Work Text:
Aziraphale finally set down his book, looking up at the stairs from his seat on the armchair. He had been ready to go for half an hour and was starting to get restless.
They had a big night out planned for dinner at his favourite sushi restaurant, followed by a screening of a classic martial arts film at the Phoenix. He wasn’t quite sure about the latter activity, but Crowley had seemed so enthusiastic that he couldn’t bear to dampen his spirits. At least there would be drinks. And anyway he didn’t much care what they did as long as they did it together. He was eager to get going, but Crowley was still upstairs getting ready and taking forever about it.
It had been six months since the events of the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t, and the dizzying aftermath. Six months since Crowley had moved into the bookstore with him, and six months since his life had become utterly, blindingly happy. They’d settled into a very comfortable new routine together; it was similar to their old routine, only in much closer proximity, and their relationship had lost the tension and restraint of the past millennia.
It had gained a few wonderful things as well. As it turned out, there were other elements of the physical human experience that they enjoyed just as much as wine and fine food.
Aziraphale glanced up at the stairs again, suddenly impatient to see Crowley’s face.
For so many years he’d been certain that the feelings pricking at him were some kind of infernal temptation. A lure to be righteously resisted and firmly ignored. The thought seemed beyond ridiculous now; it was plain as the rising sun that the love he shared with his demon was as pure and real as anything else in this world, and to Hell with whatever the powers-that-be thought of it. The rebellious thought still gave him an instinctive quiver of anxiety on occasion, but he had learned to ignore it. He had come so close to missing out on all this for no reason at all, and he was not giving it up now.
Sighing, he stood and paced idly back and forth a few times with hands clasped behind his back, then wandered around the room, adjusting books on their shelves and humming to himself.
Just then the bedroom door finally opened, and as Crowley came down the stairs Aziraphale nearly dropped the book he was holding in surprise. Crowley was already wearing his sunglasses, per the usual, but he was also wearing the stylish, dark navy suit and shirt that Aziraphale had chosen for him a couple months ago. At the time the demon had reacted like he was brandishing a sword at him instead of clothes, demanding to know what was wrong with what he already wore. Aziraphale had set it aside with a resigned sigh, and it had hung unworn in the wardrobe ever since.
Until now, that is. Crowley had apparently decided to indulge him today. Aziraphale eyed him, and bit back a huge smile as he watched him pace across the room to stand by the door. Crowley held himself like an offended cat, but oh heavens did he look beautiful. The deep blue-black colour perfectly complimented the reddish hue in his hair, he noted with satisfaction, and the close cut lent a sense of elegance to his angular shape. So lovely. It set his heart thumping and had him seriously second-guessing their decision to go out. He walked over and took Crowley’s arm possessively, careful to keep his smile from growing too wide. There was no sense rubbing it in more than absolutely necessary.
He felt deliriously happy.
“You look very nice, my love,” was all he said.
As they stepped outside into the cold February evening, a particularly well-dressed demon was fidgeting with a small item in his pocket. He had, in fact, been fidgeting with it nonstop for the past three hours.
He was also sweating profusely.
Crowley had given a great deal of thought to this, and had concluded that it was stupid and unnecessary.
Completely stupid. Totally unnecessary.
Yet here he was.
He might not even go through with it, if he didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t a big deal at all. Aziraphale probably wouldn’t even make as big a deal of this as he was doing. There was no reason whatsoever to be nervous.
None at all.
He sweated harder.
“What say we go get some hot cocoa for dessert after dinner?” Aziraphale asked at his side. The angel was walking with an arm looped through his and an air of utmost contentment. “It’s perfect brisk weather for it.” He beamed at Crowley and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheekbone, lingering just a touch too long to be chaste.
Crowley’s heart immediately went into overdrive, adding fresh fuel to his jitteriness.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Sounds good, yeah.” He shifted his shoulders in the unfamiliar jacket. He wished it was a bit looser.
Aziraphale looked at him, the faintest frown clouding his brow. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m great, I’m fine,” he said, striving for nonchalance and only managing to sound terse. He saw Aziraphale shoot him a curious glance, but the angel said nothing more.
