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Maybe inspired by the song being played while they toasted the world, Aziraphale suggested that they take a turn around Berkeley Square after finishing their champagne. Crowley was on top of the world and would have agreed to a lot more than a romantic walk through a park on a beautiful day. In his current frame of mind, he might even have agreed to let Aziraphale do a magic show for him. He smiled over at the man ambling by his side, tilting his head at the thoughtful look on his face.
“Penny for your thoughts, angel?”
“I was just remembering that, ages ago, I put aside an amphora of very nice Falernian.”
Crowley gaped at him, stumbling to a halt. “Real Falernian? A whole amphora?”
“Well, it doesn’t keep once it’s been open,” the angel pointed out reasonably, as if he hadn’t just admitted to having more than twenty liters of the finest wine the Roman Republic had ever produced.
“Well, no, it doesn’t. But… why haven’t you drunk it yet?”
“I… was saving it,” he faltered.
“Oh, for a special occasion?” Crowley asked, smiling since this definitely qualified.
“Not… initially.”
He frowned at how uncomfortable Aziraphale looked, prompting gently, “Angel?”
“I… well, when I first laid it aside…” He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat and plowed on. “I knew, I thought I knew at the time, that eventually Heaven and Hell would go to war again and that we might never see each other again after that,” he said quickly, not looking at Crowley. Voice pained, he explained, “I wanted us to be able to see each other off in style. One last time.”
“Oh, angel,” Crowley sighed, gently squeezing his shoulder. “It’s not going to be like that, though, not any more.”
“No,” he answered quietly, smiling faintly at Crowley and, for once, not trying to draw away from an unexpected touch from him. “Not any more.”
He relaxed once he realized that Aziraphale seemed less upset already, smiling back. “So, what new special occasion are you going to save that wine for?”
“I’m not!” he declared, beaming. “Let’s go to the shop and open it now?”
Crowley didn’t drool at the suggestion, but it took effort. “Are you sure, angel? You’ve been saving that wine for what? Two thousand years?”
“A bit longer, but yes.”
“So maybe you should save it?”
“For an occasion more special than having helped save the world and outsmarting Heaven and Hell?” Aziraphale countered, putting his hands on his hips and giving Crowley a Look.
“Cheeky bastard,” Crowley laughed, unable to keep himself from beaming at the angel.
“I’m about to share my Falernian with you and that’s all you have to say to me?” he teased.
“Generous cheeky bastard?”
“Better.” Laughing, Aziraphale gestured in the general direction of Soho. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
Feeling daring, he offered Aziraphale his arm, not really expecting him to take it but knowing that they could both laugh it off given the day’s high spirits. A bird started chirping wildly and Crowley’s heart leapt into his throat as, grinning from ear to ear, Aziraphale took the offered arm without so much as token hesitation. Unable to believe his own luck, Crowley started walking.
They spent the trip back to Soho in comfortable silence, just enjoying the fact that their home was still full of life and bustling with activity. As much as they’d been fighting for each other, they’d been fighting for this , too, all these people leading their own lives without a clue of how close they’d come to the brink. Aziraphale looked delighted as he watched the crowds, and Crowley couldn’t blame him.
“You’re happy,” he noted as Aziraphale unlocked the shop and opened the door.
“So are you,” he said, holding the door for Crowley. “We should be happy. We’ve earned the right to be.”
“Yes. We have,” Crowley agreed. He felt the slightest bit of resistance as he entered, and the air felt a bit more staticky than usual, as if Aziraphale had made some last-minute additions to his usual wards. So much the better. Smiling, he headed for the back room.
“Oh, no, not back there. The wine’s upstairs,” Aziraphale told him. “In my storage room.”
“Ah, of course it is.” Smiling, he followed Aziraphale up the spiral staircase. “Just don’t expect me to help you haul it into the lounge, because I have danger noodle arms.”
Aziraphale gave him a perplexed look, but smiled as he dropped the wards and opened the door to his flat. “Don’t worry, Crowley. It’s only a short walk from the storage room to the lounge; I think I’ll manage.”
