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Crowley twirled his clean fork on the tabletop as Aziraphale finished his last bit of dessert. It was evening now, the afternoon passed in a tide of food and idle conversation. Definitely past time for them to go their separate ways, unless Crowley could find another pretense to extend their time together.

Armageddon had been nice in that respect.

“So, what next?” he said, feigning casualness by leaning back and stretching. “Back to yours, continue the celebration with a bottle of wine?”

It was, after all, the very first day of the rest of their lives. Crowley was going to milk the opportunity for all it was worth.

“Actually,” Aziraphale said, “I was thinking we could go to yours.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. Aziraphale never went to Crowley’s—and he meant never. Aziraphale hadn’t even known where Crowley lived until last night, when they’d come up with the idea to swap bodies.

“My place?” Crowley said. “Not much there, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it has exactly what we need.”

Crowley had no idea what that meant, nor the little smile that accompanied it, but if Aziraphale actively wanted to spend more time with him today, he wasn’t about to fight it.

They took a cab back, since Aziraphale had left the Bentley back at Crowley’s place.

Huh.

“Can you drive?” Crowley had never thought about it before.

“What?” Aziraphale said.

“I mean, do you know how?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, looking down at his hands, “I’ve done it once or twice. Er. It’s been a while, I suppose.”

“You don’t like to,” Crowley surmised. “You made me eat ice cream to keep up appearances, but you couldn’t drive a few miles? Pretty sure Hastur knows I love my car more than Sandalphon knows you have a sweet tooth.”

“But that’s just it, you love it,” Aziraphale said. “What if I’d dinged it up?”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a condescending tilt of his head and mimed snapping his fingers.

Aziraphale sighed. “Alright, alright. I suppose the idea of being in that car without you just felt… strangely unsettling. And besides,” he added quickly, “I didn’t want to drive it without your permission.”

Crowley didn’t allow Aziraphale’s hasty addendum to distract him from his first admission, that he’d felt unsettled. It made sense, then. After all, he’d had to go into Aziraphale’s bookshop on his own. The only other time he’d been there without Aziraphale was when it’d been burning. That had been frantic and terrible, but something about seeing the bookshop perfectly restored but sans angel had been worse.

Well, no. Not worse. Nothing could be worse than the fire, than thinking that Heaven or Hell or someone had beat him there, that Aziraphale was dead. But there was still some bad feeling, right there in the pit of his stomach, when he’d stood alone in the restored bookshop. Like he was standing in the middle of a relic, maybe, preserved from a time past.

Whatever it was about it, unsettling was a good word for it.

Crowley sucked in a breath through his teeth. No point dwelling on it now. They were both fine. The next time he went into the bookshop, Aziraphale would be there, same as always.

Perhaps they should take a ride out somewhere in the Bentley soon.

“Well, if you ever wanted to take her for a spin,” Crowley said, hoping he hadn’t let the silence carry on for too long, “I don’t mind. We could go to the countryside or something. Have that picnic.”

He winced. Stupid, referencing that night from half a century ago. He really didn’t want Aziraphale to know just how often he replayed that particular conversation, wondering if he could have said or done something different.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. Breathed, really. A soft exhalation, like there was something wondrous about what Crowley had suggested.

And maybe there was, who knows. Maybe Aziraphale thought about that conversation too, thought about the suggestion—go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz—that Crowley had turned into a promise. They’d dined at the Ritz a dozen times by now, but they’d yet to go on a picnic.

Funny, Crowley would have thought the fancy restaurant would be the bigger thing, but it turned out, you could go out to eat whenever without much forethought. A picnic required lots of forethought. Lots of planning and preparing, and then when they finally got there, it was just going to be the two of them. No waiters, no background chatter. Just them.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Yes, that sounds rather lovely.”

“Yes, well,” Crowley mumbled. “Whenever you want, let me know. We’ll make a day of it.”

And then he turned and stared out the window all the way back to his apartment complex. He collected himself as they took the lift up to the penthouse.

“So, what have we got here that’s exactly what we need?” Crowley asked as he shut and locked the door behind them.

He brought a hand up to his sunglasses frames, then hesitated; he never wore them at home, but then again, he’d never had Aziraphale in his home, either.

