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Aziraphale and Crowley stood together, side by side, more like, in the white halls of heaven. Wings outstretched behind them, Crowley’s dark feathers stood a tiny bit taller than Aziraphale’s own, but that had always been true of the demon at his side. His demon, really, they would have to talk after this was all over, of course.
Actually talk, not just have a conversation. They had gotten into that habit over several millennia, haven’t they? They got so used to not saying enough to each other that they seemed to have forgotten how to really communicate.
But that issue would have to be resolved after they had figured this out, and they had to figure out a way out of this. They had to fight for humanity, fight for their right to live and make choices on their own. They tended to make decisions on their own anyway, no matter what kind of influence either side had. Humanity was a wonderful and powerful force; sure, there were times they needed guiding. But humans found something that heaven nor hell could ever influence them, passion.
Passion is what drives humans, whether it be art, travel, poetry, mathematics, studies of the mind, or religion, even! Passion drives humans into finding joy in their lives.
It takes all kinds of forms, like how Maggie is so passionate about music, she’s made her own shop! Sure, he forgave a few months’ rent here and there, but he’s an angel after all, forgiveness is what he does best!
Or, for example, passion can be in collecting artifacts, like antique magic tricks in that shop he and Crowley visited all those years ago.
But passion can also be described as devotion, or love. This seems to be the most vital and most dangerous of them all.
Love can bring so much joy and happiness when you can express it to your loved ones. But it can also bring heartache when you aren’t given that opportunity.
But when you love someone for as long and as deeply as he has loved Crowley, you make hard and impossible decisions to keep them safe.
That’s why he left that day down in his bookshop. He had to stop this, to protect Crowley, even if it cost him his own life.
Because that’s what love does to someone, it makes you do brave and crazy things for each other. And he knows that’s why Crowley joined him here, because love shouldn’t be something you do alone.
He realizes that now, even if he foolishly thought he could do it on his own, he wouldn’t wish for anyone else to fight beside him.
Looking over to his love, he held out his hand open to him. And Crowley immediately took it and threaded their fingers together.
“Whatever happens, we do this together. Right angel?” he glanced between them at their intertwined hands, then back up at those beautiful golden eyes he loves so much.
They were filled with fear, but determination overshadowed it. Crowley was with him till the end.
“Together.” he agrees with a sad smile.
The sound of a defeated thwump of a book and a sigh flooded through the air. It wasn’t a bone-heavy sigh, nothing out of stress or grief. But a sigh that screamed defeat nonetheless.
“Alright there, angel?” a voice rang through the cluttered cottage, and just the sound of it brought a smile to the man’s lips.
He stares at his book and ink pen on the desk and sighs again just for dramatic effect. His writing desk has always been a prized possession of his; it was carried down generation after generation in his family. It’s a medium dark wood color and filled to the brim with books of research, empty journals, paper scraps, and a single white mug with little angel wings. That particular mug is his favorite because he got it as a Christmas present a few years ago from his husband.
It was a play on his husband's pet name for him, ‘angel,’ one that’s stuck with them since they met long ago.
“Yes dear, I’m quite alright. I just can’t figure out where to go from here! I mean I’ve got them at the brink of the destruction of the world, hand in hand, and I just don’t know how to get them back yet.” He brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose where his thin frames had slid down just slightly.
Socked footsteps approached, and a weight was pressed into the back of the chair. His husband must have heard the stress in his voice and slowly started to run fingers through his hair and down his shoulders to ease his mind.
“Come on, that’s the easy part, right? Blah blah blah, they saved the world! Defeated - Saffron or whoever, and lived happily ever after.”
“Saraqael, my dear.” It was meant to be a slight to his husband for forgetting a character’s name, again, but it came across far too fondly to bear any weight.
“Yeah, like I said, Saffron gets defeated, and they go home together to Earth! Problem solved.”
The soft fingers in his hair migrated around his neck, and a head rested on his shoulder. To his husband’s credit, the chair that he was currently sitting in had a relatively low back for a Victorian-style plush chair. But it still required his husband to bend in some very awkward angles anyway, and although he is quite flexible, he knows that he cannot be comfortable longer than a few moments.
A small chuckle escapes him before he continues, “Yes, that is the plan, my dear, but I'm not sure how to write that in a believable way! I mean, they are actively fighting the second coming together.”
He looks back at his husband and takes a breath just to admire him. His writing desk is right below a window out to their garden, which his husband spends ample amounts of time rummaging through each day. So the light of the sunset is painting a soft yellow glow on his husband’s face.
His sharp facial features highlight his strength, high cheekbones, and a pointed nose. A very kissable nose, but he has to stay focused.
His eyes look particularly beautiful this way; he’s always loved those eyes, light brown with boyish charm and youthfulness. But surrounded by eyelids with small creases to show the passing of time, the time they’ve spent together, to be exact.
But right now, in this light, they look golden.
“Angel, what about these books is realistic. I mean, you have an actual Angel and a Demon, pining for each other for so long, and they don’t even know it! I mean, just look at the names you chose for them.”
“Oh, but my love, they do! That’s what I like about these characters: they do know they love each other. Yes, they guessed a bit about it in the beginning, but that’s what makes it so compelling! They know they love each other so much that they must save the world just to be themselves.”
