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Aziraphale had walked this hallway countless times before, but this time felt different. The sleek walls and uniformed doors all seemed to glare at him in a way that would never make sense in any other situation.
But he felt it deeply, as if his friend’s anger permeated the air, lingering.
Every breath brought pain. His heart pumped adrenaline through his veins, pulse throbbing in his ears, and it was truly the most human he’d felt in a very long time when he reached out and brought his fist to Crowley’s door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Too cheery. How was it that even his knock felt wrong in this situation?
He really had made a mess of things.
Well.
No bother. He’d fix it. He always did.
They always did together, one way or another.
He would explain himself, promise he was back for good this time, could even do the dance if the situation really called for it.
And Crowley would understand. Right?
He would.
He had to.
But first, he just needed to open the door.
Aziraphale waited three minutes and forty-two seconds before he decided enough time had gone by.
Perhaps, Crowley hadn’t heard him.
Or perhaps, he had, and was ignoring him.
His heartbeat picked up, and he really did not like feeling like such a human.
“Crowley?” he called out, voice carrying rudely through the public hallway. “My dear, it’s me. Please let me in. I know you’re in there. I-I…”
I can feel you.
He let the words go unsaid, and banged on the door once more. He hoped he wouldn’t be ruining the neighbors’ peace. He’d make sure they’d all sleep very well tonight and only encounter green stoplights in the morning.
“Crowley! Please!” His voice rose an octave. “I don't want to have to just let myself in, but I will. Hello? Alright, here I come. I’m coming inside. I—“
The door flung open, and the words dried up in his mouth.
There stood Crowley in tight black silk pyjama bottoms—really, who wore tight silk trousers to sleep? They looked awfully… uncomfortable. Yes, that was the word he was thinking of. Nothing else—and a matching top that was buttoned only halfway.
Aziraphale’s eyes darted toward that pale chest for a moment before he remembered himself and quickly averted his gaze.
Crowley leaned into the doorway, lips pursed, an open bottle of whiskey clasped in his fist.
“What’re you doing here?”
He definitely did not sound happy.
Aziraphale swallowed his anxiety, lifted his chin, and fought back the tears of joy that threatened to spill free when he said, “I’ve returned.”
But Crowley did not react, and his eyes remained hidden behind his sunglasses. He jutted out one hip to the side and his whiskey sloshed against the side of the bottle. He grunted a noise made of consonants.
“Crowley, I—“
“We don’t ‘ave t’ do this.”
“What?” Aziraphale felt as if he might just lose his balance.
“Talk.” Crowley motioned between the two of them with the bottle, and it dawned on Aziraphale for the first time just how drunk his friend really was.
“But we really should—”
“‘Ziraphale,” Crowley stopped him once more, voice a harsh bolt of ice. “I don’t want to talk.”
Nausea swelled in Aziraphale’s stomach. He didn’t call me Angel, he thought. He won’t even look at me.
Crowley moved to close the door but Aziraphale reached out and blocked the barrier from slamming into place.
Crowley growled and spun around, sloppy and uncoordinated from the alcohol, and stalked off, muttering, “Suit yourself. ‘M not talkin’.”
He took another swig right out of the whiskey bottle. His throat bobbed up and down with the large gulp. Aziraphale pushed forward, letting himself inside, and immediately noticed two other empty bottles on the coffee table, both freshly drained.
The reality of their situation set in.
Aziraphale’s bottom lip trembled, and he choked out, “Oh, Crowley. How did we get here?”
***
How did we get here?
The starmaker was well known, infamous for his ranking and his excitement. Aziraphale really never expected to actually get to interact with him.
He had been going for a flight, intent on taking a quick peek at the newly created universe as it came together bit by bit, and was caught off guard when someone called out to him.
The starmaker had a lovely voice, and Aziraphale was instantly star-struck— no pun intended— and quite taken by the striking red hair.
And the starmaker asked him to help, to hold the important paperwork that would turn into stars. Aziraphale tried to stay calm, but it was hard to hold back his joy when watching the starmaker crank everything up and then squeal over the results.
