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"I don't know why they keep ringing the bell like that. It's like they expect you to sell them some books just because it's eleven in the morning and you run a bookshop," complained Crowley. "Want me to make them go away?" He peeped hopefully over the rim of his glass.
"Absolutely not. I am not spending the rest of the day trying to make people forget my giant pet snake again." Aziraphale heaved himself to his feet, wondering once again why he hadn't been given a younger, in human terms, corporation. Perhaps Haniel had thought a Principality subject to various aches and pains might be more sympathetic to Fallen humans. Aziraphale was merely inclined to get fretful and snappish when his knees hurt.
Of course, the corporation had been somewhat more muscular when he first descended from Eden. These days it showed distinct signs of thousands of years of good living, and not just in the moral sense.
There was no one at the door. Just a bunch of white chrysanthemums wrapped in gold ribbon, a streak of purity and freshness deposited on his worn and rather grotty doorstep. Aziraphale liked it that way. If he repainted it or gave it a good scrub, people might find it welcoming, and that would never do.
He scooped up the bouquet and went back to Crowley, the door locking behind him.
"Who's the secret admirer?" Crowley was well into his fourth glass of Aziraphale's cherished case of Gonzales Byaz 1964 Anada Oloroso. He stared moodily at his glass. "Why does sherry taste like licking the inside of a boot?"
"There's no need to drink it, then," said Aziraphale, a little sharply. That case had been expensive. "And I don't know. It may be that young gentleman I helped out with his family yesterday afternoon. Or the lady having trouble with her daughter. Or the gentleman who had lost his kitten."
"Can't help yourself, can you?" Crowley glared at his glass as if daring the contents to taste better, and downed the sherry. "Supposed to be retired, and still spreading light and love everywhere."
"It is, after all, my nature." Aziraphale was pleased despite himself, and despite Crowley being in, as Aziraphale usually put it to himself, One of his Snakey Moods. Humans so rarely showed proper gratitude. "Look, there's a card. Engraved on silver, how unusual." He pulled it out, and a cloud of pollen glittered through the air. They always were heavy on pollen, chrysanthemums. He should keep them away from his books. "And in Ancient Greek. Give to the bearer, Aziraphale, of the third sphere, a spell of philia and advantage over demons and their affections, particularly the Serpent of Eden who was once known as Crawly. Oh dear."
Crowley sneezed, and the next thing Aziraphale knew, his arms were filled with demon.
"My dear boy, do you think you could shuffle to the side at least a little? This is rather a small couch."
"It'sss not my fault," Crowley hissed furiously, his face pressed into Aziraphale's shoulder, arms locked around his neck. "Do you think I like this? It's humiliating."
Aziraphale wondered if he should pet Crowley reassuringly on his skinny back, or if that would make matters worse. "We need to sort ourselves out and work out who did this to you, and how to fix it. Would a cup of tea help?"
"A whole barrel of rum would help, then maybe... Actually, yeah. Tea would be good." Crowley snuggled closer.
"It would be easier if you let go of me for just a moment," Aziraphale said patiently.
Crowley loosened his grasp, and Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief. Then Crowley launched himself at the angel again. "Can't," he said miserably. "It's like—like I miss you too much. It hurts."
Aziraphale considered, then stood up and made his way to the kitchenette. It was made rather difficult by their complete inability to coordinate footsteps. "Oh, for heaven's sake."
Crowley shuddered. "Mind your language. I'm right here, you know."
"I'm hardly likely to forget it," sniffed Aziraphale. He plugged in the kettle and managed to get out two teacups. Crowley leaned against his back, arms around his waist, an oddly heavy, warm presence for such a lean creature. Aziraphale moved slowly and methodically, letting the routine soothe his ruffled nerves. Flush teapot with hot water, measure tea, add water steep, strain. Four spoons of sugar for Crowley, none for himself. The scent of the brew was calming, and it was easier than he thought to adjust to the embrace.
He looked at the tiny kitchen table and sighed, then pulled the chairs close together. They managed to get into the chairs with tea in front of them, Crowley's arm draped across Aziraphale's shoulder now, pressed thigh to thigh.
"Close enough?"
"Yeah. Almost. Thanks." Crowley hesitated. "Do you think you could?"
