#all those times they had fights where aziraphale was (mostly) in the wrong and rejected crowley what did crowley do? immediately come

[p4nishers]

there's something i need to say and yall can boo me for it but deep in my heart i'll always know i'm correct: crowley already forgave aziraphale. like already would take him back at one flutter of his eyelashes. that's all.

#do i wish he wouldn't forgive so easily (tho i don't actually think aziraphale needs forgiveness since he didn't do anything wrong and #actually without his decision their love story would've been stuck as it was for more than 6000 years and also heaven would never change #without someone dismantling it and making it new) #yes i do wish that and i also wish he'd learn self worth but we gotta be realistic here he never once been able to stay mad at aziraphale #all those times they had fights where aziraphale was (mostly) in the wrong and rejected crowley what did crowley do? immediately come #CRAWLING and BEGGING back like pls yall this is why i don't read post s2 fics bc everyone suddenly seems to forget their whole canon #personalities and history w each other and it's annoying me so much like i get that we all are hoping crowley learns from his mistakes and #stops being so easy for aziraphale (not me tho) but realistically speaking it's just not gonna happen and once again aziraphale DIDN'T. DO. #ANYTHING. WRONG. yes he hurt crowley with his decision but CROWLEY HURT HIM WITH HIS TOO so if yall wants an apology dance it's gonna turn #into a waltz cause they'd both need to do it #good omens #good omens s2 #azicrow #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #go s2

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

A Congress of Newts and Serpents

Shoutout to cassieoh for the title, which I quite like and never would have thought of on my own.

I really wanted to write Newt getting romance advice from Crowley. It didn’t turn out the way I was expecting it, but I like how it went. It’s quite fluffy and has a very happy ending - one shot only.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944687

Or continue reading below:

“The point is,” Anathema continued, “That you had no right to say that!”

“I'm just saying, maybe we should go back home to discuss this?” Newt glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale looked concerned. Crowley was smirking in that way that meant he thought he was about to get a lot of free entertainment.

“Home?” She was seething. She grabbed his keys off of the table in the entry way. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I will absolutely see you at home. You can find your own way there.”

She slammed the door behind her and Newt stood there, watching her go. He had some inkling he was meant to chase after her, but another part of his brain was arguing that it was something that one only did in romantic comedies. She would calm down. Eventually. Right?

“What exactly did you do?” Crowley couldn't hide his delight. Sure, he was very kind for a demon, but he was still, at heart, a demon. “I don't think I've ever seen her so mad.”

“It's not like we've known them that long, Crowley,” Aziraphale poked him.

“I just said that I thought it was silly to go around lighting sage in the cottage. She said it would cleanse the air or something, and maybe get rid of demons?” he ran his hand through his already messy hair, somehow making it worse in the process. “I pointed out that might mean Crowley couldn't come around and she said something about well of course it makes exceptions for him he's one of the good guys. And it's just...I believe in science and I don't understand all of this new age stuff. I'm trying, I swear!” He spared a quick glare at the leftovers from tonight's dinner – sage encrusted  chicken. It had brought the fight from this morning right back, after he'd thought they'd already worked it out.

“Well, dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckled. “It may be 'new age' to you, but I can assure you it's existed for centuries. Nothing new under the sun, as they say.”

“Who says that? I don't say that,” Crowley shook his head and went to get himself a drink. They were all in his flat. Aziraphale had thought it would be a good idea to get the humans to come around every so often while they all waited to see if Heaven or Hell would make another move. So far, all that had happened was that they'd learned Newt was a lightweight and that Anathema got angry after just one drink (though she never seemed actually drunk ...just ...angry).

“You do have to meet in the middle,” Aziraphale continued as though Crowley hadn't interrupted him. “It's alright if you don't quite believe the same things, but it isn't kind to patronize.”

“I didn't think I was being patronizing...”

“But you may have come across that way, even without intending it. How long have you known Ms. Device?”

“I mean...we met the day we all had to stop Adam from blowing up the world.”

“So just a few weeks, then. It can be hard to build a relationship that quickly.”

Neither one of them could see Crowley rolling his eyes behind his shades. “It was quick,” Newt admitted. “Do you think it means we're wrong for each other?”

