his back supportingly.
Crowley leaned into the touch and let out a big sigh. “Sorry—I smell of sick…”
“There’s absolutely no reason to apologize dear, I’m sorry you feel this way.”
Crowley was about to protest but decided against it with a defeated groan.
“Hnngnnhngnn… how do humans deal with all this?” An expression ghosted over his face that Aziraphale couldn’t quite decipher.
Aziraphale turned his hand on the back to a hook of safety as he reached his arm around the demon and pulled him in with a half cuddle. Even with Crowley in this state—this was thrilling.
“ ‘m gonna be sssick all over you…”
“I don’t care. May God herself send a thousand angels to retrieve me, I will stay here until you tell me to leave.” He grinned, meaning every word he said.
“Always so dramatic with you.”
They snuggled together for a little while, until Aziraphale broke the comforting silence.
“I’m going to make a cup of hot chocolate for you, what do you think?” The angel teased, expecting a snarky comeback or a dismissive grumble.
“Tea.”
“Tea? You?” This even surprised Aziraphale, who thought he knew a lot more than he apparently did.
“Tea.” Crowley huffed.
Aziraphale put his hands up in surrender and chuckled, standing up and heading towards the kitchen.
The kitchen lacked any features, other than the top-notch fridge and stove that appeared unused. Aziraphale hesitantly miracled his wooden tea box into Crowley’s kitchen, along with two mugs and a kettle.
“What tea do you want, dear?” Aziraphale loudly asked, making sure he could be heard in the other room.
No response.
“Crowley? I asked what tea do you want!”
Silence.
“…Crowley?” He rushed to the bathroom to find the demon passed out on the floor, looking a shade more pale. “Oh, my dear…” He quickly got down to his knees amidst the chaos and gently shook his shoulder.
“Hmngn…” Crowley stirred. He was shaking.
A flood of relief washed over Aziraphale as he heard Crowley mumble something unintelligible and huff.
He quietly shifted to sit on his heels, placing Crowley’s head on his lap. He looked down at the shivering, sweating, sleeping mess that was this demon, and couldn’t help but gently move one of his red curls out of his face, brushing his forehead. The snake looked so vulnerable and open, all his trust was put in the angel to keep him safe. To guard him.
Aziraphale didn’t take this task lightly. He slowly wrapped his arms under Crowley, rising to his feet and Crowley with him.
The blanket dragged behind him as he placed the demon tenderly under the covers of his own bed, pulling it up snug and layered.
Crowley’s breath slowed to a normal pace—for a being that didn’t need air. His muscles relaxed, his body melted into the form of the bed underneath. To Aziraphale, he looked so adorable it was unbearable.
He deliberated with himself for a minute, before he finally gave in and climbed in behind him. He never had indulged in the act of sleep, but felt like this should be the time to do it. It was just… irresistible. He awkwardly sprawled out upon the bed next to the demon. He didn’t quite get the whole idea of sleeping, but he knew Crowley often enjoyed the pleasures of sleep. What he did get, was sharing a bed. Even if it was frowned upon for two men to share a bed at the time, Aziraphale couldn’t care less—plus, he wasn’t really a man so it wouldn’t be a problem.
Aziraphale finally set a position he felt most comfortable, on his side facing the freckled back of the demon. He focused on his breathing, attempting to use the rhythm to guide him to sleep, but it wasn’t working. He tried counting sheep, didn’t work.
He was just about to give up when Crowley stirred in his sleep, shaking violently and mumbling something in destress. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do, he’s never had to deal with nightmares before. He watched helplessly as the other was squirming and whimpering until he did the only thing he knew could help.
Aziraphale slung his arms around Crowley, spooning him and sharing warmth. Crowley’s breathing steadied, and he started to still. The demon practically molded around the angel’s touch, fully relaxing and making sounds that would have made Aziraphale weak at the knees if he wasn’t lying down.
“—ngel…”
“Oh my… I’m here, dear.” Aziraphale cooed quietly into Crowleys ear.
Aziraphale learned everything he could about the demon before he had to leave. Crowley’s bed, house decor, strange statues, and Crowley’s back. He found that the most interesting of all the items in his view, the way he shivers every time Aziraphale words of praise, how his back moved every time he breathed, Aziraphale was smitten.
He found comfort in the silence, he hadn’t needed to bring up a random topic of conversation so it didn’t get too awkward, or stand at least 3 feet apart so it wouldn’t seem like they were friends. He got to enjoy the silence, and share it.
This was nice. This was relaxing. He’d be gone before Crowley woke up, so he allowed himself this—for now. He’d stay up the whole time until he knew that Crowley was safe. Then leave, of course.