"Of course," Aziraphale said comfortingly and wrapped his left arm around Crowley's waist. Crowley settled in with a sigh of relief and tangled his ankles with Aziraphale's. That seemed to be enough to relax him, and they both picked up tea with their spare hands.
"We're going to have to sort this out," he said. "You can hardly serve customers dragging me around by your waist."
"Oh, I suppose I will have to keep the shop closed for a while." Aziraphale brightened at the thought. "My pet snake is sick and clingy."
"That's not actually funny."
Aziraphale took a healing sip of tea. "I don't suppose it was one of my side. They might find it amusing to enthral a demon friend to me, especially after the events with young Adam."
Crowley snorted. "Like they could. If they could just use a philia spell and make us all behave, don't you think they would have tried it? No, this stinks of Hell." He blew gloomily on his tea. "Dagon, maybe. Trying out a new torment. Or Dantalion. They're childish enough to think If you love the angel so much you might as well marry him. I m-mean... I didn't mean... nnnngh." He seemed a brighter red than the steam from the tea could quite account for.
There was an awkward silence, while Aziraphale sought for something to say that wouldn't make matters worse. Naturally Crowley hadn't meant... that. It was clearly just a humiliating punishment for their alliance. He was suddenly very aware of the pressure of thigh against thigh, the way Crowley's calf had wound around his, how neatly he fitted into Aziraphale's side. Usually, that kind of thought was put aside, because naturally Crowley's corporation had been designed to be attractive to humans, and equally naturally an angel had no business thinking about his graceful legs or beautiful mouth or the exact shade of olive-brown of his skin. Those thoughts were always best tucked away.
It was a lot harder with Crowley's arm around his shoulder.
At this inauspicious moment, the bell tinkled again. They turned to look at each other, and Aziraphale realised just how close their faces were. He could feel Crowley's breath on his mouth.
"It's probably just a customer," Aziraphale said uneasily.
"But if not? S'pose we should go. If it's Dantalion I'm biting their face off." Crowley managed to summon his glasses.
They managed to make it to their feet and the door without falling, Crowley latched firmly onto Aziraphale and opened the door.
"Hullo, Ezra," said John from the Come Inside Bookshop. "Came to see if your power was out or if it's just my fusebox playing up." He looked with open curiosity at Crowley in his sharp, elegant suit and designer haircut. "Hey, mate. Seen you coming and going a bit lately but don't know your name."
"AJ," muttered Crowley ungraciously.
"John. Good to meet you. Didn't know Ezra had a partner lurking around the place."
"Oh, he's not my partner," said Aziraphale. Crowley, one arm draped over Aziraphale's shoulder and the other reaching across his plump waist, made a strangled noise.
John blinked, not sure how to react, but visibly taking in Crowley's apparent youth and polished expensiveness and comparing it to Aziraphale in his comfortable fisherman's jumper. "Working boy, then," he said with heavy tolerance.
"Oh, he doesn't do much work," Aziraphale said. Crowley spluttered against his shoulder. "No power trouble on this side. Not in that sense, in any case. Sorry not to invite you in my dear, but my friend needs some attention right now." Crowley's own shoulders were shaking, annoyingly enough.
"Right enough," John said. "Well, I'll be seeing you, Ezra. Cheers, ah, AJ."
Crowley detached his hand long enough to give his new friend a little wave and then they were back in the shop. The demon buried his head in Aziraphale's shoulder and shook harder, and Aziraphale was relieved to realise it was with laughter.
"Oh, angel. Do you have any idea the impression you just gave?"
Aziraphale frowned. "Well, the idea of you being my partner is ridiculous."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is." The amusement faded.
"I was only defending you. I thought you'd be insulted by the idea of owning a bookshop. If you owned a business it would be something 'cool' like a nightclub."
Crowley lifted his head and his lips shaped the word cool.
"Well? Did I say it wrong?" Aziraphale asked irritably. At least part of his irritation was the awareness of just how close Crowley's lips were. Crowley's everything was very close, although that wasn't surprising given the nature of the pollen. Aziraphale could feel the curve of his belly pressing against Crowley's lean stomach and was strongly self-conscious about it. He couldn't hurt Crowley's feelings by shoving him away, as if the pollen spell was the demon's fault.