Crowley could believe that. He’d once tried to lift Aziraphale’s suitcase for him after his return from one of his book-buying trips and nearly dislocated both shoulders. For all his beautiful softness, Aziraphale was strong. In every way that mattered, really, even though Crowley badly suspected that Aziraphale didn’t really see his own power and resilience. But, maybe now that they’d both broken free, he could start to. At least Crowley hoped so.
He followed Aziraphale down the corridor to his storage room, peering inside. It was mostly piles of crates, with a life-sized statue of Persephone in the corner for some reason and…
“Angel, do I want to know why you have what appears to be a nuclear waste disposal container inside a protective circle in your storage room?”
Aziraphale considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Crowley. You really don’t.”
“Duly noted.”
“Now where did I put that wine?” Aziraphale asked himself, looking around for a moment. “Oh, of course. With all the other wine.”
Crowley watched as Aziraphale pushed a pile of wine cases aside, revealing a singularly unimpressive amphora balancing neatly on a metal rack. He stepped closer, studying the marks painted on the container with a smile. He recognized the vintner, and the year, and as always approved of Aziraphale’s taste. Not that one could go wrong with any Falernian, but Aziraphale had been planning to drink in the end of the world in high style.
“You know how to spoil a demon, angel. You sure you want to share this with me?”
“Who else would I want to share it with?”
Crowley could feel his cheeks burning in response to that, but he just gave Aziraphale one of his usual cocky smiles and, after a moment’s thought, miracled up a small handcart.
“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Aziraphale said, beaming at him and carefully lifting the amphora and rack onto the handcart.
“Well, can’t have you dropping a treasure like this, can we?” he laughed, grinning and following as Aziraphale wheeled the cart out of the storage room.
He was curious enough to take one last look at the protective circle on the floor, then he shook his head and decided it could wait for some other day. He already had enough to process after the week they’d had. Smiling, he shook his head and followed Aziraphale into the lounge.
It looked like a middle-class Victorian sitting room (if by some miracle a member of the Victorian middle class had managed to possess taste and discretion as well as money), which made it seem totally incongruous as a place to enjoy an ancient Roman vintage.
“We need some frescoes and dining couches in here,” he joked, grinning at Aziraphale. “You know, for ambience.”
Aziraphale laughed in answer, smiling. “And why not? I’m not on a miracle budget any more.” Giving a mischievous grin, he snapped, and the contents of the room vanished, no doubt stashed safely in some little pocket-dimension.
Crowley laughed in surprise, beaming at him. “That’s a very frivolous miracle. Freedom suits you, angel.”
Aziraphale smiled back and, after quite a few more frivolous miracles, they had the lounge looking like a proper Roman triclinium. Ever-pedantic, Aziraphale had insisted on the proper three couches around the table, despite it being just the two of them. He asked Crowley to handle the frescoes once everything else was done, so now they would enjoy their wine surrounded by artwork of a deep, lush forest, a veritable Garden of Eden. Aziraphale had taken one look at that and done a quick illusion, filling the air with the sounds of running water and birdsong.
“Oh, this is nice , angel. Almost like the real thing.”
“Yes, like having an atrium outside instead of…” He trailed off, shrugging.
“Instead of having Soho outside,” Crowley supplied, laughing.
“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, perching on the edge of one of the couches. “I adore London, of course, but one does miss having a villa in the countryside with a nice atrium.”
“No reason not to have those things now, angel,” Crowley pointed out, miracling himself into the kind of gown more appropriate to Roman fine dining and throwing himself down onto the couch next to Aziraphale’s. “Wouldn’t want a proper Roman villa in this climate, of course, but you could absolutely get a weekend place out in the country if you wanted one. Have a dining room that opens to a garden.”
Aziraphale looked startled, then slowly smiled. “You’re right. I could do that if I wanted to.”
“Not a thing to stop you,” he said, less a Temptation than a probably-necessary reminder.
“No,” he answered, smile growing. “There’s not. Not any more.”