Crowley bit his lip and gave himself a mental shake as they approached the car. He had to pull it together; there was still dinner to get through, and the film after that. He tried to think calming thoughts, but it was difficult. Great blooms of heat seemed to be flaring out from somewhere under his sternum, running along his extremities to erupt into sweat on his brow and palms. He surreptitiously wiped a hand down the side of his jacket, and looked in dismay at the visible mark it left. He banished the stain with a quick mental command.
He sent a silent plea to whatever Entity might be listening that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice anything.
Something was up with Crowley; Aziraphale was sure of it now.
He sat in the passenger seat of the Bentley, watching him with concern. Crowley was staring fixedly ahead at the road, with none of the casual enjoyment he usually took in driving his car, and both hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than was strictly necessary. The glasses made it harder to see his expression, but Crowley was never exactly subtle in his body language.
At first Aziraphale had thought he was just uncomfortable in the new clothes. He had fretted in quiet guilt about that for a few minutes before he realised it must be something more. He was very good at reading Crowley’s moods, despite how endearingly he tried to remain stoic, and what Crowley was was anxious. He was so anxious that the angel could see little beads of sweat on his temples despite the chill weather. He kept getting distracted by odd things and seemed barely aware of his surroundings. He had nearly run over three separate pedestrians with the Bentley on the short drive to the restaurant, and hadn’t even snarked once when Aziraphale exclaimed at him to watch where he was going.
It would have all been kind of funny if he weren’t getting steadily more alarmed.
They arrived at the restaurant, pulled into a parking space with a jerk, and Crowley moved to open his door. Aziraphale put a hand on his arm, restraining him. “Sweetheart,” he said, using the pet name that always got his attention. He reached out and gently removed the dark glasses so he could see his eyes, and Crowley looked at him with a slightly hunted expression.
“Sweetheart, if you don’t tell me what is going on I am not getting out of this car,” Aziraphale said with vigor. The angel was staring at him with that familiar determined expression on his face, looking like he was torn between exasperation and worry. “What’s wrong? Please tell me so I can fix it. Did I do something that upset you?”
Shit. Crowley groaned internally, and resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel. So much for playing it cool, he thought wretchedly. He had so badly wanted to do this right, to give Aziraphale a happy and carefree evening out first. That plan was not only shot, but shot out of a cannon to fly screaming into the sunset.
It was now or never.
He took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and turned in his seat to face the angel. “I have a present for you,” he said at last.
He scrubbed his damp fingers against his leg one more time and took Aziraphale’s hand in his; then he reached into his pocket and laid the object he had been fiddling with all day on the angel’s upturned palm.
It was a silver ring. It was shaped like a snake, elegantly curled to wrap around the finger in a perfect loop. The metal was heavily antiqued, making it more black than silver, and tiny detailed scales had been etched into its surface.
Aziraphale stared down at it, looking bewildered. “What...?” He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I thought you might want to wear it. For me,” Crowley said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, still holding the angel’s hand. “Since we’ve been, uh, living together for a while and humans generally expect- I mean, we’ve been on earth together so long and I thought we should formalise things...” he trailed off, swallowing convulsively.
He heard Aziraphale's slow intake of breath, and looked up to find wide eyes fixed on him. “Crowley...wait, are you asking me to....marry you?”
“Ah,” he said in a panic, staring determinedly back down at their hands. “Well. That would be the- the human interpretation, but if you don’t like that you can just ...wear it.” He felt like his throat was constricting as he spoke, his voice choking off inaudibly at the last syllable. “If you want,” he added in barely a whisper.
He reflected miserably that facing down the Devil Himself last year had been nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to sitting here holding his entire heart in his hands and just waiting for a response, waiting for Aziraphale to stop staring and say something already.
“It can just be a formality,” he said quickly, desperate to fill the stretching silence in the car. “It’s just, it’s what humans do, and since we’re going to live here, I...”
I think we should follow local custom, to blend in better. That was what he had planned to say, had started to say. But in that instant he made the mistake of looking into Aziraphale’s wide eyes, and all at once the yearning in his heart swelled too large to be contained in his chest. Before he knew what was happening, it had fountained up and was pouring out in an uncontrollable rush of words:
“I want you to be mine forever, and I want everyone who sees us to know that I’m yours.”
