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An Exercise in Trust

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Adam had decided, in the twenty seconds Crowley had stopped time, that he quite liked him. (That Aziraphale fellow didn’t seem half bad either). 

Adam knew what rebellion meant. He knew that when he did it, his earthly father would ground him for the rest of the month, or tell him he had to write sentences, or even worse, complain to the other adults about what a naughty child he had been. 

And he figured that Aziraphale and Crowley were now the naughtiest children in all of heaven and hell. 

But he liked them . They didn’t deserve to get grounded from television for a millenia, or to be forced to write a billion sentences. And he figured that heaven and hell (being heaven and hell) could probably come up with even worse punishments. 

So, he made a decision. 

And when he put everything back to normal, he erased the memories of every angel and demon aside from the token two. The rest would remember nothing of the botched apocalypse.

 It left a few of them with some quite significant gaps over the last eleven years, but over all, he thought that he’d done a pretty nice job of making things the way they were. 

After all, Crowley and Aziraphale had helped him to avert the apocalypse. Neither one of them deserved the fate they would be given if their respective sides were to ‘get their hands on them’, so to speak. Adam was sure of that.

He had a feeling that things were going to work out okay for them now. They deserved it.


“Crowley,” Aziraphael’s voice drifted through the speaker, “I believe we have something somewhat important to discuss. I’d like to talk about our relationship in private, whenever you’re free.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, pulling the phone away from his ear to check the name and number. It was indeed his angel.

“Hello?” Aziraphael asked, cautiously.

“Sorry, Angel.” Crowley apologized, “My mind’s just been wandering. Would you like to see me tonight, or would some other time work better for you?” 

“Tonight would be perfect!” Aziraphael exclaimed. “I’ve ordered a bottle of an absolutely wonderful dessert wine to celebrate the end of the world. You can drink whisky straight while I have that.”

Crowley smiled. He’d told Aziraphael a joke about liking his humor like he liked his wine; dry. From then on, Aziraphael had always gone out of his way to either get dry wines or provide Crowley with another option, and Crowley found it almost… Sweet. Granted, Crowley stole sips of Aziraphale’s sweeter stuff whenever he wasn’t looking.

“Alright. See you in a jiff.” Crowley said. He hung up the phone and got up, walking over towards his wardrobe. He had to pick out something to wear, after all. 

Two hours later he was standing in front of the door to Aziraphale’s bookshop, his hand raised, knuckles preparing to tap against the wooden door. 

His knuckles barely even grazed it. 

Aziraphale opened the door immediately, eyes lighting up as he looked fondly at Crowley. Then, as Aziraphale had never done before, he leaned out the window and peered along the sidewalk. An anxious frown briefly won over his expression, and Crowley felt a tight ball of anxiety in his own stomach accompany it. When Aziraphale decided that the coast was clear he leaned back in and stepped aside, spreading out his free arm in a gesture of grand welcome. 

Crowley entered the bookshop tentatively, waiting until the door was shut behind him to start asking questions. 

“What was all that about?” He questioned. “You don’t think I’m being followed, do you?”

“I… Think you should come into the back room and we’ll pour you a glass.” 

And so, that was what they did. 

Three-point-two-six glasses in, Aziraphale finally said what was on his mind. 

He was sprawled out across the couch with his glasses amiss and one of his socks somehow missing. (Crowley had miracled it away to see how long it would take him to notice). Crowley was leaning back in the armchair with his legs propped up on the coffee table as he sank lower into the seat.

“Heaven was the one who found out about you and I, you know.” Aziraphale declared. “At least, I think so.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Crowley asked, sloshing his drink around. Not because he was particularly drunk or uncoordinated, but simply because he found it entertaining to slosh ones drink. “They don’t remember it now. Adam made sure of that.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Aziraphale agreed, because he had to. “But if they did it once, they could do it again. And you could be hurt. I could be hurt. We could both be hurt.”

  Crowley got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“And what are you suggesting we do about it?” He asked, darkly. “Stop seeing each other?”

“I would never .” Aziraphale said, haughtily. “I would rather heaven find out than to stop seeing you, Crowley. Surely you know that by now.”

Crowley was suddenly very grateful that he was wearing sunglasses. 

“Then what is your plan?”

Aziraphale thought, but seemed to be hitting a wine-induced block. 