He glanced over; Aziraphale was watching him quietly, patiently waiting for him to make a decision.

Crowley took them off.

He set the glasses on the desk and stuffed his hands into his pockets, and gave Aziraphale a look. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or even what he wanted, but Aziraphale didn’t say anything, just gave a little smile that eased a twinge in Crowley’s chest.

Aziraphale turned deeper into the flat. “A bed,” he finally answered, leading the way there in sure strides.

Crowley followed at a more leisurely pace. “Oh, poked around when we swapped faces, did you?”

He leaned against the doorframe to the bedroom. It was a nice room. Granted, the only furniture in it was a bed, but it was a nice bed: dark oak bed frame, king-sized mattress padded with memory foam, 1200-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, thick down duvet, plush pillows. Crowley was a big fan of sleep and as such spent most of his time at home in this room; it wouldn’t do for it to be uncomfortable.

Aziraphale paused by the bed and turned back to Crowley, brows dipped in concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just, I’d never seen your place before—”

Crowley stopped him with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got nothing to hide. So, why the bed? Finally tempted by the idea of sleep?”

“Not quite,” Aziraphale said with a secretive little smile. “Come here.”

Crowley pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered over. “What is it?”

Aziraphale held out a hand, palm up. Crowley frowned, but he reached out when Aziraphale beckoned. The moment his fingertips brushed Aziraphale’s palm, Aziraphale took his hand and tugged him in. His other hand slid behind Crowley’s neck and his lips crushed against Crowley’s before Crowley realized what was going on.

“Mmph!” he said, and Aziraphale slipped his tongue between Crowley’s parted lips.

Fire sparked and blossomed in Crowley’s stomach, and he stopped thinking for a moment to just focus on kissing Aziraphale back. One hand was still being held fast by Aziraphale; the other dove into the soft curls of his hair. Aziraphale’s breath and lips and hands and tongue were warm everywhere, and the fire spread down to between Crowley’s legs until he felt like he was melting.

Crowley didn’t whimper; a whimper was wrenched from his lungs, and somehow that gave him enough clarity to pull sharply away. He anchored both his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and breathed hard through his mouth.

“Azira—I—what are you doing?”

Aziraphale, for his part, looked genuinely bemused. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Crowley gaped. “I, uh, only if the answer is kill me.”

“I beg your pardon!” Aziraphale said. “I would never do anything of the sort.” He glanced down, then back up. “I was… am trying… to seduce you.”

“Seduce me,” Crowley repeated. His body tingled with slowly-building panic. He could still feel Aziraphale’s mouth on his, his tongue, and the molten heat between his legs pulsed. His heart beat erratically in his chest. He dropped his hands and let his arms hang limp at his sides. “You know you don’t have to.”

Aziraphale stepped forward into Crowley’s space. He brushed a curled finger across Crowley’s cheekbone. “What’s wrong, love?”

Crowley jerked back, feeling burned. He always forced himself not to think too much of it whenever Aziraphale called him dear; that was just how he spoke. But he’d never called Crowley, or anyone (so far as he knew, anyway), love. There was no excusing this one away.

This one was deliberate.

Aziraphale looked confused, and a little hurt, and Crowley closed his eyes.

“You don’t have to,” he said again, carefully, “go so fast for my sake.”

He opened his eyes. Aziraphale was looking at him tenderly, so tenderly.

“Oh, Crowley,” he said. “I want this, I promise.” He held out his hand, just as before. “You’re not the only one who’s been waiting.”

Crowley hesitated, and Aziraphale gave him an encouraging smile. Tentatively, Crowley set his hand on Aziraphale’s. This time, Aziraphale didn’t grab hold and pull him in. This time, he waited. Waited as Crowley pressed their palms together. Waited as he adjusted it so that he had his fingers wrapped around Aziraphale’s, as he lifted Aziraphale’s hand up and turned it over to press a tender kiss to his knuckles.

Aziraphale made a soft, satisfied noise, and thousands of years of tension and longing bled out of Crowley, slow and sluggish.

“How long have you…?”