Love swirled in Aziraphale’s entire being, exploded like the universe coming into existence, bright and colorful and so very, very real.
But he was an angel. He loved everything, of course. A time like this called for more love. That was all this was. Certainly, it wouldn't be anything more than that.
“Look at you! You’re gorgeous!”
It took Aziraphale a moment to think clearly. Of course the starmaker was talking about the very stars he had just brought into existence.
And Aziraphale really should have kept his mouth shut. There was no reason to bring up what would happen in six thousand years.
It's just that he really thought the starmaker already knew.
He hadn't intended for anyone to start asking questions.
Really, he just wanted to make conversation, to be memorable to this fascinating being.
He hadn't meant to be the source of the starmaker’s downfall.
…
“I’m back for good,” Aziraphale said when Crowley chose not to answer his question. “I’m back and I'm staying.”
Crowley said nothing. He walked around the apartment with the nonchalance of someone who cared nothing for this particular situation, and the grace of a drunk snake.
He seemed to slither more than walk at this point, hips swaying, legs nearly tangling with each step. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley sometimes forgot he even had legs.
“I made a mistake before— have made many mistakes really— but I’m here for good,” Aziraphale continued.
“Go home ‘Ziraphale. Don’t wanna talk. Already sssssaid sssso,” Crowley hissed back, tongue loose and a bit too free.
“Yes, well, I would like to talk. It’s quite important that we do, given our situation.”
“Sssstop it.”
“No. We must discuss this. Really Crowley. We have to talk.”
“No!” Crowley bellowed, and for a moment, Aziraphale could have sworn he tasted smoke in the air. “Leave Aziraphale!”
It’s Angel. It’s Angel. Call me—
“Angel.” The word slipped past Aziraphale’s lips before he could stop it.
Crowley tilted his head to the side. “Whaa?”
Heat swarmed into Aziraphale’s face. “Nothing, nothing. It’s nothing.”
Crowley grunted and turned away, swaying over to his sofa where he collapsed. One leg flopped over the top of it, the other foot landing flat on the floor.
He lounged that way, and he was the only being who could make it look even remotely comfortable.
“I will not leave until we work this out. I’m here to stay for good.”
Aziraphale wished his voice would stop shaking.
“You said it y’self,” Crowley slurred, sinking somehow even further into the cushions. “Nothin’ lasts forever.”
***
How did we get here?
Aziraphale tried not to think about how much it must have hurt. He knew which angels had fallen, but his mind kept drifting back to one in particular, and he didn’t know why.
He gladly accepted his new assignment, prepared to guard the Eastern gate and do his duty, and while he knew there would be others to foil the peace, he never suspected who the culprit would be.
When the serpent slithered over to him, and morphed into a humanoid form, Aziraphale could not help but notice the familiar striking red hair. But that was where any familiarity ended.
Those red locks now flowed down his back, long and free.
The brown eyes had become golden with slits.
The white wings had blackened and sagged.
The serpent made conversation, talked about the two people they were observing, and brought up the missing flaming sword.
“You wot?”
“I gave it away!”
And oh, those eyes looked different, but they shined all the same with bright fascination. So maybe, he hadn't changed all that much.
And he was kind. He reassured Aziraphale, comforted him.
The former starmaker had a new name now: Crawley.
When the first rain began to fall, Aziraphale decided to show this creature kindness that he probably had not seen in a long while.
And just like the starmaker had once done for him, he welcomed Crawley under his wing.
He was just being nice.
That’s what angels do. No other reason, of course.
He just had to make sure that nobody would see.
***
“I was talking about the bookshop!” Aziraphale insisted, marching over to Crowley and standing directly in front of him. “You had been talking about the bookshop.”
“Whatever.” Crowley turned his face into the sofa, sloppily splashing whiskey onto the cushions as he did so, but he didn't seem to care.
“No. Not ‘whatever.’ This is important. I hadn’t meant to hurt you.”
Aziraphale knelt down so they were eye-level— or would be if Crowley bothered to look at him— and reached out one hand to place it on Crowley’s arm.