“That’s the spirit.” Smiling, he arranged himself more comfortably on the dining couch, rolling onto his stomach and peering up at Aziraphale; “Are you going to sit like that while we drink? Only children and foreigners sit up in a Roman dining room, angel,” he teased.
“Well, as the Romans never failed to remind me, I was a foreigner.” Chuckling, he miracled himself into a long chiton and reclined on one elbow.
“Did they?” Crowley asked, telling himself not to look at Aziraphale’s bare legs. It wasn’t much of a struggle, not when that angelic face was so close he could have lifted a hand and touched it. “You were a court philosopher.”
“A court philosopher of foreign extraction, and not even one with the discernment to be Greek. I’m sure no one meant any harm, but they were full of impertinent questions about Judea’s religious and social habits. Was it true I only had one god, was it true I couldn’t eat pork, was it true that I’d mutilated myself in service to my barbarous god.”
“Mutil– Oh!” Crowley gaped. “They asked that?”
“Yes, frequently. Some people even asked to see. Made me wish I’d had the wherewithal to pretend to be Germanic like you did.”
“Well, the red hair…” Frowning, he added, “I can’t believe people asked you that. So much for polite society. Me, I’d have snapped and shown them the old angelic factory standard.”
Aziraphale gave a nervous giggle. “That would have been one way to get people to stop asking.”
Crowley smiled fondly at him, nodding. “And I think that calls for a drink. But I’m too lazy to get up and pour.”
“Well, it occurs to me that, since opening an amphora makes the wine go stale within a day or two, it might be best to miracle the wine out of it instead.”
“Clever angel,” Crowley laughed, grinning and snapping.
Two crystal goblets and a matching pair of pitchers appeared on the table and, with another small miracle, one was full of water and the other with wine from the amphora. Aziraphale made a delighted noise, leaning over and picking up the wine. Crowley smiled and scented the air as the angel poured for them. By right, the wine probably should have turned to vinegar centuries ago, but no wine put aside by Aziraphale would have had the audacity to do so. The Falernian smelled as rich and sweet as it must have the day it was purchased and, as Aziraphale carefully added water, the wine changed from rich amber to wheat-yellow.
“I love that color,” he murmured, handing a goblet to Crowley.
“No other color like it,” Crowley agreed, raising his cup. “To… celebrating beginnings instead of endings?”
Aziraphale looked startled, then beamed at his words. “To beginnings instead of endings, from now on.”
They touched glasses and just lay for a long moment, smiling at each other without drinking. That warmed Crowley the way even good alcohol didn’t, and he let himself savor the shared gaze for much longer than he once might have. And, for once, Aziraphale didn’t seem inclined to look away first. As he had at the Ritz, he just kept smiling at Crowley with a warm, soft expression. Aziraphale was always beautiful, of course, but this smile was even more beautiful than usual.
Just when Crowley thought he might get drunk without touching the wine, a sudden shriek made him jump. Spilling far too much of the priceless wine on himself, he looked around frantically, vaguely aware that whoever had shouted was now laughing.
Aziraphale climbed to his feet, walking over to the living room window and pulling aside the curtain, peering out for a moment before shutting it firmly. “Soho’s nightly revels seem to be kicking off early today.”
Crowley let out a shaky breath, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, angel. It’s been a crazy week.”
“It has,” Aziraphale agreed, grimacing. “But don’t worry. My wards will let us know if trouble’s coming.”
“Of course they will,” Crowley agreed, miracling away the spill.
The shop was a veritable fortress, and Aziraphale had constructed all the wards himself. No supernatural creature entered without his consent, and a lot of permissions had been revoked in the last two days. Gabriel or Beelzebub might manage to brute-force their way in, but not without Aziraphale and Crowley having plenty of advance warning, and more than enough time to make their escape.
Aziraphale returned to the dining couches, refilling Crowley’s goblet before sitting again. “To… good wine and better friends?” the angel suggested, lifting his wine.
“Good wine and better friends,” Crowley agreed, smiling and touching his cup to Aziraphale’s. “And top-notch wards.”