Despite his best efforts, the angel slowly descended into unconsciousness.
It was bright outside—the birds were chirping, the sun was shining, the bed was… the bed? Aziraphale slowly blinked awake as the sun seemed burned brighter into his eyes. It took him awhile to remember where he was, even though he didn’t fully process it.
“…angel?”
Aziraphale’s brain felt sluggish, throbbing and not quite working properly. He felt… rested.
“Angel?” A voice said again, raspy, but still stronger this time.
He groaned as he stirred and turned towards the voice.
Crowley’s voice. Then he remembered. He snapped awake.
Crowley was standing in front of him, still half naked, but using the blanket they shared as a shield between his skin and Aziraphale’s eyes.
“Crowley,” He let out nervously. “I can explain…”
“Yeah. You sure as hell should.” Crowley looked like he just saw his Bentley crash into a tree a thousand times over.
“I—”
“What the fuck, Aziraphale.” Crowley’s tone was dangerous.
Aziraphale started to get up, but as he did, out of the corner of his eye, Crowley took half a step back. Aziraphale stopped and sat there. “You were ill… and I came ove—”
“Yeah I know I’m not—I wasn’t feeling great, but what does that have to do with you sssleeping with me?” Crowley interrupted.
“Ah, yes. That… well, you fell unconscious—”
“Asleep.”
“Asleep… so I thought it would be better for you to sleep in a bed, rather than a bathroom floor.”
“Mhm…” Crowley pulled up the blanket a little more, eyes narrowing. “And where is the part when you got in bed with me?” Voice still rough from the sickness.
“Um… I got you all set and I was worried you might be sick again. So I decided it would be best I stay close until you awake. Your guardian angel of sorts.” Aziraphale, despite himself, lightly smiled. “So I waited. And then I thought about sleeping… so I slept. I can see why humans enjoy it—it’s quite relaxing.” Aziraphale fussed with his hair as he said this.
Crowley just stood there. Aziraphale never realized how much the glasses were doing for the snake, making it hard to read him even after knowing him for millennia. Aziraphale can now see almost everything going on inside his head. Confusion, anger, …more confusion.
“So you just got tired… and decided you would sleep with me?” Crowley’s voice was flat, but the tightness in his jaw was visible. He held the blanket up even higher, protecting himself from Aziraphale’s gaze.
“Well, when you put it that way…” Aziraphale chuckled, but it didn’t sound right. He knew it didn’t.
“Why did you stay?” Crowley’s voice dropped, and a slight tremor arose.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Like I said… I didn’t want you to be sick again—”
“No. Why did you really stay? You should have never come. If Heaven found out you even saw me…” Crowley groaned as he slumped his shoulders. “Why do you always do this?”
“I—what? Do what?” Aziraphale felt a knot in his chest.
Crowley gestured towards him. “This.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Aziraphale’s voice softened, his brow furrowing as he tried to finish his thought, “I didn’t come here for any... vulgar reasons.” He grimaced at the word. “I came because you weren’t well. The whole sleeping together thing—well, that was for your protection.” Aziraphale stood up, his hands shaking just a little. “And… and what if I wanted to stay? Is that such a crime?”
Aziraphale watched Crowley carefully, noticing the way his gaze flickered to the side, never quite meeting his eyes, shifting the blanket, fumbling for his glasses (that were still on the floor from the previous events).
“You should go.” Crowley muttered, his voice strained, almost pleading. He miracled himself a new pair of glasses, then slowly—too slowly—slid them onto his face.
“Crowley—” Aziraphale instinctively reached a hand out to the demon.
Crowley recoiled, moving swiftly toward the wall, distancing himself further.
“Please…” Crowley’s voice wavered slightly. “Can we just… not? Not now. Go.”
“I can’t just leave you like this,” Aziraphale said, voice quieter now, uncertain. “I brought wine over, in case you needed it… but you're still ill. You shouldn't be left alone.”
“You really think I need you, don’t you?” Crowley growled, the words rougher than usual, and there was a slight tremor breaking through his voice as he turned away. His hand reached for a pair of pants tossed carelessly on the floor.
Aziraphale knew the demon wasn’t actually talking. Instead of reaching out, or replying, he slowly retreated back to the bed and lowered himself near the nightstand.
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, watching as he cleaned the smudges off the wine bottle.
“Let’s just have a glass. You and me. We can talk.” Aziraphale’s voice was quieter now. He extended a hand toward Crowley, his palm open, as if to offer stability
Crowley hesitated only for a moment before silently accepting the invitation.
“One glass,” Crowley muttered, avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes.