“I think, Newton, that you should go home, get some sleep and talk to Anathema in the morning. Perhaps you should sleep on the couch tonight, let her have the bed,” Aziraphale clapped him gently on the back. “Crowley will take you, since she took your car.”

“I'll take him? News to me. Why don't you take him, angel?”

“I couldn't – what would be the point? I don't have a car. He'd have to take the bus and at this hour those can be impossible to come by!”

“You could miracle one up for him-”

“I will not perform a frivolous miracle when you could just take him in your car,” Aziraphale insisted. “It would be much faster than the bus, anyway. The way you drive, so long as you don't get yourselves into an accident, you'll probably be there and back in half an hour.”

“I'm sorry, so long as we don't get into an accident?” Newt repeated.

He was ignored. “Fine!” Crowley threw his hands up. “I'll take him. Are you going home now, then or did you want a ride, too?”

“No, no, I thought I'd stay here until you get back. I have some thoughts I wanted to run by you.”

“Fine,” Crowley said again. “You, awkward human,” Newt frowned but didn't correct him. They both knew that Crowley knew his name. “Let's get going. The sooner we leave the sooner I can get back and take a nap.”

“Haven't you been drinking?”

“He's right, Crowley. Sober up, first.”

Crowley groaned and shook the alcohol from his system. “There? Happy? All back in the bottle for later. Can we please just go?” He flung the apartment door open and gestured for Newt to go out. Newt scurried along, out the door, through the hallway, down the stairs and finally to where the Bentley was parked in all its glory. He'd seen the car before, but he'd never been in it. He didn't know very much about cars, but he knew just enough to know this was expensive and old.

He climbed into the front seat and buckled in. Crowley got in on the driver's side and started the engine.

“Wait, don't you need to turn the headlights on?”

“Ugh...if it will make you feel better,” Crowley nodded and the lights came on. Then he reversed the car and headed off in the direction of Tadfield.

“It's just...” The words poured out of Newt before he could think better of it, “I don't see what the big deal is. I really wasn't trying to upset her or anything. I thought relationships were about sharing your opinions. But ...maybe it's not a great idea to form a relationship based on a book...”

“A book?”

“Yeah. Agnes Nutter. She predicted us together. Apparently marriage as well.”

“Ah.”

“So. Stupid reason, huh?”

“Well, yeah.”

Newt hadn't expected that. “But she got everything right! Agnes predicted every little thing we needed to survive. How can you say that it's stupid?”

“Because you said that it's stupid. I was just agreeing with you. Did you want me to say 'oh, no, you're wrong. Perfectly logical to let an ancient witch decide who you should be with and who you should marry. Most obvious thing in the world, that'?”

“Maybe not,” Newt shrunk into the passenger seat, vaguely aware that he was sulking. “I guess it's not as good as overcoming everything you and Aziraphale have, but you can't really compare us – we're just human. I mean, she's a witch but -”

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Crowley had brought the car to an abrupt stop. Newt's whole body jerked as they went from impossibly fast to standing still. He felt a little fuzzy, but fully aware that had Crowley not cushioned the blow that could have done some serious damage to him.

“She's a witch, literally. I'm not calling her names-”

“Not that, I know about her being a witch,” Crowley was acting funny. His tone of voice was bored, like he didn't want to have the conversation. But Newt knew enough about body language to gather that Crowley was very interested in what Newt had to say right now. “What's that about me and Aziraphale?”

“Well, you're together, aren't you? So I figure you had to fight all of Hell and maybe all of Heaven, too, just to be together.”

“We're not,” Crowley didn't finish his argument. “He and I are friends. I mean...really good friends.”

“Aren't you in love with each other?” And now Newt was absolutely baffled. He'd had best friends before. None of them looked at him the way Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Not that he'd ever seen, anyway. “I thought you were together. Anathema-” now he trailed off, suddenly reminded of the fight. “Look, no matter what you two are to each other, I know you've fought before. How did you deal with it?”

“Probably the same way you dealt with fights with your mates in the past,” Crowley started his car back up again but didn't start driving. They were sitting still, parked on the side of the road. He looked deep in thought.

Newt was many things. Awkward, bad with electronics, maybe a little on the odd side. But he wasn't dumb. “Look, if I fight with friends it's never about anything important. And they get loads of time away from me, so if they're mad at me I don't have to worry about going to bed alone.”