“And effective wards,” Aziraphale conceded. Sipping his wine, he made a soft, happy noise, eyes drifting shut.
“Good?” he asked, taking a sip and moaning at the rich, complex flavor. Back in the day, most Romans would have added honey and herbs, but there really was no need. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing , angel.”
“Mmm,” he agreed. “Perhaps we should strive to repopularize the vintage?”
“Make a good retirement project,” Crowley laughed. “I could make an offer on a vineyard or two. Where’d they grow the grapes for this stuff?”
“Mount Massico.”
“Ooh, there was a great theater there,” he noted, grinning. “We’ll buy a vineyard. Two, even.”
“And we’ll need to find a clayworks to make the amphorae.”
“True,” Crowley agreed, nodding wisely. “Can’t have a proper Falernian without the right storage container.”
Aziraphale smiled, nodding in agreement and sipping his wine with a happy noise. “Do we really want to try?” he asked after a few moments.
“Why not, angel?”
“Why not indeed,” he answered with a smile. “No miracle budget now that we’re free agents, which means no monetary budget, either.”
They spent hours discussing what would be necessary to actually recreate Falernian wine on any wide scale and, as the evening drew on, arguing cheerfully over who their target audience would be. Aziraphale was convinced that the larger wine-drinking public would embrace the old-new vintage, and Crowley was positive that only history nuts and reenactors would be interested. The longer they argued, the more stubborn both got, grinning at each other and finally dissolving into shared laughter.
“Ridiculous fiend,” Aziraphale managed between laughs, smiling fondly.
“Yet you love me anyway,” he teased, grinning back.
He froze for a moment at that slip, but Aziraphale seemed not to have noticed. Relaxing, Crowley reached for the wine pitcher, refilling their goblets. At some point, they’d stopped bothering to add water, and it had Crowley feeling bold and a little reckless. He let his fingers brush Aziraphale’s as he handed him his wine. The angel blushed, smiling at him and not seeming in any great hurry to draw back. His smile was breathtaking, the way all his most genuine smiles were, full of such warmth and joy.
“You’re happy, angel.”
“Yes. And I think you are, too,” he ventured.
“Yeah, angel. Yeah, I am.”
“Good.” He nodded and sipped his wine, eyes not leaving Crowley’s face.
It could have been uncomfortable, would have been not very long ago, but right now having that tender smile fixed on him felt amazing. More so because, for once, Aziraphale wasn’t almost immediately averting his gaze. He still seemed shy, almost as shy as Crowley felt, but he wasn’t letting it deter him, either, and that was new.
Crowley smiled: fond, and he hoped, inviting. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to invite, just that he urgently felt the importance of Aziraphale knowing how much their newfound openness and freedom was appreciated, how welcome it was.
Aziraphale’s cheeks turned pink and then red as they smiled at each other, but he still didn’t drop his eyes, and the angel’s bold manner left Crowley feeling breathless.
Things really had changed for them. Nervous as that knowledge left Crowley, he couldn’t help but revel in it, too. Heaven and Hell had lost. Aziraphale was not the cold, aloof, above-it-all being they’d tried to make him. Crowley didn’t have to keep pretending to be too dark and rebellious for proper feelings. They could just be themselves now, not an Angel and a Demon, just two beings who adored each other and had for eons.
Was adoration even the right term for what Crowley felt towards Aziraphale? Sometimes, it felt like it didn’t begin to describe the irresistible, terrifying, wonderful pull of soul to soul. Of course, he adored Aziraphale too, but there was so much more to it than that. They’d spent literal ages comforting and supporting each other, gently bringing out the very best in each other while tactfully overlooking the very worst. They understood each other, in ways no one else ever could, in ways Crowley wouldn’t have wanted others to. There was a vulnerability in him that only Aziraphale could be trusted with, and he in turn quite liked having Aziraphale’s inner bastard to himself.