Aziraphale sat across from Crowley, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He watched, helpless, as the demon poured wine with a little too much force. The glass clinked sharply against the bottle, the sound filling the silence between them.
Crowley slouched back on the couch, draping himself lazily across the cushions, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the way his posture was off—tense. He was dressed now, with a button-up he found tossed on his throne.
He avoided Aziraphale’s gaze, his eyes flickering toward the window, the ceiling, anywhere but him. Aziraphale’s stomach twisted.
“So…” Aziraphale bit his lip and looked down at his hands, hoping Crowley would add something in so he didn’t have to carry the whole conversation. Crowley did not offer anything, leaving the nervous angel on his own. He looked at the wine glass, tracing the edges as if not noticing Aziraphale in front of him.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, but it wavered with unease. “I’m sorry. I just... I was scared when you were ill, and I didn’t think clearly. I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to help.”
Crowley held up his hand, pausing Aziraphale mid sentence.
“Angel,” Crowley’s voice was low, almost flat, as if he were speaking through a wall. “I get you want to help. It's just... I don’t need it. I don’t need your help.” He tipped his head over the armrest.
Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest but quickly snapped it shut before he could say anything stupid.
Crowley flashed a glance at this and continued.
“I am a demon. You are an angel. We can’t keep doing this.”
Aziraphale leaned back and let out a exasperated breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
Crowley made a gesture, “You and me… us meeting is putting you in danger. Seeing each other outside is sssafer, sure, but Heaven could find us at any moment. Me coming to your bookshop, safe enough. But you coming here? That’s a whole new level of recklessness.” The demon gulped down his entire glass. “Hell OWNS this flat. They could pop in at anytime without even needing to use the door. You’re not safe. Just stop finding me, and I’ll stop looking. Okay?” Crowley finally glanced in Aziraphale’s direction.
Aziraphale sat there, wide eyed and frozen in place. His fingers absentmindedly tapped at the sides of the glass.
“Aziraphale…?”
Crowley slowly sat up and straightened himself, tempted to pour another glass.
“You mean it?” Aziraphale still frozen, quietly huffed. “I don’t care what happens to me. If you truly want me to leave, I’ll stand up and walk out of here right now and never look back. Tell me you mean it. Look me in my eyes, and tell me.” Aziraphale’s own boldness surprised even himself, slightly winded.
“Angel—”
“I know you don’t mean it. You’re trying to give me an out in case I feel pity on you. Crowley, I don’t need one. If I didn’t enjoy your company I never would have talked to you on that wall. Just listen to me, please.” Aziraphale’s voice turned desperate, breaking at the end of each sentence.
Crowley set down his glass on the table between them, glaring at it sharply. He started to speak, but slumped deeper into the couch, shoulders shrugging in as he let out a long breath.
He let himself fall sideways back near the arm rest, shifting his glasses down revealing his serpentine eyes. He flashed a glance at Aziraphale.
Aziraphale could feel the tension radiating off Crowley like a heatwave. The demon’s shoulders were hunched, his fingers fidgeting with his wineglass, as if he wanted to throw it across the room. It wasn’t the usual confident, unbothered version of Crowley he knew. It was something softer, quieter, more uncertain—and it made Aziraphale’s stomach tighten.
Aziraphale couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He stood up slowly, his feet carrying him closer to Crowley before his mind could even catch up. His heart raced as he crossed the room. He stopped beside the couch and slowly sat down, he positioned himself to the side of Crowley and turned towards him, his hands nervously wringing in front of him. “I suppose…” he started, “I thought you would want help. Me. I was wrong. I’m sorry for crossing that line, but I would like another chance to make up my misdoings.” He loudly inhaled. “…If you would allow.”
Silence dangled over both of them for an excruciatingly long period of time—well, it felt like that to Aziraphale.
“Mnh.” Crowley finally said. He still looked like crap to Aziraphale, even though he was able to tough it out for now. “Wine isn’t helping.” His glasses fully fell off, exposing his whole face to the world. “ ‘m still… euggh.”
Aziraphale looked at him in confusion, tilting his head, before finally taking a hint and accepting the change of topic.
“Do you still want that tea, dear?” Aziraphale fought the urge to reach out, to place a gentle hand on Crowley’s arm.
“Tea isss fine” the demon replied with a muffled hiss.
Aziraphale prepared the tea slowly, almost reverently. The ritual of the making of the tea was always one of Aziraphale’s favorite pleasures. The heat of the water in the mug, the measuring and the careful placement of the leaves in the cup, letting the tea steep until you need to take them out—it all felt very comforting to him.
He lifted up the mug of fresh tea off of one of the counters, and headed towards the demon wrapped in his gray blanket on the couch.