"No. You said it perfectly. I didn't even know someone could pronounce quotation marks like that." Crowley pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and put the freed hand back around Aziraphale's neck. "Angel, do you really think I'm cool? You are the most—" Whatever insult he was about to make died on his lips, which truly were very close to Aziraphale's. As were his eyes, wide and reptilian and unblinking, as if he could look straight into the back of an angelic skull. Aziraphale found himself wishing he would close them, and as if in answer, Crowley's eyes fluttered closed in an entire un-snakelike manner. The tongue fluttering out to wet his lips was decidedly more serpentine, and a certain grace in his neck as his head swayed closer.
"Enough of that," Aziraphale said sharply. "You are under the influence of a philia spell."
Crowley froze. "Gosh. I'm sorry."
"It's quite all right."
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Crowley leaned his head against Aziraphale's shoulder again, and despite himself, Aziraphale's arms came up to cradle him. It was decidedly pleasant, he caught himself thinking. Despite, or perhaps because of, the difference in their frames, Crowley seemed to melt into his embrace as if he had been carved into being solely to be held. Aziraphale was aware there hadn't been much cuddling in his own long life, and surely it was worse for Crowley. Aziraphale had met only a few demons, but they had never seemed the cuddly type. Perhaps some of the hellhounds, he supposed. Dog had been quite nice.
Aziraphale was aware that one of the compartments where he kept all his conflicting feelings about Crowley was starting to leak, which was something he usually managed to prevent in the demon's presence.
"I have some reading to do," he said. "If I'm going to figure out the root of this trouble. You don't want to be stuck to me forever, do you?"
"'Course not."
"Would it be easier in snake form?"
"Could try. Close your eyes, all right? Don't want you seeing my in-between form."
Aziraphale obeyed, despite terrible curiosity, and then felt a silky, dry and impossibly heavy weight curling up around him, winding around him, the massiveness of it oddly comforting. Surrounded and technically in danger, in the clutches of an ancient enemy. Completely safe. "Oh. This is nice," he said despite himself, opening his eyes to look into the true face of the Serpent of Eden. A terrible pang of nostalgia hit him. "Missed you, old fellow."
Crawly flickered out his tongue. The brush of it against Aziraphale's cheek was soft and ticklish. Then the snake shivered and went through something complicated and Aziraphale's arms were full of human-shaped demon.
"Sorry," gasped Crowley. "Stil hurts. Needs to be this form, I think."
Aziraphale picked him bodily up and carried him to his favourite armchair, plumped himself into it, and settled Crowley into his lap. Crowley locked his arms around Aziraphale's neck, wordlessly. Then Aziraphale summoned a pile of books on Ancient Greek ritual magic and demonology, and began to read.
Crowley relaxed slowly and surely and began to give helpful comments.
"Could be Furfur, he's into this kind of thing. Likes to appear as a genie in a bottle, grant romantic wishes at a terrible cost."
"Hardly likely in this case, I suppose."
Crowley was quiet for a moment. "No. I suppose not."
"Murmur—oh, rhyming names, very quaint. Is that Matthias?"
"Don't use her angelic name, Aziraphale for Christ's sake. No, doesn't sound like her. We always got along fine, anyway."
"Apparently Caassimolar likes to cause love among foes."
"Bit late for that, isn't it? I mean, we get along all right, don't we?"
"Yes," Aziraphale said, very softly. "We do." He turned the page. "What about Raum? It says he can invoke... love." Aziraphale had no idea that that Ars Goetia was so full of dangerous topics.
Eventually, Crowley, who was in the human habit of sleeping, relaxed against Aziraphale's side as the angel read into the night, silently now. And thought about compartments. There was the Serpent, his old enemy, who of course couldn't be trusted but in the end was only doing his job as God in his ineffableness intended, and there was no need to be silly about these things and be unpleasant about them. There was Crowley who liked sweet tea and red wine and Handel and his car, and was good, if somewhat prickly and teasing, company. The only one who understood what it was like to be an immortal permanently stationed on this fascinating planet.
Then there was...
Crowley's eyelids were traced with tiny blue veins, and his usually stylish hair was slightly damp around his forehead from sleep. Aziraphale ached to brush it off his forehead, to gently kiss the bared skin. As if he would take advantage of Crowley's sleep, or the white chrysanthemum pollen, like that.
"You dear thing," Aziraphale whispered.
The third, most hidden compartment poured light into his heart, and Aziraphale didn't know how to stop it, not with Crowley draped across his lap and clinging to him.
