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It's no secret that the demon Crowley likes his naps. He just loves sleeping in general. Aziraphale never really understood this, never saw the point. Not when there were so many other things one could do with their time, especially on Earth.
Therefore, Aziraphale is not at all surprised to see said demon languidly sprawled out, in that lanky, effortless way that only Crowley could, on his sofa asleep.
"Really, my dear boy? I was barely away for 10 minutes", Aziraphale thinks only a little irritated, but mostly fondly to himself.
Oh well. It was late (or early?) and they were really rather drunk anyway and definitely not in need of the other two bottles Aziraphale had brought up from his extensive wine cellar. And although Aziraphale was certainly enjoying their drunken conversations about everything and nothing, he was always - when he was being honest with himself, which was rather rare for this angel - excited? No. Intrigued? Perhaps. Enamored? Closer. Well, whatever the word, he did enjoy seeing the demon with his guard down. No glasses, sly smirks, impossibly cool posture, smooth teasing voice. None of his usual defenses up in place to keep him safe and hidden away from the world. From Aziraphale.
Aziraphale found himself making his way to the couch where his demon slept. He doesn't know when he started to refer (in thought only, of course) to Crowley as his demon, but he thought it was quite fitting. Who else would have claim to Crowley? Certainly not Hell. They ignored him just as Heaven had abandoned the angel. Also, if he called him that only in his thoughts, then well, what could it hurt?
The angel reaches Crowley's sleeping form and simply stares. Tracing the planes of his face with his eyes. He can't help himself in his drunken state from reaching out to push a stray lock of hair away from his forehead to behind his ear. Crowley, in his sleep, unconsciously leans into Aziraphale's touch, and his heart skips a beat, while his stomach does that rather annoying, rather delightful swooping sensation. He can't help but sigh as his heart both soars and clenches painfully in his chest; a distressing thought coming unbidden to the forefront of his mind. That though he may think of Crowley as his demon, he would never truly be; not in the way that Aziraphale wanted. And oh, did he want.
Aziraphale can't help the words as they come tumbling from his mouth, tongue loosened by the copious amounts of wine they shared.
Softly, reverently, "Crowley..."
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Crowley is vaguely aware of a soft, warm pressure on his head near his ear and a voice.
"Angel?", he tries, but comes out more like "amngk".
He's too comfortable - too drunk - to move, so Crowley continues to lay there in his half asleep, half awake hazy state. Content to just be.
Then he hears it again.
Softly, so softly he almost thinks he's dreaming, "Oh, Crowley".
No. Definitely not dreaming. That's his-that's the angel talking. Crowley doesn't dare move.
Keeping his breath even, which is truly a miracle within itself, and willing his eyes to remain closed, he listens.
"If only it was all different."
A pause.
"Then I could..."
Crowley subconsciously holds his breath, a reflex, waiting.
"Then I could tell you. Tell you everything."
Thoughts racing, heart hammering in his chest so loud the sound almost drowns out Aziraphale's words. Straining to hear, he lies motionless.
"Tell you how lost I would have been, would be, without you. How you make me feel like no one else can. How you're the only person I feel safe with."
"I could tell you just how much I absolutely..."
There's a pause. Crowley hears the angel take a deep breath through his nose, like he's steeling himself for something, or searching for the right words. Crowley reflexively holds his breath and waits.
For a second.
For an eternity.
"...ardently love you."
Crowley fights hard against a sob that made its way from his chest to his throat, threatening to break free.
Aziraphale must think it was Crowley snoring in his sleep because that same warm, soft, reassuring pressure is in Crowley's hair gently pushing his hair towards the back of his skull. He allows himself to lean into the movement just enough to feel more of the angel's delicate fingers, but not enough to let the angel know he's definitely no longer sleeping.
Whether it was the "snoring" or his seemingly unconscious head movements, he can hear the smile in Aziraphale's voice when he says, "Even if you're a wily, old serpent who drinks all my alcohol and insists on putting your feet on all my furniture."
