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Knuckles familiar with the warm brown wood of the doorframe of the bookshop on the corner rapped against it twice. The figure inside, clad in various shades of white and cream didn’t turn around. He, with his messy platinum curls, continued sorting the large array of books in front of him.
“I—I’m afraid we’re closed!” the man shouted to the door. Though muffled by the various layers of wall and window, the warm familiarity of his voice made the visitor sport the slightest hint of a smile.
“Ah, yeah, it’s me, angel,” the visitor shouted back, stepping closer to the glass so, if the bookseller turned around, he would be able to see the entirety of his face. And that he did, swiftly about-facing to see the visitor with a bright curiosity on his face. Once met with the welcome sight of the tall, sunglasses-sporting man across the glass partition, he beamed with excitement.
“Crowley!” He exclaimed as his feet trod to the door. Fumbling with the lock, he looked up to see the visitor, Crowley’s, face again. After it was unlocked, the man in white stepped aside for Crowley to open the door. The little bell above the frame dinged softly as the dark figure stepped inside, looking around to take in the whole place.
“You haven't changed a thing, have you?” he asked finally, tilting down his sunglasses to reveal bright yellow eyes with dark slits for pupils, like that of a snake’s.
The bookseller laughed nervously, “Well, you of all people know how I like my consistency, dear friend.”
A few more moments passed with Crowley examining the unchanged bookshop, before the other man spoke.
“How—how are you here? Weren’t you in deep trouble for that stunt a few weeks ago?”
“Which one?”
“When my miracles were limited and you helped me save that poor woman in trouble?”
Crowley cringed at the thought, pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his slender nose and taking a seat in the plush armchair that was holding up a stack of unsteady books.
“Look, it was a heat of the moment thing and I—“
He cut himself off as he met the knowing smile of the man in white. Under his glasses, he rolled his eyes.
“Oh, shut it, Aziraphale.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Aziraphale pointed out with a delightedly amused tone. He sat in the chair across from Crowley.
“Cheeky bugger,” Crowley muttered, “An-Anyway, higher-ups found out the kid in her stroller was supposed to grow up to be some… molester or serial killer or something.”
Aziraphale gasped, “That’s terri—“
“Ah, there’s thousands of ‘em anyway, what’s one more?” Crowley cut him off. His passiveness made Aziraphale glance at the ground.
“C’mon angel, it saved me a few years’ punishment didn’t it?” Crowley prompted. Aziraphale sighed.
“…I suppose I’ll just have to keep an eye on the boy…” he murmured before looking back up at Crowley.
“Right,” Crowley said, “Anyway, they let me go, but they wanted to make sure I wouldn’t do it again, even if the kid is evil.”
He looked out the window and said, disappointedly, “So they made me cut my hair.”
Aziraphale now took the opportunity to ogle the new hairstyle the demon was sporting in his gorgeous dark red hair. Changing up his hair was a common occurrence for Crowley, so when the bookseller had seen the new look, he had stored it in the “ask later” part of his mind. Before, Crowley had had shoulder-length waves, and now it was tidy and short except for the large styled mass on the very top.
“Looks nice,” Aziraphale commented dismissively. He had a whole lot more to say, but it didn’t feel like the right time.
“Well, of course it looks nice, but I didn’t want to cut it for another decade or so.” Crowley growled.
“You’ll be ahead of the curve.”
“Yeah, I’m a real trendsetter.”
Silence passed between them. Terrible awkward silence that made one’s mind race with the worst kinds of anxious thoughts.
“…Tea?” Aziraphale offered.
“No thanks.” Crowley said. Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit he had picked up over the millennia that made his face look terribly upset. Crowley noticed.
He always noticed.
He sighed and took his dark glasses off.
“Sorry, angel—I just… well, you know how I hate having to deal with those… those…”
“Stuck-up prissies?”
“Well, that’s more eloquent than I would’ve put it, but yes…”
“Oh yes, believe me, I understand.” Aziraphale agreed, relaxing more into his armchair, “I understand…”
“Good, yeah…” Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale with a dazed expression, “Do you ever…”
“Hmm?”
“No, forget it.”
Any other time, Aziraphale would have listened to the demon. But, be it the excitement of seeing Crowley again or some other feeling deep down, he kept pushing.
“What is it, Crowley?” He pressed, leaning forward, with both his hands gripping the arms of the chair. Crowley looked away, twiddling his sunglasses in his hands.
“It’s nothing, angel.” he reassured. Aziraphale was not convinced.
“Crowley—?”
“FINE! Have you ever… Would… well if you… If you really want to stick it to those…”
“Stuck-up prissies?”
“Yes, them… what if we did something they would throw a fit over?”
“What did you have in mind?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes gleaming with a barely suppressed need to rebel. God Satan Fuck, why was he so adorable?
“Well once one thing both heaven and hell hate?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale was quiet with contemplation for a moment.
“…Fraternization?”
“Bingo!” Crowley said, “So?”
“But… we’re already… friends. What more can we do?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley, now entirely unabashed, stood and walked over to the angel. He crouched beside him.
“You’re clever, angel, why don’t you figure it out?” Crowley’s tone was donned with the same ornate playfulness that appeared when he was excited about a scheme. Aziraphale’s mind was racing, not just with solutions to the question, but simply with the closeness of the beautiful man in front of him.
He couldn’t be suggesting what he thought he was, could he?
It seemed so. Aziraphale tentatively trailed his hands up to Crowley’s sturdy shoulders. He looked into the demon’s snake-like eyes for reassurance. Some may find his eyes unsettling, but for Aziraphale, they were the prettiest he had ever seen.
“You wanna piss off those bitchy angels? Gabriel?” Crowley asked, “Take what you want, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale steadied his shaking breath. His hands firmly gripped the leather jacket atop Crowley’s shoulders.
“What if we—? If I really—What would they do to us?” he asked cautiously. Crowley laughed, low and rough.
“Live like a demon for once, angel.” he murmured.
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Act first, think later.”
In a swift series of actions, Aziraphale knocked Crowley off balance as he gently (though he was trying to be rough, this was the closest he could get) pulled the demon down. When their lips met, it quickly turned from an act of rebellion to a payoff of thousands of years of unspoken emotion. Crowley steadied himself with both his hands gripping the arms of the chair, practically caging in Aziraphale.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale squeaked quietly, as the other man placed reverent kisses on his cheek.
“Mmh, yes, angel?” Crowley murmured, pausing his ministrations.
“Was this really just to… ‘piss them off’…?” he said “piss” like it physically hurt him to swear.
“What do you think, Aziraphale?” Crowley said, quirking up an eyebrow.
“I think we’re getting carried away…”
Crowley sighed quietly. Goody-two-shoes Aziraphale, never let himself sin for more than a minute or two at a time. But as he tried to pull away from the chair, Aziraphale yanked him back down.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t welcome,” he said firmly. Crowley chuckled.
“You’re evil.”
“I simply go with heaven as far as I can, dear.”
The pure angel inside the bookseller seemed to get a little blemished that day. But it didn’t matter, really. That’s what forgiveness was for, wasn’t it?