In a human film, the moment he acknowledged that to himself would have been the moment they both surged forward and shared a triumphant first kiss. Instead, the moment stretched pleasantly and then passed without fanfare. And there was something deeply comforting in that lack of significance. It wasn’t the kind of thing that was rare, that might never be repeated. Now that they were free, moments like this didn’t have to be few and far between any more.
“We should do this more often,” Crowley suggested, pulling himself into a sitting position and folding his legs under himself.
Aziraphale nodded, smiling at him and letting out a soft laugh.
“What?” he asked, frowning self-consciously.
“A dining couch is designed for being lounged on, and you still can’t sit on it as the designers intended you to,” he answered, smiling fondly up at Crowley.
“I’m just too contrary, angel.”
“So you are,” Aziraphale agreed in a cheerful tone, giving Crowley a look that made it clear that he didn’t believe it for a second. “Impossible to reason with.”
“Proudly impossible,” he laughed, raising his goblet.
“Of course you’re proud of it,” he chuckled. Shaking his head, he added, “You like being difficult.”
“And don’t you forget it, angel.”
“As if I ever could.”
Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but Aziraphale’s fond smile made it obvious that it was meant in a friendly, even affectionate way. He smiled down at the angel, lifting his wine in a silent toast and then taking another sip. Aziraphale raised his own goblet, nodding to Crowley and then drinking as well.
“You’re right, though. We should do this more often,” Aziraphale told him. “It’s… well, cozy isn’t quite the right word, but…” He trailed off, shrugging.
“Cozy’s close enough. I know what you mean,” Crowley assured him, nodding. “Just comfortable and a bit…”
“A bit warm,” Aziraphale supplied when he faltered, nodding. “Yes. Very comfortable, calm, and warm. And not entirely in the physical sense?” he added, looking a bit sheepish.
“No. Not entirely in the physical sense,” he agreed, which wasn’t something he could have comfortably admitted even a few days ago. Now, though, anything felt possible. Everything felt possible.
Aziraphale topped off their goblets again, telling Crowley, “I could get used to this.”
“Me, too, angel. Me, too.”
“I know it’s not precisely rare for us to share a bottle or two, but…”
“But,” Crowley agreed, nodding.
This was very different and they both knew it without needing to say so. Probably, they couldn’t even have articulated all the ways it was different from past afternoons and evenings, but they didn’t really have to, either. They both knew, deep down.
Aziraphale had fixed him with another fond, soppy smile, and Crowley thought he might melt from the warmth in his friend’s eyes. He’d spent so long feeling cold inside, and Aziraphale’s company had always taken the edge off. Now, though, he could feel that hard, frozen core starting to warm as well, and it was like releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Life was different now. They could be different now if they wanted to. And there was Aziraphale, lying there smiling up at him like he knew it, too. They could do anything they wanted, be anything they wanted. Of course, all Crowley really wanted to be was himself, just with Aziraphale by his side a bit more openly than before. He didn’t want to think about life without Aziraphale’s friendship in it. Alone in the dark of night, he’d often imagined living his life with Aziraphale’s love as well as his friendship and, right now, it didn’t seem like such a wild fantasy.
Aziraphale was smiling up at him with such unabashed, open affection that it would have made Crowley cry if things hadn’t changed so much in the past few days. His smile didn’t feel like a promise that couldn’t be kept, not any more. His occasional streak of bastardry aside, Aziraphale wouldn’t offer hope where there was none. If he was looking at Crowley like this, then there was every reason to be hopeful for what it meant.
He was beautiful when he smiled, like his face was suddenly reflecting his heart. And it was such a generous, all-encompassing heart, too. Aziraphale was a man who could even look a demon in the eye and see his worth.
What would I have done over the years without you, angel? he found himself wondering. He knew the answer, of course; it involved massive amounts of alcohol and some very self-destructive behaviors. Not that it mattered any more. They’d be fine now, without Heaven and Hell standing between them. There was no more need to resist the mutual draw between them: no need to look over their shoulders or constantly catch themselves before too much could be revealed. They could learn to just be, to let life happen, to not guard themselves constantly.