“How about we finish the rest of the alcohol, go to sleep, and figure it out in the morning?” He suggested. Crowley considered asking where exactly he would be sleeping tonight, but decided to let it slide. The recliner was awfully comfy, after all. 

“You have the best ideas, Angel.” Crowley agreed. Aziraphale raised his glass, and Crowley bent his arm at an unnatural angle to clink their glasses together.


“Why did you let me go to sleep without sobering up?” Aziraphale asked, rubbing his temples. “I usually don’t even sleep . Let alone drunk.”

“Seems like you slept just fine last night.” Crowley commented. He groaned as he stretched out on the recliner, feeling a heavy, warm weight on top of him. His eyes opened, and he discovered that it was, in fact, Aziraphale. 

So that was why the weight had been breathing. 

“That’s because you’re a bad influence.” Aziraphale argued, pointedly. He slowly shifted his weight until one of his feet were on the floor, and pushed himself up off of Crowley. Crowley hissed at the lack of warmth, and he suddenly remembered why Aziraphale had slept on top of him. “I never would have slept in the first place if not for your influence.”

“I needed warmth! You don’t have a single bloody blanket in this house, and I am cold blooded. What, were you going to lie on top of me awake all night?”

“I shouldn’t have laid on top of you at all!” Aziraphale countered, his face immediately going red. Crowley felt hurt streak through him. It was softened ever so slightly as Aziraphale tagged on, “We had work to do. We should have been thinking.”

“Well in that case,” Crowley responded, “I’ll go and make us some thinking juice. You stay here and regret the wonderful night we shared together.”

It was a joke, of course. Crowley covered up his pain with humor. Aziraphael rolled his eyes, walking back to his couch and sitting down. When Crowley came back with two steaming cups of coffee, he was frowning down at a piece of notebook paper with a pen in his hand and an extra one stuck behind his ear for good measure. 

“Alright,” Crowley said, sitting next to the angel. He spread out his legs and made himself comfortable as he sipped at the hot liquid. Their knees brushed together, but Aziraphale didn’t move away. “So, what have you got so far?”

“I have named the plan ‘Operation Best Friends.’ I thought you would probably hate it.”

“You’re right, I do,” Crowley admitted, “And we’re keeping it. Anything on the specific plans of operation friendship?”

“Operation best friends.” Aziraphale corrected, before continuing, “And right now, I have nothing. It would be so much easier to figure this out if we could just… Get ahead of them, somehow.”

Crowley took a sip of his coffee. Aziraphale had hardly touched his, and Crowley wondered whether or not he had added enough sugar before pushing the thought away. Now, he had to deal with more pressing matters. He had an idea. (Sort of).

“Wait a minute.” He argued, “What if we already have?”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale questioned. 

“I mean,” Crowley set down his coffee and leaned forward, excitedly. “I mean that Heaven doesn’t remember the last eleven years. In the home stretch, they somehow found out that we were… hanging out.”

“As best friends tend to.” Aziraphale pointed out, doing what could only be described as a happy wiggle

“Yes, well,” Crowley shook off the confusing feelings that that gave him, “If we can find out how they figured it out, then we could… I dunno, figure out how to stop it from happening again? Does heaven keep records? A security camera, maybe? If we found footage of them discovering our friendship, we would know how they did it, and we could stop them from doing it again.”

“If they did exist, I’m assuming that Adam wiped them all when he put everything as it was.” Aziraphale said, doubtfully. “And just because they have one for the earth-”

Aziraphale paused then, going stiff as a realization visibly washed over him. 

“Oh. Oh no. ” He said, biting his lower lip. “They saw it on earth’s security feed. Crowley, how are we going to stop that from picking us up? We won’t be able to see each other outside anymore!”

“And even then, they could still catch us coming and going,” Crowley pointed out, nodding grimly. “We need to find something that will explain that to them. Or find some way to block both of us from that kind of… attention, all together.” 

There was a long, pregnant pause as both of them thought. Crowley tried not to feel too hopeless. 

“I…” Aziraphale began, slowly, “I think I might have an idea.”

He bit his bottom lip, and Crowley’s attention was immediately piqued. When Aziraphale bit his lip like that, it was a tell. He had a good idea. One that he probably thought was both brilliant and risky. One that he was afraid Crowley would shut down. 

