Aziraphale - Monday, just after tea
If prompted, Aziraphale would not deny that he loved Crowley. But he’d insist that the love was platonic. Even now, after the not-quite-end-of-the-world, when both of them were, well, free of their... let’s call if work obligations... even now he worked on this assumption. Because the alternative would be complicated, and right now things were so wonderfully simple. They liked spending time together, did so as often as every other day in fact, and wasn’t that enough? Aziraphale was a being of love. Finding himself free to love Crowley, all of the time and with his whole heart without fearing the consequences or feeling guilt - that was certainly enough.
Crowley - Tuesday, at bedtime, whenever that is
Crowley was not a being of love. Whatever he used to be, he had spent the last 6000 some years as a creature of vice, one of greed and lust and temptation. He just happened to love an angel. It was the most exquisite irony, really. In retrospect, he suspected he fell hopelessly in like with Aziraphale when he realized the perpetually kind-hearted angel had given away his flaming sword. After that it had been a matter of time and not very much of it. No, Crowley may not necessarily be a being of love, but he was certainly prone to the earthly kind, the one tangled with desires of the flesh, so to speak. And he wouldn’t mind, he really wouldn’t, if it happened to belong to Aziraphale. The soft vessel carrying a soft heart with absolutely delicious sparks of rebellion, of questions, the very thing that made it possible for him to befriend a demon. In his darkest moments Crowley considered tempting Aziraphale into his bed, and catch him as he fell from Grace. It had stayed a fantasy because he’d sooner end his own existence than break the angel’s heart like that. Aziraphale’s little rebellions were all too subtle, too nice, for him to truly fit among the fallen. If he was too soft for Heaven he would certainly be too soft for Hell.
But he could entertain the thought, stroke his own flesh as he filled his mind with images of his angel with the sweet smile. And now, with them both being free, he could hypothetically do so much more.
Crowley licked his lips, forked tip twitching in anticipation.
Aziraphale – Wednesday, bedtime
While Aziraphale wasn’t big on sleeping, he was very fond of reading in bed. It was cozy. He wore a long nightshirt, reading glasses and had a sensibly striped night cap on his head with the long pointy end resting across his shoulder. Granted, it was rather warm, but he thought it looked spiffy. In his hands he held a book that a customer had kindly recommended to him once, telling him that he would like it. The man had even winked at him, so it had taken the end of the world for him to finally dust the book off and read it. Color rose on his neck as he read out loud from E.M Forster’s Maurice.
“’I think you’re beautiful, the only beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. I adore you’”, he read quietly.
The room seemed to echo with the charged words, as if sensing that the receiving end of the confession was a real person, not a fictional one. He put the book aside, sadness welling up from the deepest unknown parts of his very soul. The shadowy little cracks and crevices he stuffed with guilty love, memories and desires, hidden away from the unforgiving holy light of Heaven. Crowley’s relentless insistence on friendship, ignoring the authorities that ruled them both. Aziraphale had to try very hard not to find it inspiring. Not to let the sweet little gestures warm his heart too much. But the demon could see right through him, and bles- curs- something him, seemed to know the truth, even if Aziraphale could not confess it out loud.
If it wasn’t for Crowley they would never had joined forces to begin with. They wouldn’t have been friends. They wouldn’t have united in an effort to save the world. And as incompetent as they both were, if it wasn’t for Crowley they wouldn’t have spoken to Adam, who wouldn’t have stopped the End.
Crowley was brave.
But perhaps that could change. As he sat there, thousands of memories of Crowley elbowing each other aside in his head, he began to long for his demon friend. A longing so deep it dug a hole in his chest and turned his vision blurry.
Crowley - Friday, well past closing time
“You brought cupcakes?” Aziraphale sounded delighted and Crowley preened in response, leaning into the angel’s personal space like a cat against a leg.
“Angel cakes, actually”, he replied.
“Now there’s a nickname.” A flash of a grin, then Aziraphale turned away quickly as if he had said a little too much. “Oh look, they got little wings and everything!”
Apparently eager to change the subject. Crowley took pity on him, like he always did.
“Yeah.” As soon as he stepped inside the old bookshop he took off his sunglasses, not bothering extending the effort to camouflage his eyes. “You got tea?”
Aziraphale paused to look over his shoulder.
”I thought perhaps, given the late hour… some wine?”
The demon perked up at the offer, accepting the glass when it was handed to him. They ended up on the couch, Crowley half sprawled, very content as he swallowed a mouthful of wine and watched his angel gradually relax.
”I read a good book”, the angel blurted out suddenly, and there was just enough nervous excitement in his voice to shut down Crowley’s knee-jerk snark. Instead he pursed his lips.
”Yeh? What’s it about, then?”
”About… well, love.”
Crowley grimaced by reflex, an instinctive sneer that had taken him the better part of a century to perfect. Aziraphale looked slightly deflated and he hurried to reassure him.
”Oh, you know me, angel.” It was the verbal equivalent of a soft nudge. ”It’s like spraying a cat with water, using that word at a demon.”
Aziraphale smiled, understanding as ever, but the excitement didn’t return to his eyes and that unnerved Crowley more than he could say. There was a few moments of silence.
”It made me think about us”, Aziraphale said quietly and yellow eyes widened next to him.
”Yeh?” Crowley pawed at his own chest in an effort to smooth out his shirt as he struggled to sit up straighter. Fuck me, this is it.