Aziraphale was staring down at the ring in his hand, filled with so much joy and tenderness that anything he had hoped to say vanished like a popping soap bubble. He tried again to speak, only to find that he couldn’t make a sound past the lump in his throat. He closed his fingers over the ring and held it tight, completely overcome. He looked back up again.
Crowley had stopped speaking and was just sitting there looking stricken, gazing into his eyes and waiting for him to respond. His face had blanched several shades paler until it was almost grey, and his slitted pupils were expanded to twice their usual size. His hand under Aziraphale’s was sweating so hard that it was just a little bit gross.
It was all so pitifully charming and ridiculous that Aziraphale burst out laughing in sheer glee. He covered his mouth with his other hand, trying to stifle it, but it kept bubbling out uncontrollably as Crowley just stared at him like he had gone mad. He finally found his voice.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head and swallowed the rest of his laughter, still smiling. “Oh, you complete, wonderful idiot. I already was yours forever. Of course I’ll wear it.” With that, Aziraphale seized the front of his suit, pulled him close and kissed him with all the urgent happiness that had suddenly bloomed in his chest. Crowley responded immediately, wrapping his free arm tightly around his shoulders; he felt wonderful and solid and so very warm.
They came up for air, and Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale's with an enormous sigh. “Oh good. That’s good then.” His colour was slowly flushing back to normal, and he had the slightly dazed, relieved look of someone who had barely evaded a firing squad.
“Was that really so bad?” Aziraphale teased reproachfully. He was still repressing the urge to laugh. “You had me very worried!”
”I wasn’t sure what you’d say,” Crowley admitted, looking embarrassed. “I thought you might see all this as more....temporary.”
“Temporary!” It was his turn to look at Crowley incredulously. He cupped his free hand to his face and forced the golden eyes to meet his own. “My dear, you are the least temporary thing in my entire life. I made my choice a long time ago. There’s no going back now even if I wanted to. And I don’t!” he added hastily.
Crowley finally smiled, mouth curling into that little smirk of his. ”So what you’re saying is that you’re stuck with me.”
“Yes, I guess I am,” he replied, blushing. “It’s very inconvenient.”
Crowley’s smirk widened into a grin, and he seemed to regain his equilibrium. “Well then.” He took Aziraphale’s hand and picked up the ring, then hesitated, raising an eyebrow. “Fourth finger?” he asked.
”Might as well,” Aziraphale said, feeling a giddy flutter in his stomach. “Since we’re doing the human thing.” They both watched as Crowley slid the ring onto his left hand, bending his will slightly to make sure it fit. Aziraphale flexed his fingers a couple times, admiring it and trying not to get choked up again.
“Oh!” he exclaimed excitedly as an idea occurred to him.
Aziraphale’s face brightened, and he tugged the familiar gold heraldic ring off his own right pinkie and held it out to him. “You can wear this.”
Crowley looked at it uncertainly. “Are you sure? You’ve always worn it; you love that ring.”
“Exactly. Now you can always wear it.” The angel beamed at him, eyes crinkling almost shut. “And I love you much, much more.”
A rush of happiness flooded through Crowley, so intense it made him dizzy. To his horror he felt a pricking in his eyes, and had to sit for a moment and fight for composure. When he was sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself he looked back up and held out his left hand.
Aziraphale frowned at the ring in concentration, and Crowley saw it expand slightly. The angel took his hand and slid it onto the fourth finger, and gazed at it with immense satisfaction. Crowley laced his left hand through Aziraphale’s soft one, palm to palm, feeling the two rings scrape against each other’s fingers.
This time it was the angel who leaned forward to touch his forehead to his. “To the End,” he said softly.
Crowley could barely trust his own voice, but he managed. ”To the End.”
Aziraphale kissed him lightly on the nose. “There. That’s settled.” He smiled excitedly. “Come on, the sushi isn’t going to eat itself.”
Crowley threw back his head and laughed, feeling lighter than he would have thought possible an hour ago. “Of course, angel. Whatever you want.”
He opened his door and got out of the car, experiencing the odd sensation that he was floating an inch or two above the pavement. He reached out toward Aziraphale, who stepped close and put an arm around his waist, leaning into him.
As they walked across the parking lot together he deliberately did not skip, or whistle, or pick up his angel and spin him around under the night sky like a fool.
He had a reputation to maintain, after all.