“C’mon, out with it then.” Crowley requested, waving his hand. “No idea is a bad idea.”

“What if we convince our respective sides that we’re holding each other captive?”

Crowley paused. 

“One idea is a bad idea.” He amended. 

“You haven’t even thought about it yet!” Aziraphale defended, a bit testily. “You can’t just shoot it down before we’ve thoroughly discussed it!”

“Oh, fine!” Crowley huffed, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. He racked his head for reasons why this might be a bad idea. He knew it was. He just had to think of why first. 

He tapped his fingers on his chair, considering for a moment. 

“What, exactly, are you going to have heaven think you’re doing with me as a captive? Tying me to a chair and making me listen to bible verses?”

“Splendid idea!” Aziraphale said, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. Crowley’s eyebrows came together. “That, and occasionally interrogating you for information about hell.”

Crowley snorted. “You couldn’t interrogate someone if your life depended on it. And besides,” He added, thoughtfully, “We would never be able to leave the house, what with both of us pretending to be captives.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. 

“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed, wistfully. “I just… I don’t want to have to stop seeing you. But I feel bad putting you in all this danger, and myself, too.”

“Pity we couldn’t just tell them we let each other go occasionally. For funsies.” Crowley said, laughing. “Tell them we hunt each other for sport or something like that.”

A look of absolute revelation came across Aziraphale’s face, and he stood up fast, taking off towards his bookshelves. 

“Maybe we could!” He declared, running back and forth between them. 

“Hunt each other for sport?” Crowley questioned. Aziraphale ignored him as he stalked through the shop, searching.

“No, no, no…” Aziraphael mumbled. Crowley wondered what he was looking for. He finally seemed to locate the correct aisle, and wasted no time in running down it. Crowley reluctantly got up and followed, curiosity outweighing his lazy tendency to stay on the couch until something forced him to move. 

As he rounded the corner, Aziraphael was running his hands along the spines of the old books, squinting as he read the names of the authors aloud. 

“Smith, Snark, Spleg, Speiman… SPEIMAN!” He shouted, grabbing hold of the thick book. It had a bright red cover with some occult symbols slapped together on the front. Aziraphale opened it, flipping through the pages rapidly. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, “Is now really the time to be reading?”

“This is one of the rarest books in my collection. It’s an occultist’s guide to angelic and demonic energies, and it was put out of circulation by heaven before it was ever actually sold. Only three copies are known to exist. The original, handwritten manuscript, the author’s first copy, and a backup copy the publisher had set aside in an undisclosed location.”

“And the information in it was accurate?” Crowley asked, intrigued by the possibility. Suddenly, Aziraphale looked up, sharply. 

His gaze was intense as his eyes shifted towards Crowley. Their eyes locked, and he knew Aziraphale could see through his glasses. The moment slowed, became… Oddly intimate. Crowley felt something inside of him shiver. 

“I hope you know how much trust I’m putting in you even just by telling you that this book exists.” Aziraphale informed him.

Crowley swallowed. He couldn’t handle the weird, intense tension, and decided to break it.

“Oh, off with it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “We saved the world together, if you can’t trust me with a book of magic spells by now I’d say we aren’t very good friends.”

Crowley said this, of course, to avoid how cherished the thought that Aziraphale did trust him that much made him feel. 

Aziraphale finally landed on the page that he wanted, and he skimmed it before turning it around to show the demon. Crowley skimmed the page too, his brow furrowing in concentration as the smell of old books wafted through the air, distracting him. 

“I see… aaaaaan old occult symbol.” Crowley announced. “I don’t understand the significance.”

“This, my dear boy,” Aziraphale explained, “Is a seal that bars one from talking about any kind of captivity.”

“And your point is?”

“We could make something with this seal on it. A bracelet or a necklace, maybe. Show our respective sides and tell them that that’s how we’re keeping each other quiet. So it would make sense that we would let each other go every once in awhile. To keep the other side from getting too suspicious.”

“Oh, I like that.” Crowley said. The gears were turning now, and he couldn’t deny the appeal Aziraphale’s plan. The only problem was convincing their respective sides that they could always get each other back , after they’d been let go.

Aziraphale turned the page. 