“How long have I what?” Aziraphale’s voice was hushed. “Wanted you? Loved you? Known you felt the same?” He paused. “Admitted any of this to myself? The answers are all different, I’m afraid.”

“I just need to know you won’t regret it,” Crowley said, keyed in for the slightest sign of hesitance, already mentally packing up his heart, already preparing to leave—

Aziraphale cupped his cheek. “Never, Crowley.”

Crowley swallowed. Aziraphale studied him, squinting a bit. And then, very slowly, he leaned in and pressed their mouths together. There was something much more controlled about this kiss than their first, but Crowley sank helplessly into it all the same. He gave himself over, let Aziraphale take the lead as they kissed and kissed and kissed. Aziraphale nipped at his lower lip and Crowley shuddered. The embers in his gut flared back to life.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s coat off his shoulders. Crowley did his best to help him along without breaking their kiss, which ended up with him twisting his arm in a lot of awkward angles, but it got the job done. The coat hit the floor, then his scarf, then Aziraphale clumsily unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt and shed him of that, too.

And then his hands were roaming all over Crowley’s bare torso, leaving a hot trail wherever he touched. Aziraphale’s thumb brushed over Crowley’s nipple and he whined, deep in his throat.

He broke the kiss at last. “Not fair,” he panted. Aziraphale’s lips were shiny, his cheeks splotched red, and Crowley groaned. He tugged at the lapels of Aziraphale’s coat. “You’ve got to lose all these layers, angel.”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale planted a quick kiss on Crowley’s jaw, then he shrugged off his coat, folded it neatly, and set it on the corner of the bed. Next he unbuttoned his waistcoat, folded it neatly, and set it on the corner of the bed.

When he started on his button-down shirt, Crowley said, “You know, I could just miracle it off.”

“You will not,” Aziraphale said primly, still unbuttoning. “I take great care of my clothes. I can’t have you magicking them to who-knows-where.”

“Right there. On top of your other clothes,” Crowley said.

“No, I don’t think so. This is my favorite shirt.”

“Your only shirt.”

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale said. “See, I’m done.” And he neatly folded the shirt and set it on the corner of the bed. “Now…”

Aziraphale stepped forward and drew Crowley into a long kiss. He was awfully good at those. Crowley was beginning to suspect that Aziraphale had done this before. Especially when he trailed the kisses down to Crowley’s neck and scraped his teeth over the delicate flesh.

Crowley ran his hands up Aziraphale’s back, reveling in the smooth, soft skin. He’d never had so much of Aziraphale, and all of this, all at once, was overwhelming. He was maybe feeling a little weak at the knees, and he clutched Aziraphale’s shoulders and whined.

It seemed to get the point across, because Aziraphale’s hands went down to Crowley’s trousers. It took a bit of wriggling to coax them off his hips and down his legs, and Aziraphale had to pull away from sucking on Crowley’s neck and collar to actually focus on it, but he managed it eventually, pulling them to mid-thigh and taking his pants down with it.

Aziraphale paused, and Crowley glanced down at the dark curls of hair framing his crotch.

“Oh yeah,” Crowley said. He’d kind of forgotten that he had a cunt. Or, not forgotten—hard to forget given how achingly wet he currently was—but forgotten that Aziraphale might not be expecting it.

His body had originally come with a penis, and so had Aziraphale’s. Crowley knew this not for any sexy reason, but because one time they’d gotten drunk and had a very long, rambling conversation about humans and gender, and angels and demons and their lack of gender, and how living on Earth among humans meant that most of the people they interacted with expected them to have gender.

Gender was weird. It was weird in a fun way for Crowley, but he knew Aziraphale was not so interested, simply deciding early on to present as male and leave it as that. The idea of experimenting with what sort of genitalia he possessed had probably never even occurred to him.

“So,” Crowley said. “That’s a thing.”

“Is it—ah—more pleasurable for you, like this?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hesitated. That was a good answer, but it wasn’t a true one by any means.

The thing was, Crowley didn’t actually have all that much practical experience with sex. He’d tried it a few times, reasons being a mix of curiosity, boredom, and demonic research (okay, that last one was more of an excuse; lust was a popular temptation and all, but Crowley rarely felt inclined to actually utilize it). It’d been fun enough, sex, but a lot of other things were fun, and less work.