Crowley jerked away, sitting straight. His sunglasses slipped forward slightly, but he yanked them back into place. “Don’t!” he warned.
“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale gasped out, and tears pooled in his eyes. “But you must hear me out.”
“I don’t have t’ do anythin’.”
“Hear me out, and then, if you still wish for me to, I will leave.” The promise tasted bitter, but he meant it.
Crowley’s glare was obvious even without visual access to his eyes. He said nothing, but he waited, and he seemed to be listening.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Aziraphale began, and the tears fell free now, painting his cheeks in melancholy and longing. “I had to go, to save the world, but I went about it all wrong. I never meant to call you one of the bad guys. It wasn’t my intention. It all just happened so fast, and I was caught off guard and hopeful that maybe we could finally stop hiding our friendship.”
“Friendship,” Crowley grumbled back, corners of his mouth sinking like a rock in a pond.
Aziraphale kept going before he could stop himself. “I never meant to hurt your feelings or make you feel unwanted or rejected, especially not when you put yourself out there the way you did with that kiss.”
Crowley was up on his feet in an instant, towering over Aziraphale. “We are not talking about this.”
It was a warning, tinged with anger and hurt and betrayal.
Aziraphale plowed right past it. “I never wanted you to feel unloved.”
And somehow, that seemed to cut deeper than anything else.
Crowley snapped his fingers, vanishing to the other side of the room at once, facing away to look out the window.
Only his back was visible now.
“That’s what you were trying to tell me, right? I see that now. I think I knew it then too. I think I’ve always known how you— how we— felt.” Aziraphale’s voice had grown soft, trembling. He felt numb and jittery at the same time. “I was too scared to say it out loud. But I will now. I will. Just please, let me see your eyes.”
***
How did we get here?
The world proved to be larger than Aziraphale would have expected. But he and Crawley gravitated to one another throughout time. And each time, Crawley found ways to surprise him.
He showed sympathy during the flood.
She appeared sad at the crucifixion.
He looked absolutely ridiculous when they met during the whole mess with Job, and tempted Aziraphale to try human food. He watched proudly when Aziraphale ate an entire ox, later comforting him when he lied.
Crawley claimed to be on his own side. He made it look easy.
Aziraphale wondered if it were possible to be on his own side too.
***
Crowley didn’t turn around; at least, not at first.
So, Aziraphale decided to save his declaration for the time being. There was much to be said, and he had to do it now.
“I stopped the second coming. It was a whole mess, really, but I did it.”
He noticed Crowley’s hand— the one holding the whiskey— twitch.
“Turns out, it was never really part of the plan,” Aziraphale went on. “But we can get into that later. Just know that it is taken care of now. For good. I’ve done what I needed to, and I’m back. I’m here. I always planned to come back. You must understand that it just wasn’t safe before. When you turned me down, it was no longer safe for us to continue as we had been. And when you kissed me, it was horrible timing.”
“You kissed me back!” Crowley snapped.
Aziraphale flushed red.
It was true.
He had for a brief moment, and it was wonderful and terrifying, and left him in tears.
“And I know you regret it.” Crowley stalked toward him now, hand clenching the bottle so hard his knuckles went white. Aziraphale worried the glass might break. “I know you don’t feel the same. I get it.”
“How could you say that?” Aziraphale whispered. “I planned a whole ball just to have a chance to show you.”
“You forgave me!”
“Because you ruined how our first kiss was meant to be!”
***
How did we get here?
As the years went by, Crawley became Crowley, and it was hard not to be drawn to him.
The same excited, creative energy that flowed through the starmaker showed up in Crowley now. However, instead of creating stars, he created chaos.
Crowley created chaos in Edinburgh, saving a poor young woman and proving just how kind he really could be, even as he shrunk and grew and sang songs that didn’t yet exist.
Crowley created chaos when he ‘rescued’ Aziraphale in the Bastille— Aziraphale could not be blamed for allowing himself to get caught. It had just been so long since they’d seen each other— and showed up dressed in that ridiculous outfit. It was the first time he had felt something other than pure love for Crowley.