“And this sigil can forcibly teleport any Angel or Demon whose name is spoken, as long as they’re wearing a copy of the sigil. I suppose we’ll have to put that on the bracelet as well.”

“Are we calling them friendship bracelets?” Crowley asked. 

“We can if you’d like.” Aziraphale responded. Crowley pointedly did not admit that he would like that very much. 

Aziraphale turned another page in the book slowly as he thought, tapping his foot against the old rug. He was clearly deep in thought, planning for every eventuality. Crowley felt the reality of the situation suddenly hit him.

“We… Might really be doing this.” Crowley said, slowly. 

“There are still some details to work out.” Aziraphale pointed out, walking quickly back towards his recliner. Crowley followed, and sat back down on the couch. Aziraphale flipped idly through the book. Crowley thought, trying to find the holes in the plan. They would need to find them in order to patch them up.

It didn’t take him long to realize that they were missing a large part of the puzzle.

“What are we going to tell Hell I’m doing with you?”

Aziraphale looked up from his book, contemplating it for a moment. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.” 


Anathema was minding her own business.

Her life with Newton had become a simple routine. He would head off to work in the early mornings, and she would go and tend to the garden for a little while before performing earth-shattering rituals which would shake the very foundations of reality and leave the nearby Supernatural entities shaking in their boots. Y’know. The usual. 

Anathema was learning comprehensive spiritual self-defense. And intended to one day teach it to her own army. If angels and demons could cause the world to almost end, humans had damn well better get with the times and learn how to defend themselves, she reckoned. 

She sat on a blanket in the backyard, frowning at the books she had splayed around her. She shifted so that her legs were sticking out, and the soft, wet grass tickled her bare feet. She was happy. 

And she was incredibly bored. 

She just had to keep reminding herself that it wouldn’t be like this forever. She was training, now. She would counteract the forces of heaven and hell, travel the world, pass on her knowledge and fight against the proverbial machine in just a few months’ time. 

She had to. Someone had to. 

But for now, she would have to study day in and day out to build her skill.

There was a light rap on her front door, and Anathema stood immediately, peering around the house to see if she could see anything. She couldn’t. 

Leaving her books scattered in the grass and over her blanket, she ran through the house in her bare feet and barely stopped before she reached the door. She took a moment to compose herself, pushing up her glasses before she reached out and grabbed the door handle, pulling it open. 

She stared at the pair in front of her. Shock shot down her spine.

“Oh?” She asked, head tilting. “...To what do I owe this... pleasure?”

“Hello,” Aziraphale said. Crowley was looking pointedly disinterested beside him. “I was wondering if you might help us with a couple of sigils.”

Anathema considered this for a moment before her mind flickered back towards the unread books that waited for her back in the yard. If she didn’t help with this, she would end up dying of boredom before the end of the day. She needed a break.

“Well… You two did just save the world.” She said, nodding. “I’ll do you one better, in fact. How would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

Aziraphale stepped inside, and Crowley stepped in after him. Aziraphale walked ahead. She followed after them, directing Aziraphale to the kitchen. 

“It’s on the left ahead of you, Dear.” She said. Aziraphale turned to the left and clapped his hands in delight before walking through the door, heading straight for the table with a distinguished pep in his step.

Him and Crowley sat while Anathema heated the kettle on the stove. She had really grown an appetite for tea since coming to the UK. 

The pot began to whistle, and Anathema grabbed it by the handle, pouring the tea into three cups, already prepared with a bag of tea waiting along the bottom. She carefully carried two of the cups on their saucers through the kitchen, setting them down in front of Aziraphale and Crowley. She returned to grab her own and sat down at the head of the table. She peered over her glasses, looking at the papers they had set in front of her. 

“Alright, then,” She said, squinting. She pushed her tea aside and grabbed one. “What have we got here?”

Aziraphale was too busy loading his tea up with the sugar cubes to notice that they had begun, so Crowley reluctantly initiated their half of the conversation. 

“Aziraphale here came up with an idea, and we need your help to execute it. You see, these sigils affect angels and demons. So we aren’t sure whether or not we can make them. At least, not if we want them to work. Humans designed them, and we think they might need to be enacted by a human.”

“These sigils affect angels and demons ?” Anathema asked, her jaw dropping open. Her head was suddenly swimming with possibility. She put the papers down and stared at them, trying to gauge whether or not they were telling the truth. 