Besides which, things got complicated once you’d involved other people. People had expectations, and Crowley was an occult being who apparently never aged. Even casual relationships could get awkward fast. Masturbation was less complicated, but it was still just something to do occasionally when he was bored.

Point being, Crowley couldn’t say he’d done it enough times to have any preference what sort of genitals he had for acts of a sexual nature.

“I don’t mind, of course,” Aziraphale said, a bit hastily, and Crowley realized he’d taken too long to answer.

“Ah, er, it’s not…” he stammered, then gave up. “It’s so my trousers fit better,” he muttered.

“Pardon?”

“My trousers,” Crowley said. “Fit better. When I don’t have to tuck anything.”

Aziraphale blinked at him owlishly. Then his shoulders shook and he started laughing. And he didn’t stop.

Crowley scowled. “Stop it.”

Aziraphale still did not stop. He patted Crowley’s cheek. “Oh, don’t frown, it’s just—pfft! Of course that’s why, I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“I can change it,” Crowley said. “If you prefer.”

Aziraphale stopped laughing then, though he maintained his grin. “Oh no, dear, whatever is more comfortable for you.” He laid a hand gently on Crowley’s side, thumb resting on his hip bone. “You’re beautiful.”

Crowley wanted to protest, more out of embarrassment than anything else, but, well. He did want Aziraphale to think he was beautiful.

So he didn’t say anything, just sank down onto the bed and pulled Aziraphale along with him.

“What do you want to do?” Crowley asked, hushed. He was flat on his back now, Aziraphale hovering above him with his arms braced on either side of his head.

“Anything,” Aziraphale said. “Everything. But, if you don’t mind, I thought perhaps I could start by taking you with my mouth. I do so want to know what you taste like.”

Oh, fuck. Crowley shivered with pleasure. “Yeah,” he breathed, “yeah, um, that works for me.”

There was a bit of an awkward shuffle as he kicked off his shoes and socks and wriggled his trousers all the way off. He was perpendicular on the bed, so Aziraphale prodded him to lie on it properly, then removed the rest of his clothes and followed. Suddenly there was so much of Aziraphale to take in: shoulders, stomach, thighs—and his cock, which definitely was as interested in the proceedings as Crowley’s cunt was.

Crowley swallowed and spread his legs a bit wider.

Aziraphale kneeled in the space between his legs and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s inner thigh. Crowley carefully modulated his exhale.

“So beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured against his skin. “Darling, you look delectable.”

Crowley groaned, mingled embarrassment and pleasure. He couldn’t put to words how much he’d wanted this, but Aziraphale seemed to know. Every soft kiss, every murmured admission of love and admiration unlocked something like relief in his chest. He went boneless under it.

Then Aziraphale pressed his mouth to Crowley’s cunt, and Crowley couldn’t stop the breathless whine. He both wanted to press his thighs together and let them fall wider apart. He was soaking, he knew, just from kissing, and he could feel Aziraphale’s tongue come out for a taste. For a split second, it tickled, but that was immediately flushed out by how good it felt, Aziraphale’s hot tongue pushing against his cunt. It teased at his hole before going up, and Aziraphale swirled the tip of his tongue over Crowley’s clit and Crowley shuddered. Then Aziraphale pressed his lips to his clit and sucked, and Crowley sobbed through the deep clench in his cunt.

“Oh, oh fuck, angel—”

Aziraphale couldn’t reply, of course, but he hesitated as if for a moment he’d been about to try, and a puff of hot breath against his cunt sent another shiver through Crowley’s body. He threw his hands over his head, casting about for one of his many pillows to dig his fingers into as Aziraphale went down on him. Crowley’s breaths were coming out quick and labored now. His thighs trembled at the sides of Aziraphale’s head.

And then Aziraphale pushed his tongue in, gripping Crowley’s hips to anchor himself, and Crowley’s mind blanked. The bed fell away and all he was aware of were those points of pressure—ten fingers on his hips, tongue pressing against the walls of his cunt, coaxing and stretching it open.