Crowley created chaos when he saved Aziraphale in the church, hopping foot to foot in pain, and saving the books he knew meant so much to Aziraphale.
It was the first time the angel recognised that the love he was feeling for Crowley was definitely not the same as he felt for everyone else.
Crowley created chaos by glueing coins to pavements and making confusing highways and turning paintball guns into actual guns that wouldn’t actually hurt anyone.
He created chaos to stop the apocalypse and save the world they loved so much.
Crowley created chaos and Aziraphale created distance between them because if anyone ever discovered how he truly felt, they would both be in trouble.
And Aziraphale had already caused the former starmaker more than enough pain.
***
Aziraphale had not intended on shouting back, but it rushed out of him all at once, and his tears fell from anger now. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dark. “All those millennia, I imagined how our first kiss would be, and you made it angry.”
Crowley’s eyebrows rose in shock, mouth going slack. For the first time, Aziraphale noticed that the whiskey bottle was full once more, and had become so when Crowley was facing away from him.
“Glasses off,” Aziraphale requested once more.
Crowley reached up with his free hand and removed the sunglasses, tossing them onto the coffee table.
For the first time in almost a year, those golden eyes were visible to the angel once more.
They were filled with emotion, fully golden, remnants of tears evident in their edges. “That’s why you were forgiving me?”
Aziraphale nodded. “Obviously. What else would I have forgiven you for?”
“Kissing you.”
Aziraphale felt his chest tighten with sadness. “Well yes but only because of how and when.”
“Angel,” Crowley hissed. “We had five years after the apocalypse where nobody was watchin’ us. We were together everyday. You never showed any interest.”
A weight lifted off Aziraphale, blew away like a swift wind. “You called me Angel again.”
Crowley furrowed his brow. “Well, yeah. You’re an angel.”
Aziraphale grinned. They both knew that Angel had become more than just a label of what he was.
Crowley placed down the whiskey, and his hands were shaking despite the fact that he was completely sober now. “Sssso are you sssaying…” He stopped himself, gritting his teeth and trying to bite back the hiss. “A-are you sssaying— damn it!”
Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle. “That I wanted to kiss you too? Yes, but not like that.”
Crowley’s eyes were impossibly, inhumanly, wide now. He swallowed, and words seemed to escape him.
“My dear,” Aziraphale began again, feeling rather nervous now as he stepped closer and closer, hoping this was alright. “I know we have so much to discuss, but you must understand that everything I’ve done has had a purpose. You must trust that.”
The tears came faster now, and Crowley pursed his lips, fighting his own emotions.
Aziraphale pressed on. “I never wanted to change you. I just thought I could right a wrong, bring you the joy I’d taken away if I could turn you back into an angel.”
Crowley jerked backward. “Wait, what?”
“Oh, my dear boy, I know you don’t remember much from before the fall, but you have to know everything should we move forward here.”
Crowley scrunched his nose and grimaced. “What are you talkin’ about? I remember most things. It’s all a bit blurry, but I do.” He lifted his hand and waved it through the air, as if miming the haziness. “I remember.”
“You do?” That made no sense! “But you don’t— you couldn’t possibly— remember everything. You couldn’t remember—”
“You? ‘Course I do. Cute little cherub flies over and helps me put stars into creation; no one could forget something like that.”
Aziraphale felt a bit faint: head spinning, heart slamming in his ribs. “You remember me? But when we saw each other in Eden, you introduced yourself.”
“Well, yeah. Had a new name, didn’t I? Why do you think I slithered over to you? Couldn’t believe my luck.” His cheeks went pink in a very un-Crowley way. “Found the only angel I wanted to see.”
Aziraphale bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. “Then you must not remember everything. You couldn’t. Otherwise, you’d know it’s all my fault.”
“Angel, what is your fault?”
Oh, would Crowley still want him when he knew the truth?
“I’m the reason you fell.”
The words came out in a rush, filling the air with tension and pain.
Crowley threw his head back and laughed out loud, startling Aziraphale. “You? Angel, what are you on about?”