The angel chuckles a little to himself, his voice now closer as if he was leaning down toward Crowley, "I still love you with all my being and nothing could ever change that, my darling."
And with that, Aziraphale allows himself an indulgence without even thinking about it (as he is want to do) and leans over further to briefly, chastely, ever-so-softly graze his lips to Crowley's cheek bone, just under his temple.
Before Crowley could even register what was happening, the light pressure on his cheek is gone and Aziraphale's warmth is receding, leaving the demon feeling utterly alone and cold though his face is hot and palms are sweaty.
He hears the rustling of clothes and a low cough, like Aziraphale is clearing his throat.
Realizing Aziraphale is moving away and his presence will soon be gone along with this glorious and long awaited moment, Crowley starts to panic. His body moves completely of its own will.
He blindingly reaches out to where the angel - his angel? - is to stop him from leaving.
"Angel...", Crowley whispers not wanting to frighten Aziraphale as his fingers wrap gently around the soft, slightly worn fabric of his trousers, stopping the angel with a slight gasp.
Crowley turns his head immediately seeking the angel's quizzical blue eyes, fixing him with a piercing, almost pained look himself. Desperately hoping Aziraphale could read and interpret the depth of emotion there.
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Aziraphale is startled and let's out a quiet gasp as he feels a hand gripping lightly at his thigh, right above his left knee.
Turning instantly to the still prone figure on his couch, he is greeted with the sight of two golden eyes looking at him with such a mixture of emotion that Aziraphale is momentarily taken aback.
His confusion quickly turns to shock which quickly gives way to embarrassment.
Aziraphale thinks to himself in a panic even as his cheeks begin to pink.
Before he can formulate a response - an apology, "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have..."; an "oh, just a misunderstanding"; or even a staunch denial "you were clearly dreaming, my dear" - Crowley's hand finds his own and twines their fingers together.
Crowley is looking up at Aziraphale with such an open expression. Pleading. Yearning. So much so that the angel's heart flutters helplessly in his chest. And yet, in those same eyes, that same face, there's another look; one of confusion. A question longing to be answered. Eyes and face begging for confirmation that what he just heard was real and not just a figment of his imagination. Not just a lovely, perfect dream.
The look broke Aziraphale's heart. How could Crowley doubt his worth? How could he not even consider Aziraphale's own affections towards the demon? Surely he must have known - he had been so obvious! So much so that the mere thought of his own past behavior brought not a little bit of shame to his mind and a blush to his cheeks.
But the look of apprehension on Crowley's face pushed all other thoughts away.
The embarrassment and incredulity abandoned, the angel only wanted to reassure his demon that Yes, you heard me right. How dare you believe any different? A fiery determination (not entirely independent from the wine) at the forefront of his emotions.
Gathering as much courage as he had (as well as the extra courage the alcohol provided) he squeezed Crowley's hand in his; the only indication of his next move. Which was, in one swift movement, to dip down to one knee, take Crowley's jaw in his free hand, and kiss him as fervently as possible. Putting all the desire, frustration, and love he has felt for the last six millennia into this one kiss. This one chance he has to prove to Crowley just how wanted, worthy, and loved he is.
As Aziraphale crashed their mouths together, Crowley immediately acted and moved his free hand to back of Aziraphale's head, bringing them impossibly closer, making a low whine in the back of his throat.
The culmination of 6,000 years of waiting - hoping - and longing all brought to a head in this one fortuitous moment was too much for Aziraphale. He pulled away sharply but stayed close to Crowley, hand still firmly in place on the demon's cheek.
"Crowley", he gasped, voice absolutely wrecked. Pressing their foreheads together, he shuts his eyes tight.
"Angel", came Crowley's voice, equally wrecked, breath ragged.
"I never knew", the demon continued, "Only hoped."
At those words the angel opens his eyes to see Crowley's staring back at him. Aziraphale could still see all those warring emotions fighting for dominance on Crowley's face. But as Aziraphale finally, timidly smiles at the demon - his demon he corrected mentally - only one emotion remained:
Love.