It was many hours later when Crowley opened his eyes. "Hullo, angel."
"Good morning. Rest well?"
"Yeah." Crowley rubbed his face against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Found anything?"
"No." Aziraphale sighed. "I'm sorry. I know this is inconvenient."
"Inconvenient? It's torture." There was an anger and bitterness in Crowley's voice that Aziraphale hadn't been expecting, and it stabbed him somewhere deep inside. "That's why I think it's probably Dagon."
"I'm sorry that you are forced to endure my company."
"It's not that, Aziraphale. You know it's not that."
"My corporation then."
"Nothing wrong with your corporation. If I had to pick a corporation to be glued to, it would be your corporation. It's a very handsome corporation. I particularly like your arms and your chest. And your thighs. Quite an admirer of your backside, too."
"Thank you." Aziraphale, who had not expected such fervency, sought for a polite answer. "Your corporation is very handsome, too."
"I know," Crowley said smugly. "Comes with the job."
"What is it like?" Aziraphale asked, eventually. "The spell. You said it hurts? Physically?"
"No." Crowley sighed. "It's like—the bookshop."
"I'm afraid I don't follow you."
"After the business with Ligur and Hastur. I came back to warn you that Hell was after us, and the bookshop was on fire. You'd never let your bloody bookshop burn. I went in, and—yeah. Thought it was too late. Didn't know if Heaven or Hell had got to you. Didn't care. Hated them both. Hated you for letting them take you out. Hated me. Hadn't been there to protect you or die by you. That's what it feels like if I'm not touching you right now. Like you've been, I don't know, cut away from me."
"My dear boy."
"And then when I hold you, it's like, well. I carried on with things, you know? Had to. Thought all was lost anyway. But then you were there, at the airfield. Alive. And you patted my back and held my hand. And it felt right. We were together at the beginning of the world, we'd be there together at the end. But it didn't end."
"Crowley. Is that why you've been around so much lately?"
"Partly. I mean, partly there's no reason left not to be. They all know about us now. But sometimes, yeah, if I haven't seen you for a bit, I feel... bad. Scared."
"Dear, dear boy."
"This is so humiliating." Crowley paused. "Angel, can I kiss you?"
"The pollen," Aziraphale said weakly.
"No, not the pollen. You." Crowley swallowed. "Always you."
The compartment broke open completely, flooding Aziraphale's senses with light. "Always you, my very dear," he said, and Crowley's thighs were tight around his hips, the demon was half-kneeling in his lap, and dry soft lips were pressing against his. Aziraphale was unaccustomed to kissing, but his lips parted and clung as if they knew what to do, and the moment they parted a tongue slipped between, caressing his, sucking gently. Aziraphale moaned and his head rolled back, mouth opening wider to take the kiss deep, feeling slim hips grind down on him and his own hands slide to hold them in place as he pressed back as they kissed for what felt like an eternity.
"Gosh," said Crowley, and "My word," said Aziraphale, and they both chuckled, because what else was there to do in the face of overwhelming feeling?
"No wonder humans are so stupid over this," Crowley said breathlessly. "Oh, my angel. Tell me, tell me this isn't just pity for the pathetic demon gone on you?"
Aziraphale bent his head and dragged his lips up Crowley's neck. The resulting whimper gave him a little flutter of power. "I adore you, you ridiculous, precious, wonderful snake. I've loved you for centuries."
"Oh, darling. I love you too." Crowley grinned giddily down at him, yellow eyes the colour of buttercups, of dandelions, of...
Yellow chrysanthemums.
Crowley blinked, something he rarely did. "The pollen. It's gone. Don't know if it was the kiss or, or, finally saying it."
"Seems a bit poetic for a demon." Aziraphale stroked his spine, so delicate under his fingertips. "Freed by love. Or maybe love broke Hell's curse, who knows? You still seem to be on my lap, though."
"Because I want to be. 'Sss different."
"It is indeed," said Aziraphale, holding all he loved in the world on his lap and knowing his world wanted to be there.
Afterwards, they decided it probably was Adam, who after all had said he knew all about them, and perhaps had wanted to nudge them more in the way they were already going.
Although Aziraphale said, he certainly hoped Adam hadn't imagined exactly where it had ended up, which was far too explicit for a boy of twelve to be thinking about.
John next door, however, probably had a fair idea.