“I told you about the six-thousand-year plan. And then you asked too many questions. Crowley, it was all because of me.”
Again, Crowley laughed until he couldn’t catch his breath, but his eyes shone with affection.
“It’s not funny. It’s the truth,” Aziraphale insisted, and Crowley stepped so close to him that when he spoke, his breath touched the angel’s face, gentle as a spring breeze.
“Of course it wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything. I would’ve found out either way. You were just the only one honest enough to tell me. You also had no filter either, still don't really. That’s what makes you such a wonderful bastard."
He stepped closer still and Aziraphale forgot to breathe. It was a good thing he didn't need to.
Crowley’s smile faded little by little. “You didn’t take my happiness. You gave me something to look forward to after I climbed out of the boiling sulphur, charred and broken and renamed with the intention to humiliate: that I shall crawl in the dirt.”
Aziraphale’s lip quivered. He ached for the starmaker, for the lost and lonely serpent, for the creature who only ever wanted someone to want him back.
And Aziraphale understood so much at once.
Crowley stepped closer once more, and now they were inches apart, noses almost touching.
“‘S got to be you this time, Angel. I need to know you’re ready.”
“I’ve always been ready,” Aziraphale corrected, bringing one shaky, uncertain hand up to his friend’s face.
Crowley leaned into his touch. “Have you?”
“From the moment I met the beautiful starmaker. From then until now, and forever more. I’ve just been so scared. If they had found out… if anything more happened to you because of me… and then after the apocalypse, we were free, but I saw what they intended to do to you with the holy water… I’ve always been afraid of losing you. And then, I went and did it anyway.”
“You never lost me, Angel.”
“You wouldn’t even look at me,” Aziraphale sobbed.
“It hurt too much,” Crowley admitted, more vulnerable than he’d ever been in front of the angel.
Their lips were almost touching, but they were both so nervous to make the next move.
“I don’t mean to hurt you. Just wanted you safe, even if I couldn’t have you,” Aziraphale corrected.
“Well, are we safe now?” Crowley asked, all-but trembling and desperate. “Can you— can you have me now?”
“Yes my dear. I made certain of it.”
“Then have me.”
And Aziraphale finally crossed the rest of the distance, pulling their lips together.
And this kiss was different. It should have been their first, but it was their second, and somehow that seemed more fitting. It was all so messy and imperfect like them, and that’s what made it perfect.
And Crowley tasted like remnants of the past: like stardust and sulfur and charcoal and something deeper and sweeter that Aziraphale couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Aziraphale understood.
As he kissed and ran his fingers through that strikingly soft hair— which was only just a bit longer than the last time they’d seen each other, and really, he couldn’t wait to feel it at all lengths— and clutched those ridiculous silk pajamas, and found his courage to skim one hand onto the bare skin exposed beneath, he understood.
He understood that all of these titles of the past never represented Crowley properly.
Because he was never just a high ranking angel or a starmaker or the serpent or Crawley or even a demon. He was only ever this.
The only name that ever fit him was the one he gave himself because nobody else ever really could.
And that was why Crowley was on his own side, his own team, happy with being exactly who he was, with being alone as long as it meant nobody could take that away from him.
Nobody could change him.
He was satisfied with being on his own side… well almost so.
Aziraphale now understood so much. Even when he pushed Crowley away— called them enemies and said horrid, terrible things about his friend’s evil nature, said he didn’t even like him— Crowley was still begging him to see the truth.
He never wanted to be alone. He wanted Aziraphale to be with him.
“I’m on my side” became “we’re on our side.”
His own team became “a team of the two of us.”
And oh, how had Aziraphale never understood until just now exactly what Crowley was trying to say?
Aziraphale pulled away and Crowley whined in the back of his throat in a pathetic way that he would never usually do when thinking straight.
But Aziraphale had had an effect on him, had pulled him past any fronts he’d put up, broken down all the labels and walls, and was seeing the true being beneath. He’d done this with his lips, and hands, and tongue, and all they’d done was kiss, but Crowley was trembling so hard he was leaning into Aziraphale just to not fall.