He turns slightly to face his husband better before continuing, “and my dear, I am using these names, because it’s historically accurate! There are tons of myths and religions based on these names! I mean, Gabriel and Archangel Michael come straight from the Bible, and Aziraphale is a wonderful Angel name! You cannot complain about Crowley’s name, dear. I let you choose all the demons’ names. And you chose Crowley because it sounds like Crawley, I mean, really a snake named Crawley.” He poked at his husband’s arm teasingly.
“First of all, I chose Crowley because it’s like the crow bird, since his wings are crows’ wings,” he said smugly, “and someone never figured out what to name him as an angel, so there is a suspicious description of him in your second book without a name. I am not to be blamed for that.”
“Oh! So, you have read my books, then. And I know dear, but he’s too special to be named after some random angel! And besides, it leaves the reader to speculate about what his name was, fan engagement, you see.”
“Fan engagement my arse. You just couldn’t think of another fancy name.”
“Language, dear! And since you’ve read my books, you’d know very well that I based him on Raphael, the archangel. Protector and healer of all creation.” In truth, he based the character a little bit off of his husband, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Sure, I think you just didn’t know what to name him.”
“And technically! Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t even ‘Him’s’, you know, they are both divine beings void of gender!”
As if it were an age old argument, his husband rolls his eyes almost cartoonlike, “Yes, yes, but who cares, they are both so queer it’s insane.”
He can’t deny that one, “Oh alright, you made your point, dear. But either way, they are hopelessly in love with each other, no matter who they are or what body they inhabit. That’s all that matters, right?”
He takes pity on his husband, and his soon to be sore neck from leaning over that far on the back of his chair. He lightly pulls him around and gestures to the sofa beside him, the usual lounging spot his husband takes up while he writes.
But of course, the sensible option is foiled as wiry legs straddle him on his writing chair that is not quite big enough for two.
Admitting defeat, he pulls his husband in by the waist and holds him there, a smile now blooming across both their faces.
“Okay, so they love each other that much, but in three books, you only have one kissing scene! And it’s not even a good one because they both run away after it happens!” A teasing look appears on his face, and he squeezes his waist a little tighter in reprimand.
“You just want the whole book to be about them kissing.” He pokes at his husband’s sides lightly, making him squirm in his lap.
“Correction, I want all three books to be about them kissing. You don’t write enough porn in your books, angel.”
“You snake! I don’t write porn, dear. I write sensible love stories.” He fakes offence and leans in closer.
“Even sensible love stories,” said in a forced posh accent, “have a little kissin. Come on, give the people what they want!”
Just to be a tease, long fingers were sliding lower over his chest and poking lightly at the worn shirt and cardigan he was wearing, sending tingles down his body.
On the other hand, his husband’s modern and quite ridiculous looking ‘hoodie,’ as he insisted it was called, was riding up his waist. Slowly revealing a small line of skin at his hips.
He let his eyes trace up and down the form in front of him, just because he could.
Before he could think of a good comeback, he continued, “You at least have to add in a good sex scene at the end. I mean, they save the world and can finally be together, right? Why not have a good three ish chapters of sex?”
“Three? No, dear, one maximum.”
“One? That’s not even a good blowjob, you need at least three for good sex.” A teasing smile lights up his husband’s face as he leans down and noses at his exposed neck.
“If you keep distracting me, I won’t get to any kissing scenes.” But even so, he trailed his fingers along the now visible line of skin. He wasn’t going to get much more writing done anyway, his husband was too enticing.
“Hmm why don’t I give you some inspiration then?” He pulled back just enough to see his eyebrows wiggling on his forehead in what was meant to be a suggestive manner. It was mostly just funny, but it still did the trick.
“Oh? And what kind of inspiration would that be?”
“How about I show you what those three chapters are for hm?” he let his husband roam his body slowly as he went back to placing wet kisses on his jawline.
A soft groan could be heard, and in all honesty, he didn’t know who had made the sound, but it didn’t matter.
“I am not writing three chapters of sexual content, dear.”
“Three!”
“One!”
“Two final offer”
“Oh alright, fine. Two chapters of bliss while they enjoy their lives together, with a mild hint of sexual content.” His argument was getting weaker by the second, though, as his grip on his husband’s thighs tightened.
“Ugh no fun, angel.”
A nip at his neck sent a louder groan out of his mouth this time, and his hands slid to grab at his husband’s behind in encouragement.
A low rumble escaped his husband’s throat, and it sent tingles up his spine.
“So I guess you don’t want my inspiration then hm?” It sounded like a threat, but he was burrowing closer by the second.
“I never said that, dear.” He reached up and pulled his husband into a kiss with a soft hand around his jaw.
Right as it deepened, a yelp escaped his husband’s throat as he was hoisted up and essentially wrapped around his waist.
Thin legs wrapped around him, and arms linked behind his neck as he carried his husband in the direction of a much more comfortable bedroom.
Pen and paper, and a now cold tea sat forgotten on the desk. They could clean up tomorrow or the next day. Even if they weren’t immortal like the characters in his book, they had each other.
And that’s all that matters.