For once, Aziraphale didn’t look remotely guarded, and his ease just made him seem more beautiful to Crowley. He lifted his hand without thinking, just lightly brushing his fingers over the angel’s cheek where it dimpled from his smile. Crowley registered cool, impossibly soft and smooth skin under his hand, and was just starting to wonder if he should panic over his own recklessness when Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, smiling.
Just like that, as if it was the most natural, usual thing in the world, the angel was pressing his cheek into Crowley’s fingers and actually nuzzling a bit! Crowley’s breath hitched in his throat, and he was sure his brain must be throwing visible sparks at the unexpectedness of that reaction, and yet… Yet, it did feel like the most natural thing in the world!
Holding his breath, eyes never leaving his angel’s face, Crowley lightly caressed Aziraphale’s cheek, fingertips memorizing all the contours and subtle variations. He looked so peaceful, as if there was nothing as soothing as being touched by Crowley.
“Is this… are we…” he whispered, continuing to trace the lines of Aziraphale’s face. “You don’t mind?”
“No,” Aziraphale answered, voice just as soft. “It’s lovely.”
“Good.” Nodding, Crowley kept dancing his fingertips over Aziraphale’s face. “I’m glad you think so.”
“I knew it would be.”
Crowley’s fingers stilled at his words, although he couldn’t bring himself to withdraw his hand. “You knew it would be?” he repeated quietly. “You’ve thought about it?”
Aziraphale opened his eyes and gave a little nod, leaning his face a bit more firmly against Crowley’s hand. “Of course I’ve thought about it,” he whispered, expression turning a bit sheepish. “Six thousand years. That’s a lot of cold nights to feel lonesome in.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, nodding in agreement. “It really is, isn’t it?”
The angel nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, “It didn’t take me very long to notice how much better I always felt in your company. So I started hoping, imagining you showing up just when I needed you most.”
Crowley knew the feeling, and nodded in agreement. “We were just making excuses after a while, weren’t we?” he asked quietly.
“Of course we were. What else could we do? The friendship and company… we needed them, no matter what anyone else said.” Smiling sadly, he told Crowley, “We always needed what we could give each other, even when we were conditioned to consider it wrong.”
The words were almost painful to hear. Crowley hated to think that Aziraphale had ever considered mere friendship wrong, so he asked quietly, “You don’t still believe that, do you?”
Aziraphale closed his eyes again, pushing his face into Crowley’s hand like an affectionate cat. “Of course not. Not for a long time.” Opening his eyes again, he gave Crowley a shame-faced smile. “It just took my mind some time to catch up with my heart.”
“Doesn’t it always, angel?”
“I’m afraid so,” he whispered, looking down.
“Hey, don’t feel bad,” Crowley tried to soothe him. “They both had us so far up our own arses we couldn’t think straight. But that’s on them, not us, angel. And now that we know what they are, all the ways they’ve used and mistreated us, we know better than to believe one word they told us. We can be free now, Aziraphale. Finally, really free.”
“Free,” he repeated, nodding slowly. “And together? Free together?”
“Of course. After all, what’s the point of being free if we’re not free together?”
“None at all, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, giving him a shy-looking smile. “Together was the whole point, wasn’t it?”
Warmth blossomed in Crowley’s chest at that, and he smiled at Aziraphale. “Yeah, angel. Together was the point.”
Smiling and blushing, Aziraphale slid off his dining couch and perched on the edge of Crowley’s. It was big enough for two or three people to recline comfortably, so there was still plenty of room between them, but it felt like they’d never been so near each other. Heart in his throat, Crowley edged even closer, and he found himself fighting tears at the way Aziraphale smiled and leaned against him in response.
“Angel,” he whispered, blinking hard and forcing himself to breathe. Wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, he whispered, “Are you… Thiss okay?”
“Okay? Crowley, it’s lovely!” Aziraphale told him, sliding an arm around his waist and snuggling close.
“Not… not too fassst?”
Aziraphale sighed, then shook his head firmly. “Crowley, it… it was always… the road conditions that were the problem, not our pace.”