These would be perfect for her training. 

“What are they for?!” She asked, excitedly. 

“Well, Dear,” Aziraphale had broken out of his flavor-induced haze and joined the conversation, “One of them we need put on a charm and affixed to a rope. It will limit our powers.”

Anathema looked up, her eyebrows shooting upwards. If they hadn’t been attached to her face, she was fairly certain that they would have reached the stratosphere. When neither of them responded to her nonverbal accusation, she decided to make it a little more obvious. “I hope you two have already discussed your safeword.”

It took the two of them a few more seconds to catch up with where she was going.

“It’s nothing like that!” Aziraphale said. 

“It’s beans.” Crowley counteracted. Aziraphale looked at him with indignation. 

“I wouldn’t use anything other than the green-yellow-red method, I do beg your pardon. It’s by far the most logical and efficient.”

Crowley paused, and seemed surprised. Anathema knew that she was. When she had made that joke, she hadn’t actually expected that the two would be versed in the subject. Then again, maybe that really was what they needed the rope for. 

“To bring the conversation back to topic,” Aziraphale said, and turned towards Anathema, “We need them to convince heaven and hell that we’re holding each other captive.”

“What, like some sort of weird little roleplay?” Anathema pushed.

“Yeah, except we get fired if we break character.” Crowley responded.

“We’re going to convince Heaven that I’m holding Crowley captive, and convince Hell that he’s holding me. That way, they won’t think that we’re committing treason if we’re ever spotted together.”

Anathema tried to connect the dots on that logic, but found herself not quite hitting the mark. Still, she was sure that they had thought it through if they had decided to bring this to her already. Surely, the two of them wouldn’t drastically under-think their plans. Surely. 

“Seems unnecessarily complicated.” Anathema said. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s stupid.” Crowley said, sighing as he leaned back. 

“All the best plans are.” Anathema countered, faithful that Aziraphale knew what he was doing. She looked down at the three sigils before her. “Which one needs to be affixed to the rope?”

It wasn’t long until Anathema had the plans drawn up and the charms laid out. She was carefully tracing the runes with a tiny jar of red paint, the bracelets sitting to one side. 

“You know, you didn’t have to buy the bracelets. I’ve got plenty of jewelery making stuff right here.” She gestured around her. A witch wouldn’t be caught dead without craft supplies.

“We wouldn’t want to intrude any more than necessary.” Aziraphale argued. 

“And they were having a sale at Claires.” Crowley informed her, sarcastically. Anathema ignored him.

“Please, intrude all you like.” Anathema invited. “I’m bored out of my mind here most of the time. I used to spend all my time trying to decode Agnes’ prophecies. Now, I’m just studying all day.”

“College?” Aziraphale asked, hopefully. Anathema scoffed. 

“The modern education system is set up to disadvantage people who aren’t monetarily privileged. You gain almost nothing from it if you aren’t going into a STEM field.”

“That’s a no, then?” Crowley questioned.

“I’m studying ways to thwart the darkness or the light should the apocalypse ever descend upon us again.” Anathema informed them.

“Aaah, so just a bit of light reading.” Crowley sassed. Anathema ignored him yet again, noting that she was making a habit of it. Getting back to work on finishing up their sigils, she lightly brushed over the smooth metal, careful not to make a mistake. She stared at them for a few seconds longer than she had to, making one-hundred-percent certain that they were correct. 

She was also memorizing them to furiously scribble down as soon as Aziraphale and Crowley left. 

She blew on the completed rune, the small metal charm glistening in the light. “Did you bring anything that we could seal this with?”

“I didn’t think about that part.” Aziraphale said. “Do you have anything that will do?”

Anathema rose and moved towards the counter to begin rummaging through her kitchen drawers one at a time. Finally, she found it; plastic coating spray. She walked over to the completed charms, covered her mouth with her sleeve, and sprayed a fine mist. As soon as she was finished, she hopped over to the window and threw it open, letting the fumes vent out. 

“We’ll need to wait a minute for those to dry on that side before we can start on the other,” She informed them. “And I think the same might need to go for your plan.”

“We need to… Do the other side?” Aziraphale asked, frowning in confusion. “I’m not following.”