“Those aren't things I have to worry about. I mean, I don't worry about going to bed alone. I do go to bed alone... I just don't worry about it, I mean.” The car started moving, but it wasn't lost on Newt that Crowley was driving the speed limit. He wondered for a moment if it was the first time Crowley had ever obeyed traffic laws.

“Fine. Indulge me. Hypothetical. If you and Aziraphale were in love and you had a fight-”

“Why do you need to bring him into this hypothetical? Why not just say 'if you were in love with someone and had a fight with them'?”

“Fine! If you were in love with someone, anyone, doesn't matter who, and they were very angry at you, what do you do about it? Especially when you never put in the ground work to be together in the first place?”

To his credit, Crowley did seem to be pondering the question sincerely. “Complained to the wrong people, mostly.”

“Complained? Not ...would complain? You're talking like you have been in this situation.”

“Not the part about being fated to be together by someone, obviously. Um...you've heard of the,” Crowley snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the correct phrasing. “The friend zone!” he looked triumphant when the word came to him.

“Yes,” Newt said slowly. He'd used the phrase himself as a teen once, and had been quickly reprimanded by his mother. He had learned to be wary of the kind of people who used it.

“That was mine, but it was an accident, swear it. I was just in a bar complaining to someone, and obviously I'd had a bit too much ...I said to this guy, 'you know, an out and out rejection would be fine, but it's not like I haven't been obvious about the whole thing. I may not have said the words but all my actions were you know...implying, and this person is smart, they can do book analysis and tell you why the curtains were blue or some such so why can't they read between the lines for me?' And this ...this asshole comes up with a  story about some girl he was friends with and was being nice to all the time and how she only wanted to be friends and it was obviously the same as my thing, she'd lead him on by being nice to him. And, Newt?”

“Er-yeah?”

“I was just drunk enough and feeling just evil enough to goad him on with that. That was...I want to tell you the seventies – the nineteen seventies, but I can't remember for sure now. It was stupid.”

“So who was it then?”

“I already told you. Some asshole in a bar.”

“Not the friend zone guy! Who were you complaining about not realizing you're in love with them?”

“You know damn well,” Crowley grumbled. “Everyone knows except that idiot. Especially all the other people in bars I've complained to for the last several thousand years. He's so clever but he's so stupid-”

“Are you sure you sobered yourself up all the way?” Newt checked that his seat belt was fully secure.

Crowley ignored him. “The point is, Agnes got everything else right so she's probably right about you two. Do you like Anathema?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then take an interest in her interests. You ever seen something that makes her just,” Crowley clenched one fist for emphasis, the other remaining lazily on the wheel, “Just light up? Something that makes her so excited it's like the rest of the world drops away and maybe it does for you, too, because you're so focused on how happy she looks?”

“Once or twice...”

“And you don't want to do everything you can to make her look like that any chance possible?”

“Yes. ...Yes, I do. But I'm a little surprised you're willing to give advice on this. Or talk about it at all. You don't usually say much to me.”

“I talk when there's something worth saying. ...what do you know about glaciers?”

Newt stared at Crowley like he thought the demon had gone completely mad. “Uh- just that they're melting awfully fast, what with the greenhouse gases and-”

“Remarkably slow things. Used to be, at least. Then global warming and the polar bears dying and – not my point. My point is, the glaciers were here when we got here. Him and me, I mean. Him and I? Me and him? ...right, anyway, there's this big one that's been there the whole time and it's moving really slowly. Like ...snails are out pacing this bastard, right? That thing is going to somehow circumnavigate the globe multiple times before he's going to want to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“Not you and I us, me and him us!”

“Oh, right. Right. So are you admitting-”

“Yes, yes, we're past all that. I'm in love with Aziraphale, big whoop, you figured it out. Again, you're not the first one to say something to me about it.”

“And you've ...told him since then?”

“Not technically. We got kind of close to talking about it once... He says I go too fast for him. So if I go too fast and there's a glacier out pacing him, where do we meet in the middle?”

“Is that where the 'glacial pace' phrase comes from? I never thought about it before,” Newt admitted.

“Sorry. We're supposed to be talking about you and your witch, right? Look...I don't know what to tell you. Other than that she's an angry drinker so I would keep the stronger stuff out of the house. You can't be with a person just because a prophetess says you're meant to be. If you want to be with her, it should be because you want to be with her. But make that clear to her.”