Crowley was definitely getting worse. From what Aziraphale could tell, in the time of making the tea, Crowley was shivering uncontrollably, hands shaking, eyes half-lidded; he was a mess.
Aziraphale kneeled down in front of him, offering the tea like a gift to the demon. “May I?”
The demon mumbled something unintelligible with a defeated expression ghosting over his face.
Aziraphale hesitantly placed the tea in Crowley’s hands, brushing his fingers while it got passed. His breath hitched at this, feeling a slight tingle in his hands where the contact had happened. Crowley was too much of a mess to notice this, of course.
Aziraphale observed the demon, quietly and intently, hoping not to scare off the being in front of him. “Anything you need, dear?” His voice was soft, and as smooth as he could make it, letting some of the fondness trickle through his speech.
“ ’s fine angel—shouldn’t need to deal with this.” Crowley’s voice was raspy, breaking over words, cutting up his sentences. “…not your problem.”
Aziraphale’s stomach lurched as he finally understood Crowley’s meaning. He needed to show him he was wrong. That friends—good friends—do this for each other. “If you are sick, I want to be here for you.”
Crowley was obviously growing worse, but he had a way to cover it up. It would appear like he was getting better, even though he wasn’t looking his normal, confident, suave self—more vulnerable and raw. Aziraphale had never observed this look on the demon before, he had gotten used to the snarky demon who held himself up high against all odds. He always suspected there was more than that—naturally—but he probably wouldn’t have predicted he would have this presented to him.
“Sorry,” Crowley muttered. His head dipped forward, loose curls brushing Aziraphale’s temple. “I make a mess of things.” A pause. Quieter still, “Don’t exactly… earn this.” the demon spoke quietly, almost a whisper.
Aziraphale’s chest tightened. He rose and sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders pressed together. “You don’t have to earn it.” He said simply.
Crowley looked away at that, jaw working. He didn’t move from the contact—if anything, he leaned into it, resting his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder as though he’d forgotten he was allowed to pull back.
Aziraphale didn’t dare move.
Crowley’s fingers caught int the fabric of Aziraphale’s sleeve, still wrinkled from previous events. Aziraphale was desperately trying to keep his composure, even though he was the one that started this. He made this happen. Good thing? No. Bad thing? Probably. Ever going to recoil first? Fuck no.
“What scares me…” Crowley trailed off, leaning even more into Aziraphale, almost his full weight on the angel made his whole body warm. Aziraphale knew better than to continue to push, or say anything for that matter. Too much eagerness could scare him back into hiding, too much separation would send the wrong signal. He just sat there, ready to wait an eternity if it meant he got to get confided in by his closest confidant.
“If something ever happens to you, I don’t get over that. Ever.” Crowley fiddled with Aziraphale’s sleeve, picking at the seam.
Aziraphale inhaled sharply before he could stop himself. Crowley hadn’t said love. Hadn’t said need. But Aziraphale understood him all the same—and that, somehow, felt far more dangerous.
Crowley seemed to realize it too.
He stiffened, just barely, fingers tightening once in Aziraphale’s sleeve before loosening again. He let out a short, humorless breath and shifted as if to pull away.
“Right,” Crowley muttered. “That came out wrong.”
“It didn’t,” Aziraphale said quietly.
Crowley tilted his head, just enough to look at him at the corner of his eye. Without the glasses, his eyes were too open, too exposed.
“Angel,” he warned, voice low. “don’t.”
Aziraphale didn’t pull back. He didn’t lean closer either. He just stayed.
“I’m not.” He replied.
Aziraphale studied as Crowley’s apple bobbed, gaze flickering briefly to Aziraphale’s mouth and then away again.
“This is…” Crowley started, then stopped. He huffed out a weak laugh. “This is a terrible idea.”
Aziraphale froze.
“…what do you mean?” Aziraphale’s voice betrayed him with his shakiness and lack of cheer. Fuck.
Crowley flashed another glance at Aziraphale and snapped back to reality. “I mean—” Crowley’s eyes opened even wider, replaced with glimmering nervousness. “You being here. This—you—yeah. That’s it.” He put the tea down on the table.
Aziraphale reached a hand and placed it on the demon’s cheek, cupping the side of his face and turning it towards him. “Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “But I don’t care.”
Their faces were close now, close enough that Aziraphale could feel the warmth of Crowley’s breath, could see the faint crease between his brows.
Aziraphale hesitated.
And then, almost like an accident, he leaned in.
The kiss was brief. Careful. More a press than anything else, as if they were both afraid of what would happen if it lasted too long. Crowley’s lips were warm, unfamiliar, and the contact sent a quiet, dizzying shock through Aziraphale’s entire being.