It seemed Crowley must have forgotten he had legs again.
Aziraphale brought his hands to Crowley’s cheeks, stared deeply into those yellow, amber, golden glowing eyes, and saw the pure being that was just Crowley.
He saw cleverness, and creativity— oh how this creature loved to create— and cunningness, and goofiness, and good, and chaos, and excitement, and love, and-and-and—
“Crowley.” He saw Crowley. This was Crowley: Anthony J. Crowley who belonged to no one but himself. Well, almost no one, but one particular angel.
His Crowley.
And oh what a privilege that was.
“You do know, don’t you? You must know how very much I love you,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley made a beautiful but wounded sound, and it was almost animalistic, made up of consonants and no vowels. It was so very Crowley, but presented in a way Aziraphale had never seen before.
Aziraphale was an angel, and therefore, he loved everything and everyone, but he’d never experienced such love until he met this beautiful being right here.
He loved him in every form, before the fall and after, as a serpent and a human-shaped creature, with white wings and black, presenting as male or female or somewhere in between or neither.
He loved Crowley.
Crowley’s eyes sparkled with something like stardust, and he pulled him closer by his bow tie, smashed their lips together so hard that it hurt, but Aziraphale could never complain.
In between kisses, many minutes later, when either remembered the concept of breathing, Crowley gasped out, “You know I love you, Angel.” He kissed him again fiercely, and Aziraphale whimpered into it, tears of joy rushing over his cheeks. Crowley pulled back far enough to wipe them away with his thumbs. “So much,” he added, breathless. “You beautiful, ridiculous angel.”
Aziraphale laughed through sobs and Crowley couldn’t help but join in. Together they laughed with pure joy.
Crowley closed his eyes, bringing their foreheads together, and held them there. “This night did not go as expected,” he admitted, catching his breath, voice still shaking from so many emotions.
“Oh, were you going to have a fourth bottle of whiskey? I’m so sorry I interrupted,” Aziraphale responded cheekily.
Crowley chuckled, mumbled, “Bastard” and brushed their lips together briefly.
Aziraphale’s knees felt weak from the gentle touch, and he leaned into Crowley fully, bodies flush.
Crowley stopped laughing.
Aziraphale found his courage and slipped one hand into the insanely low-cut shirt, the tip of one finger drifting close to the soft skin of Crowley’s navel, just below where the first button had been done.
Aziraphale felt the movement of Crowley’s Adam’s apple when he gulped. “Angel.” The single word came out high pitched and unstable and very-much the opposite of the usual cool persona Crowley liked to present. But here, all the walls had been taken down. Nobody had to pretend or hide any longer.
“Should I stop?” Aziraphale asked, drawing his hand back, but Crowley caught it and brought the palm flat against his chest, holding it there, just over his heart.
“I don’t know. I mean, no. I just don’t know how— I mean I do— I’ve just never…”
He was rambling, and it was adorable. It took Aziraphale a moment to process what he was saying. “You’ve never?”
“Of course not! Who would I have done it with? Certainly not a human. Definitely not a demon.” He cringed so hard his whole body went rigid for a brief moment. “Only ever wanted you.”
Something in Aziraphale softened at that. The weight in his shoulders eased. “Oh, well, I must admit that is good to hear.”
Crowley suddenly pulled back an inch, eyes wide with whatever idea had jumped into his head.
“Have you?”
“What? Certainly not!”
“Because you do have hedonistic tendencies. You devoured an ox in just hours. I’d always wondered.”
“Never!” Aziraphale blushed at the word devour and the images that danced along with it in his mind. “I only ever wanted you,” he echoed back, and then another question came to him. “So you wanted me? Like that? Have you thought about it?”
“‘Course I thought about it.” Crowley averted his gaze, looking embarrassed and anxious and something else Aziraphale hadn’t seen in him before. “But do you think we’ll even like it?”
“I’ve wondered the same thing. It is rather human,” Aziraphale mused, and his hand was still on Crowley’s chest, fingers trailing over the tiny, fine red hairs there. “But so is eating I suppose.