”I thought maybe there were… things worth exploring now…” The angel’s voice was so soft Crowley wanted to bite him.
”Now that we’re not constantly being watched…”
We probably are, but in a minute that cunt will avert his purple eyes. He didn’t say that of course, only gave his angel a small, indulgent smile. He got a shy one in return but the spark was back in the blue eyes. They looked at each other, searched each other’s faces for things only they knew. Quiet, unspoken things.
”I haven’t paid much attention to the physical side of love”, Aziraphale confessed.
”Not surprised, part of the job description, isn’t it?” Crowley sniffed. ”Well, there was the embarrassing thing with the nephilim…”
”Yes, yes! That. I remember.” Aziraphale sounded like he rather wouldn’t. ”But… I’m just saying… maybe it would be a nice thing, to pay more attention.”
He looked at Crowley expectantly.
”Well then. If you’re up for a spot of experimentation, I’m game”, Crowley said.
Aziraphale nervously turned his glass around and around in his hands, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it. Crowley’s words opened the door to all sorts of indecent thoughts. Apparently he had no poker face because the demon reclined back in his seat with a sigh.
“Guess not”, he muttered and Aziraphale immediately looked up.
“That’s not what I meant”, he blurted out quickly and Crowley’s brows lifted. Aziraphale squirmed as the yellow eyes studied him.
“You’ve been thinking about this”, came the soft hiss and Crowley leaned forward again, resting his arms on his knees. “Come now, angel. Tell me one thing you’ve been thinking about. Just one.”
Aziraphale swallowed convulsively, opening and shutting his mouth as he tried to form a coherent thought.
“I can’t”, he whispered mournfully, then added quickly when Crowley seemed to be about to retreat again: “But I... I want to.” That seemed to do the trick with the demon, because there was an immediate shift towards him.
“Fair enough. So tell me one thing that you liked.” The voice was low and intimate. “One instance that made you think.”
That was easier. He didn’t have to interpret anything, just say something that happened that he liked.
“Well, there was this thing you did. Or we did. At the hospital, you know?”
“Yes?” Crowley encouraged, and the lack of impatience gave Aziraphale enough courage to finish the thought.
“When the nun interrupted us?”
He could practically see the cogwheels turning behind the luminous reptilian eyes.
“When I pushed-“
“Yes”, Aziraphale interrupted hurriedly. “That. I rather liked that.”
Long moments of silence and Aziraphale thought that maybe he had ruined things, misinterpreted Crowley’s interest altogether... then the demon stood up, downing the last of his wine.
“Get up, angel”, he said as he put down his glass. When Aziraphale hesitantly rose, he found himself firmly grabbed by the front of his pullover and backed into the wall. Crowley’s tall, sinewy body was pressed against him, pinning him flat against the unmoving surface. Just like last time he felt a tingle of anticipation, a warmth building in his belly.
Crowley was observing him closely, but he could tell the demon was enjoying himself. The very thought brought on another thrill and he shivered. As before he kept his hands flat to the wall, still resisting the temptation to touch.
“We shouldn’t”, he said in a scandalized whisper. To his surprise Crowley only smiled, brushing their faces together in a unexpected tender gesture.
“All these yearss...” the demon whispered. “You’ve kept saying that. Happy for me to make it happen anyway, weren’t you angel? Me, getting my rebellious hands dirty while keeping you blameless and pure.”
Aziraphale blinked at the accusation because it was true. A thousand apologies was on the tip of his tongue before he realized that there was no bitterness in Crowley’s voice. No real accusation, just stating facts. Nonetheless, Aziraphale felt himself blush.
“We-well, - I - while that may have merit, see, I-“
“Do you want me to make you, angel?” Crowley murmured, his face so very, very close. Aziraphale’s lips parted on a weak exhale. He wanted to point out that he couldn’t, that as an angel he was far from as helpless as his demeanor suggested - but that was rather the point wasn’t it? Both of them knew they were well matched in power, but the thought of them fighting was as alien as the thought of Crowley actually wanting to force Aziraphale to do anything. In fact, it might be the only thing left that he had perfect trust in.
His thoughts spun around the tendrils of guilty pleasure, like small fires lit under his skin. Still he couldn’t bring himself to answer and his eyes darted, suddenly worried that Crowley would step away. A small sound of protest escaped him as he felt the grip on his pullover loosen, convinced that he was right and that his friend would leave... then a long-fingered hand cupped the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek. He closed his eyes briefly.
“Angel?” The tender affection in Crowley’s voice made him open his eyes, and he found himself staring into a pair of golden eyes. ”Too fast?”
Aziraphale dropped his gaze briefly and shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.
”No... just the right speed, really...” Aziraphale heard himself say. Was that breathless voice really his? His eyes dropped to Crowley’s mouth and the wily old serpent’s lips quirked in a smile. Whether it was from amusement or something else he didn’t know but there was affection in the eyes that spread like balm over his nerves. He lifted his hand and gently touched his friend’s face, fingers idly tracing the sharp jawline. It seemed to be enough of an invitation, because the response was instantaneous. Crowley leaned in and brushed their lips together in a slow, lingering kiss.
Our very first.
They kept kissing, slowly sliding, nudging, lips parting to share warm breaths while gently touching each others faces with reverence. All thoughts of anything beyond that, the guilty thrill of being pinned against the wall, of being made - if only playfully - to accept their love... all that melted away in this moment. They kissed as if they would be doing it for the next six thousand years.