“The road conditions?” he repeated slowly.
“Loving each other was dangerous enough. Doing it openly would have been so much worse.”
“That’s really all it was?” Crowley asked, disbelief warring with his sense of relief. It couldn’t be that easy. Life was never that easy.
“Not the whole time, but for the most part, yes,” the angel sighed, leaning more firmly into Crowley’s hold. “I couldn’t have borne the idea of… well, of you in a bathtub full of Holy Water, because of me.”
“Angel,” he sighed, wrapping his other arm around Aziraphale as well. “We’re safe now. And, angel, I… I…” After thousands of years of denying it, even to himself most of the time, the words stuck in his throat, but he was blessed if he was going to let that stop him. Taking a deep breath and telling himself not to chicken out now, Crowley forced out, “Angel, I l’yusomushithurs! Ngk!”
He froze, eyes widening and cheeks burning. What in Heaven had just come out of his mouth? Clearing his throat, he lifted his goblet to his mouth, draining it.
Aziraphale drew back just a bit, peering up at Crowley with a slightly perplexed look. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Sorry,” he sighed, wiping a few drops of spilled wine off his face and taking a slow, shaky breath. “I said… that I love you so much it hurts.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale answered, fixing him with a tender smile. After a moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Crowley’s cheek, then whispered, “I love you, too, Crowley. But… that doesn’t have to be a source of pain any more, not for either of us.”
“Promissse?” he asked, not caring how pitiful it made him sound. After all, he probably wasn’t the only one who needed the reassurance.
“We don’t need to hide our feelings any more, Crowley,” the angel pointed out. “And that’s what really caused the pain, isn’t it? The secrecy and lies? The self-denial?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Aziraphale smiled, snuggling close again. “I love you, and I intend to show it at every opportunity,” he announced quietly.
Crowley had to smile, but he couldn’t entirely suppress the urge to temper his expectations. “Tell me that again when you’re sober, angel.”
Aziraphale chuckled at that, snuggling even closer. “You think it’s the wine talking?”
“Not really,” he admitted, “but…”
“But some things are better confessed to and decided upon when sober,” Aziraphale concluded when he faltered. “Of course, my love.”
Crowley watched as Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated on clearing his system, almost forgetting to do the same himself. Sobriety brought a little panic with it, but only for a moment. However boldly he’d been pawing at Aziraphale, the fact that the angel was still cuddling him and radiating contentment meant that it hadn’t actually been unwelcome.
“I do love you, Crowley,” he murmured. “Perhaps the wine made it easier to confess, but that’s all. I’ve loved you for a very long time, and got very strongly into the habit of not saying so.”
“Self-defense, that,” Crowley noted.
“Yes. And wine makes one feel a bit braver generally. But the truth has to already be there if wine’s going to bring it out, doesn’t it?”
Crowley smiled, nodding and pressing his nose into Aziraphale’s hair. “I love you, angel. Huh, it’s getting easier to say already, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps it helps knowing the sentiment is enthusiastically reciprocated?”
“That must be it,” Crowley answered quietly, closing his eyes and reveling in the feeling of having Aziraphale in his arms.
He’d spent thousands of years imagining how it would feel to hold Aziraphale and not begun to come close to the reality of holding a warm, soft angel in his arms, just because he could. He’d never really done physical contact if he could help it, and he hadn’t realized how soothing it would be to hold Aziraphale’s solid bulk close and feel the angel’s arms holding him tightly in turn.
“Can I hold you forever, angel?”
“Well, I don’t know about forever,” Aziraphale chuckled, “but for at least the next several hours. Then we’ll break for dinner and resume again afterwards.”
“I like the way you think,” Crowley chuckled. “The Ritz again for dinner?”
“It’s a lovely, warm evening. What about a picnic in St. James’s?”
Crowley smiled at that, heart swelling. “Anywhere you want to go, angel,” he whispered, kissing Aziraphale’s cheek and holding him just a bit closer.
THE END