“I was trying. That was part of the argument, really. I was trying to point out that my not believing in everything was a good sign for us, because it meant I wanted to be with her for her and not because of Agnes.”

Crowley frowned, “Well, I do actually see your point on that one. But sometimes it matters how it's said.”

Newt tried to look less astonished than he felt. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had decided to take the conversation seriously and actually offer help. Some part of the back of his brain tried to remind him that this was a demon, one who wasn't above still messing with people (though usually in mostly harmless ways). But he couldn't see if this was a trap or not. It seemed like friendly advice.

Judging by how Crowley sped the car back up to his normal speeds (the speedometer was not at an angle Newt could see, and even if it were, they were now going a lot faster than it could measure), Newt figured the conversation was over. Crowley turned the radio on, which went from classical to “Bohemian Rhapsody” without either of them changing the station.

They both pretended to be focused on the music until the car rolled up to Jasmine Cottage. “You'll be all right. I think you're kind of good for each other. Just make sure you're listening, but also make sure she listens to you. When you got together the world was ending so you had to do it quickly, but it's not ending anymore, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” Newt got out but left the door to the car open. “Crowley? Um. Thank you. For the advice and for being honest with me about you and - ...about your stuff. I hope all that works out for you. For what it's worth,” He wasn't sure he should continue. Newt was very good at putting his foot in his mouth, and he hoped this wasn't another one of those situations. “I think if you spoke to Aziraphale... he might be ready now. You wouldn't be rushing him or anything, not if you just told him what you want to talk about and then let him decide if he wants to have that conversation. I'm pretty sure...look, you don't see the way he's looking at you some of the times, but everyone else has noticed.”

“Whatever you say,” Crowley had adopted that bored tone again. He flicked his wrist and the car door shut itself, making Newt jump back in surprise. But the window was still open. “You and Bicycle Girl have a good night. Hope things work out.”

“Thanks, I-” But Crowley was already driving away. “Thanks, anyway. Right.” Newt squared up his shoulders and headed into the cottage, ready to talk. But he heard a honking noise and realized Anathema was pulling up in Dick Turpin now.

“How did you beat me home?” she demanded as she got out. “I was just about to turn around and go back for you, but I got this feeling that I shouldn't and-” she shook her head.

“Crowley gave me a ride. Literal speed demon, that guy. Look, I wanted to talk to you..”

“I wanted to talk to you! I've done some reflecting and-”

“Anathema?” He interrupted. “I promise I'm going to listen this time, but can we please go inside first? We're literally in the middle of the road here.”

“Right...right.” She moved the car to its appropriate parking spot before they both went inside. And talked. And listened. And talked some more. They took turns talking and listening for the next several hours before they went outside to watch the sunrise the next day, neither of them having gotten any sleep.

“Think we'll be all right?” He asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

“Yeah, I think we will.”

Crowley had headed back immediately after dropping Newt off. Aziraphale, as he'd promised, was still in the flat where he'd been left. He'd brought a whole collection of books to keep himself occupied. He was curled up in a chair Crowley hadn't had before today (“Heaven's sake, more tartan?! Crowley thought to himself as he saw the plush chair Aziraphale had conjured up). He was reading an ancient looking book, a steaming cup of tea next to him.

“Crowley! How did it go?”

“S'Alright. I got him home in one piece, anyway.”

“Do you think they'll be alright? Human relationships can be so ...fickle.”

“Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I still moving too fast for you?”

The question hung between them momentarily. Aziraphale sat up and put his book down on the floor. He seemed to be carefully considering his options. “I -what brought this on?”

“Does it matter? We've never talked about it. I am asking if you are ready to talk now – and telling you that if you aren't, it's ok.”

“No, I want to talk about it,” Aziraphale wiggled so that he was sitting up straight. “I'm sorry. You've done so much for me all these centuries and at first I thought – ah, well, this must be a trap. Then we had the Arrangement and I thought, well, fine, he just wants some time off from doing this work. But it was never about that, was it?”

“See, I thought I had been astoundingly obvious about it. Too obvious. Like one of those American John Grisham novels-”

“I don't like John Grishams-”

“I know, I know, cause they lack subtlety and all have the same plot. You've told me. But that's my point, isn't it? You were the Enemy, but you were the enemy who gives away a flaming sword God gave him because the humans might need it. I thought you were intriguing.”