“And you love to eat.”
“And sleeping.”
“I love that,” Crowley responded.
“And drinking wine.”
“We both love that,” Crowley agreed, smoothing one hand over Aziraphale’s arm, up to his bicep. “D’ya think there’s anything else we might both love?”
“Hmm.” Aziraphale stared down at that hand, at those long, nimble fingers. “Certainly worth finding out.”
“Yeah.” Crowley swallowed again— gulped really— and licked his bottom lip. “Don’t know how to do any of this. Know the basics. Don’t know how to go about it.”
“Me either, but I’m very well read,” Aziraphale assured, and Crowley’s eyes widened and he laughed.
“Should have figured, you curious angel.”
Aziraphale would have been much more embarrassed if it weren’t for the hand that now settled over his shoulder, fiddling with his bowtie, and just beneath it. “Well, we figured kissing out.”
“We did.”
“We’re quite good at that.”
“We are.” The bow tie was loosening. “Always wanted to take this stupid thing off,” Crowley admitted, and the fabric slipped away in his hand too easily, obviously with a bit of miracle to aid him.
Usually, Aziraphale might scold him, but nobody would be watching them now.
Crowley smirked, way too proud with himself, and tossed the bow tie onto the sofa. Aziraphale opened his mouth to complain about such treatment of the accessory, but a moment later, those long fingers were undoing the top button, creeping lower into his shirt. “This okay?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded, mouth very dry.
“If you don’t like this—”
“I’m certain I will.”
“But if you don’t, please tell me. Don’t run again. Please angel, I can’t bear it.”
Seeing Crowley so vulnerable, so open… it took Aziraphale’s breath away. “Never, my love. Not ever. I didn’t run before. Just took care of some business and came home to you. For good.”
Crowley’s lips quivered and when he inhaled, it shuddered.
“Oh, my dear. I’m here.”
“I know, Angel. I am too.”
“And the same goes for you. If there’s anything you don’t like, you must tell me.”
“I’ll like everything,” Crowley assured.
“But—”
“I love everything with you. But I’ll tell you. I promise.”
“Good.” Aziraphale brought his hand higher, over Crowley’s shoulder, into one of the sleeves of the silk shirt, revealing the pale, freckled skin there. “We must get better at this communication. So tell me what you want.”
Crowley trembled, leaning into him. “Everything, Angel. Everything.”
“I need specifics, my love.”
Crowley nodded emphatically. “We’ll get to that. We will. Let’s just see where this goes, feel it out. Yeah?”
“Yes.” Aziraphale bobbed his head in affirmation. “Yes I like that.” He brought one hand down, undid the button at the navel of the silk shirt. “I like that very much.” He released the next button, then the last one, and the shirt fell open. Crowley was shaking so hard, it worried the angel. “Are you alright?”
“Never better,” Crowley promised. “I’m sorry. I’m like a teenager.”
Aziraphale chuckled, enamoured. “We don’t have to—”
“No, I want to. This is want, Angel. It’s need. I need you so much. I need you to kiss me. Touch me. Please.”
Aziraphale nodded and did just that, kissing him deeply, holding him up because Crowley most definitely had forgotten he had legs again.
“Bedroom?” Crowley squeaked between kisses.
Aziraphale snapped, and they were there. He sat them on the edge of the bed. Crowley gripped his arms to hold himself steady.
Their dynamic here had changed. It seemed Aziraphale would be taking charge, and Crowley let him lead, and somehow that made sense. With all pretenses and cool facades out the door, it was just them.
And Aziraphale understood.
He understood the beautiful being beside him, the excitable, wonderful, gorgeous creature that would soon be under him.
He understood everything in a way he hadn’t ever before, not in six thousand years, and not even prior to that.
How did we get here?
In truth, Aziraphale understood exactly how they had gotten here.
He understood they would continue the life together that they started long ago, would move somewhere quieter— the South Downs perhaps— away from all the craziness of the world.
He understood because it was him and Crowley.
It was always him and Crowley, and really, there was nothing else he’d ever need to understand but that.