He was close now, and writhing as Aziraphale’s tongue worked inside him. He tried to say something encouraging, but the best he could manage was a string of enthusiastic non-words. Aziraphale gave a deft twist of his tongue, and Crowley cried out and came around him in hot, pulsing waves.

He came down from his orgasm panting and twitching. Aziraphale moaned against him, and the vibrations sent another ripple of pleasure through Crowley. He jerked helplessly as Aziraphale lapped up his come with utterly obscene, pleasured sounds.

“Oh, my love,” Aziraphale murmured, pulling away, and Crowley gave another shudder to see his lips and chin slick with come. “You taste divine.”

“Hey,” Crowley protested, just on principle. In actuality, he was flustered and pleased and more than a little out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. He thought for a moment. “Decadent?”

“Mm, better.” Crowley hummed. “What else… what else do you want?”

“Time for what you want, I should think,” Aziraphale said, and he licked the remnants of come from his lips.

Crowley, mesmerized by the brief pink flash of tongue, took a minute to respond, and when he did, all he could come up with was a very intelligent, “Uh.”

To be fair, Aziraphale had just eaten him out. What the fuck more could he want?

A lot of things. Definitely a lot of things.

“Crowley?”

Years and years of longing and now Crowley couldn’t come up with anything specific, only this one truth: “I just want to make you feel good.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said with immeasurable fondness.

He scooted up on the bed to kiss Crowley on the lips. In the process, his cock brushed against Crowley’s stomach, streaking pre-come onto him and eliciting a sharp moan. Aziraphale bucked his hips and gasped a startled noise into Crowley’s mouth. He rubbed down against Crowley and broke the kiss with a harsh exhale, and pressed his forehead to Crowley’s collar.

“It has been—a while,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose I’d forgotten a bit, how it feels.”

Aziraphale was pressed flush against Crowley now, cock trapped hot and hard between their bodies.

“Well, s’pose I should remind you,” Crowley said, a bit dazed.

Aziraphale mouthed at Crowey’s neck. “Good idea,” he murmured.

It took a moment for Crowley to shake himself into action, since his attention was being consumed by the warm soft everything currently smothering him. But he wanted to make Aziraphale feel good, which meant he couldn’t leave him to do all the work here. And so Crowley rolled them over so that Aziraphale was the one on his back and Crowley the one on top. Aziraphale looked up at him, all tender adoration. Crowley thought he might burst from it.

Crowley kissed him. “Gonna ride you now,” he said against Aziraphale’s lips. His cunt was already clenching pleasantly at the thought.

Aziraphale whimpered. Crowley sat up and kneeled over Aziraphale. He allowed himself a moment to admire, to run his hands down Aziraphale’s body, gently squeeze the fat bunched at the sides of his waist, before he lined himself up with Aziraphale’s cock and slowly lowered himself onto it.

A soft noise escaped him as the tip of Aziraphale’s cock slid inside him, drowned out by a much louder noise from Aziraphale. Aziraphale snapped his hips up, and his cock sank deep into Crowley’s slick cunt.

“Ow,” Crowley said drily.

“Sorry!” Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I was—”

“Eager?” Crowley tried to smirk, but he might have missed the mark. The pressure of Aziraphale’s cock inside him was just bordering on too tight. “It’s good,” he breathed. “Feels good.”

He shifted a little, finding a more comfortable position. His muscles relaxed slightly, and Aziraphale’s hips twitched beneath him.

“Stay still, now,” Crowley said.

He lifted himself up, then brought himself back down. Aziraphale’s cock slid smoothly through his cunt.

“Ohh.” Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut.

Crowley rode him, slowly at first, testing, then faster. Aziraphale was obviously doing his best to acquiesce to Crowley’s request to stay still. He pressed his hips down to the mattress and twisted and tangled his hands in the duvet. And all the while he was moaning and tipping his head back and saying things.

Things like, “You feel so good, my love,” and, “Oh, Crowley, you’re taking me so well,” and, “You’re doing so good, Crowley, Crowley—”

Thank whomever that Aziraphale couldn’t talk at the same time as he was going down on Crowley, because otherwise Crowley wouldn’t last a single minute. He’d probably talk about how wet Crowley was, just for him, what a good boy, and how very nice he tasted, and—

Crowley groaned and slammed down, taking Aziraphale down to the hilt. Aziraphale made a strangled noise, and the next time Crowley came down, Aziraphale bucked his hips up to meet him. One more thrust, and he was coming with a sweet, high cry. Crowley whimpered and collapsed onto Aziraphale, clutching at his shoulders as Aziraphale emptied himself inside him.