For one suspended moment, neither of them moved.
Their kiss broke faster than Aziraphale had wished, neither pulling away, more so Aziraphale sensed something off. His eyes fluttered open, in sync with the demon in front of him.
With their foreheads still touching, their faces redder than ever, both of Aziraphale’s hands moved to the nape of Crowleys neck, pulling him back into contact.
Aziraphale led the charge. He felt ravenous. As if he just got fresh crêpe on the table, waiting. He moved his lips slowly against Crowley’s, the pressure smothering the being under him as Crowley attempted to match the angel’s eagerness.
Aziraphale’s knees found themselves on either side of the demon, almost sitting on his lap. Crowley’s long fingers reached at Aziraphale’s face, passing it as the angel felt a slight tug at the back of his head. As the kiss deepened, a sound escaped Crowley—and all Aziraphale could think about was wanting to bottle it up and save it so he could hear it again. Aziraphale felt as Crowley numbly moved one arm down landing on the angel’s hips, easing him into a more accessible angle to work from.
Crowley certainly wasn’t weak then. His lips moved against Aziraphale’s with a bruising pressure, marking the embrace forever in Aziraphale’s mind.
Aziraphale was at a loss of control over himself, barley thinking with a mind that was as blank as a brand new whiteboard. He found his hands moving from the nape of Crowley’s neck, taking the collar of Crowley’s shirt into his hands. Aziraphale’s hands were almost white with the intensity of the grab, ripping the top button from it’s spot, revealing more of Crowley’s body he had ever thought he’d see (again).
Crowley’s grip tightened around Aziraphale’s waist, being taken as an invitation by the angel. Aziraphale felt the fabric loosening as he wriggled the buttons around until they fell out of their respective places, leaning even deeper into the kiss. Everything he has done led up to this moment. Now. 1941. This was happening. His thoughts instantly wiped again as he felt the demons chest heaving in and out faster and faster, tasting every inch of air in Aziraphale’s lungs.
Then, he felt the arm around his waist drop.
The hands on his hair drew away and returned to the owners sides, draped in such a way that was intended to look natural.
Crowley was frozen.
Aziraphale’s eyes opened and he say that Crowley’s eyes were too. The golden eyes dancing between slitted and almost rounded pupils. The demon’s skin was hot red, eyes as wide as they were before, with a hint of terror.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale panted into Crowley’s face, closeness enough for him to grasp on to and comfort him. “Are you alright?”
No response
Aziraphale leaned back, hands that were apparently firmly planted on Crowley’s chest loosened.
“You should go.”
Aziraphale felt his chest cave in. Crowley had closed himself back off. He watched as Crowley planted the glasses back onto his face, still flushed red. Crowley had reverted back to himself, and what terrified Aziraphale wasn’t the lack of eye contact, the ghosts of Crowley’s lips now gone, it was the way Crowley shut down. How fast and reliably he could shift back into the walls he put up.
A line that has been very thick for thousands of years had just been ripped apart by the angel on top of the demon. He watched as the illness started to creep back from the corner it had been stuffed in since they brushed shoulders. Or could it have been Crowley shaking on his own? Aziraphale wanted to ask—to talk about it, but he knew that wasn’t what Crowley was. He didn’t talk. He slowly retracted his arms and his feet found the floor, rocking backwards onto them, steadying himself from far too much going on.
Crowley stayed absolutely still, eyes falling from where Aziraphale’s face was down to the blanket wrapped around his legs.
“Of course,” The sharpness of the words spiked his tongue, forcing himself to be his usual, cheery self. Lips swollen, hands wringing together on his chest, he took a few steps back. “I understand.”
Aziraphale straightened his coat, fixed his bowtie, and stepped across the room, putting his hand on the door as he opened it. “Do take care of yourself, Crowley.” He said softly, sadness and hurt trickling into his words involuntarily.
Crowley continued to sit in silence for a safe amount of time, presumably giving Aziraphale enough time to get out of earshot.
“Fuck” The demon hissed, burying his head into his hands choking back tears.
Maybe Aziraphale heard it, but it didn’t make a difference. He knew he crossed a line. He knew he hurt Crowley. He couldn’t bear trying to keep hope in his mind. He let the door close behind him.
Aziraphale paused outside the flat, breath shuddering once before he straightened his already-fixed bowtie, correcting his posture before he schooled himself.
He finally walked away, wincing as he heard Crowley put on music too loud, immediately.
The tea lay on the table, cold. Untouched.
Crowley did not think about this kiss again.
Aziraphale did the opposite.