“No, you might want to wait a minute .” Anathema said, sighing. She collected her thoughts, turning it over carefully before she decided what she needed to say. “I just don’t want you two to arouse more suspicion by trying to get ahead of the game. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. I’m just saying that you both need to make sure you have your stories, your explanations , air tight. Make sure you’ve gone over every detail.”

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale commented. “The plan is still in development.”

“I hope you keep developing it,” Anathema said, a warning in her voice. “Rushing in too quickly could bring all of this toppling over.”

She lightly tapped the front of the charms, finding that the plastic had dried smoothly. She turned them over one by one before spraying the other side.


In the car, Crowley forced himself to tap on the brakes. Aziraphale looked absolutely ashen in the seat beside him, his fingers digging into the leather interior. The sun shone through the window. Crowley saw Aziraphale begin to relax as the speedometer took on a more reasonable sixty miles per hour.

“I’ve been thinking about what Anathema said,” Aziraphale mentioned. “And I think she might have had the right idea.”

Crowley blinked. Wasn’t that obvious?

“Well of course she does. Waiting until we have it all figured out is the only way to be sure that we don’t contradict ourselves.”

“No, not about that.” Aziraphale said. “I mean, yes, of course, about that as well. But I’m actually referring to the safeword comment.”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have to tell Hell that you’re corrupting me somehow.” Aziraphale argued. “And sexual deviancy is definitely thought by most to be a corruptive process- it isn’t, I know some very kinky angels, but Hell wouldn’t question it for a moment.”

Crowley desperately willed his uncooperative brain to catch up to where Aziraphale was. He knew what the Angel was saying in theory , but every time he tried to make himself believe it, it was like he was short-circuiting. 

“So you want me to tell hell that we’re fucking?”

“I want you to tell Hell that I’m letting you do whatever you want to my body.” Aziraphale responded. “We already have the rope, if they need a demonstration.”

Demonstration? ” Crowley squeaked. Suddenly, some very compromising thoughts thrust their way directly to the forefront of his imagination. 

“Yes. I suppose they’ll want to see your setup. And since we’re telling heaven that I’m occasionally torturing you, the presence of any… sadistic tools would make perfect sense. We could probably use the same setup for both… Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No.” Crowley said, honestly.

Crowley thought about it for a moment. 

Aziraphale had been the one to suggest it. And if he knew about the green/yellow/red method of safewording, then he was probably somewhat educated on the topic. Crowley had dabbled in sexual deviancy once or twice (or a thousand times, but who’s counting?) so it’s not like he wouldn’t know what to do.

And… Well, Crowley would be a bit of an idiot not to take the opportunity. He had been in love with Aziraphale since the garden, and this would be a bit of a dream come true.  

“We’ll talk about it.” He responded. “I’m not necessarily saying ‘yes’, there are some things that we might need to work out if we’re going to talk about giving Hell a…. Er, a demonstration . What is and isn’t on the table, and a way to get ourselves out of a situation we’re not comfortable with, even if Hell is watching.”

“We can’t very well use the colors method in front of Beelzebub if we want it to seem enthusiastic,” Aziraphale agreed. “But I’ve actually read some handbooks that suggest the use of an object as a safeword. Like a little buzzer attached to our palm, or a handkerchief we could hold and then drop if it gets to be too much.”

“...How much reading have you done on the subject?” Crowley asked, running his hands along the steering wheel. He used the sensation to distract him from the prickling warmth that threatened to give him a semi.

“I have a fair amount of real-world experience.” Aziraphale admitted. “Though I do have the tendency to be on the dominant side of the spectrum, so the role-switching will be a little unusual for me.” 

Crowley had to run that by himself several times before processing it, again, and he wondered whether or not his brain was malfunctioning. 

Aziraphale… fucks? 

Actually, he doesn’t just fuck. He’s kinky about it. And right now, their best hope of spending any time together involves them building a dungeon and convincing hell itself that they were fucking like rabbits. 

“I’m not going to lie, this is catching me a little off guard.”

“Me too.” Aziraphale admitted, sheepishly. “I never thought I’d be having conversations of this nature with you. But I do trust you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he figured that it was a good thing he didn’t technically need it to function correctly. 

“I trust you, too.” He told Aziraphale, honestly. 

Crowley hoped that that would be enough to get them through the mild awkwardness of the conversations that were sure to follow.