They lay like that for a moment.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured. “Thank you.”

Crowley nosed at Aziraphale’s neck. “Wasn’t exactly a hardship, angel.”

“No, not for the sex, you silly boy,” Aziraphale said. “Although that was very good, too. But I mean thank you for—everything. Come, would you let me look at you?”

Crowley grunted and slid off Aziraphale. Come dripped down his thighs, and he shuddered. Normally—or the few times he’d done this before, at least—he would discreetly miracle the mess away. Come was sticky, and uncomfortable on his cunt when it cooled. But something held him back this time. Maybe it was the fact that it was Aziraphale he was with this time. Crowley didn’t want to wipe away the evidence of their time together, none of it.

Of course, that might change if this became a regular practice, but for now he was content to leave the mess as he lay on his side to face Aziraphale.

“Here I am,” he said, and immediately felt foolish.

But Aziraphale smiled and leaned forward to press their lips together, tender. He pulled back with a happy little sigh.

“I love you, Crowley.”

Aziraphale had as good as said it—how long have I loved you?—but to hear it explicitly, pared down to the barest three words and spoken with such surety, sent Crowley’s heart fluttering. He wanted to say it back, of course he did. The words had been stewing in him for millennia.

But they seemed to get lost now on the way out.

Something must have shown in his expression. Aziraphale’s face didn’t fall, exactly, but he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes when he said, “You don’t have to say it yet if you’re not ready. I… I already know.”

“I love you,” Crowley said, the words tripping urgently off his tongue. Curse those ridiculously eyes of his. It shouldn’t be physically possible for them to hold so much emotion. “It’s not—I mean, I’ve been ready for years, Aziraphale, it’s just… I just never thought you’d be so… all in. All at once. It’s a lot to process.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, still looking a bit disappointed, not so much with Crowley, but with himself, that Crowley would doubt him.

And fuck, that was even worse. Crowley whined and buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest.

“Sorry.”

“No, I understand,” Aziraphale said, his voice gentle. “But I haven’t any reason to hold back anymore, do I?”

“Haven’t you?”

“Well. Either this was all in accordance with the Divine Plan, or we’ve interfered in ways even God couldn’t control. Either way, I think my allegiance is clear.” Aziraphale pulled back and cupped Crowley’s cheek, tilting his head up to face him. “Humanity. You.”

Crowley’s breath caught. “That’s blasphemy, angel.”

“Maybe.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Crowley asked. “Because, you know, Falling—Falling’s not an accident. It isn’t something that happens to you, it’s something that’s done to you. And no one’s Fallen for centuries. So either you’re doing as She intends, or She doesn’t care, or She’s… not there anymore.”

And Crowley didn’t know which one he believed, which one he wanted to believe, which one hurt the least.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said. “Sometimes I get scared. I don’t know… well. I don’t know a lot of things. That used to be…” He cast about for a word. “…acceptable, if not sometimes frustrating. But now I don’t know how I should feel about it, and that is scary. Though, I think, that’s how it’s been for you, hasn’t it?” he asked. “This whole time.”

“I’m always scared,” Crowley admitted. “But not so much when I’m with you.”

He hadn’t imagined he could ever confess these words to Aziraphale, but they slipped out so easily now, soft as a breath. He bowed his head.

Aziraphale’s hand slid from Crowley’s cheek to the back of his neck. His thumb brushed comfortingly at his nape.

“It’s alright,” he said. “You don’t have to go it alone anymore. Yes, I’m uncertain about a lot of things now, but none of them are about you.”

He kissed the crown of Crowley’s head, and Crowley made a soft noise in his throat and scooted closer. Aziraphale enfolded him in his arms.

“Not alone,” Crowley murmured.

He’d hoped it, he’d claimed it, but for the first time, possibly ever, held securely in Aziraphale’s arms, he knew it for sure.