“I'm not sure I'm ready yet. Not fully,” Aziraphale admitted. “I think my feelings are obvious enough at this point?” His eyes met Crowley's. “I hope so, at least. And if not...you can consider this a formal declaration.”

“A formal declaration?” Crowley repeated. He tried very hard not to smirk. The smirk won. “So this is your ...declaration of Intent to Begin Woo, then?”

“Ah, yes, exactly!” Aziraphale looked delighted by the idea. All these centuries and he still didn't always get sarcasm. Or he purposely chose to disregard it, in Crowley's case. Crowley could never be certain which one it was.

“And how would that look?”

“It would be slow, but I could start coming around and bringing you flowers and talking to you about your day-”

“Other than the flowers, how is that different from what we're currently doing?”

“Because my intent is stated, of course!” Aziraphale looked affronted. “And now you know I'm not doing it just to be your friend, though I do still quite value your friendship. I rather like this idea...”

“It does let you set the pace,” Crowley admitted. “I want you to be comfortable with this.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you. Comfortable enough to suggest that I ...sleep over?” A blush crept to his cheeks, but before Crowley could start teasing, he corrected. “I just mean sleep in this chair. It's quite comfortable. Not the bed. You'd take the bed. But it would make it easier for me to begin my wooing of you.”

“All right, then, Angel. You're on. But I expect to be uh...thoroughly woo-ed starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow morning, then! It's a date.”

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #newt #newton pulsifer #anathema #anathema device #fluff #romance advice #getting advice from a demon can be surprisingly helpful

[elphenfan]

A Significant Gift (Good Omens)

I’ve been battling Tumblr somewhat with this, as it claimed it was too big all of a sudden but now it seems to work.

------------------------------

It wasn’t as though he was unobservant. He did notice things. Especially when it came to Aziraphale, even if he wasn’t going to mention that out loud, and certainly not to the angel himself. That would just be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

The angel had sort of adopted a motif over the years. They both had, really. Or maybe it was more of an affinity. He remembered first noticing when they’d bumped into each other in Rome that time.

What was it he’d been in Rome for? A temptation, obviously, but - oh, yes. Nero, wasn’t it? Well, that had been a downer, though going for...oysters with Aziraphale had certainly helped his mood tremendously. Brought him out of his funk, as it were.

Then again, the enjoyment Aziraphale got out of eating was a pleasure in itself, quite apart from the fact that spending time with him in general was a treat.

The thing he’d noticed was that apart from the ring on the little finger, which he’d had on since at least their meeting at the Ark being filled with animals, he’d donned something else with a wing motif; that rather conspicuous brooch on his toga. A toga candida, too, for opposition’s sake.

Granted, he himself had been wearing a snake brooch in the corresponding place but that was at least an animal. So, it was him, too, but it wasn’t as though he was wearing something with horns, was it? A looping snake was stylish, bless it.

That said, it had looked quite...right on Aziraphale, even though it ought to have looked gaudy and rather on the nose.

It certainly fit with the ring quite well. And it most definitely beat the ridiculous cape adorning his plate armour, mimicking his wings. For crying out loud, it’d had fur on it!

Between that and the next time Crowley had met him, which sadly had been a good hundred years or so later, the demon had made a decision. If Aziraphale was determined to slip in those little references, on the nose or not, to his true nature and not even have the good sense - even a sense of fashion would do - to pick something of quality and style, something that accentuated rather than distracted or detracted, there was only one solution. Crowley would have to pick it for him.

But he couldn’t just come right out and say it, though, could he? No, of course not. Aziraphale would have stopped doing it or been incredibly embarrassed about it and neither option was desirable. He might even get angry at the demon and that was even less desirable.

At first, he struggled a little. Should he just materialise it or should he have it made? Obviously, his own stuff was materialised, including the snake symbols that seemed to creep into his own attire more and more often as time went by and he spent time with his angel. But Aziraphale didn’t materialise his things, did he? If he suddenly had something that was, it would not only arouse his own suspicion, it would put him in more danger should any higher ups smell the sulphur, as it were.

Finding a thing that could become a part of an outfit wasn’t the difficult bit. If need be, it was easy enough to commission it from a craftsman, appealing to their vanity to ensure the quality, not to mention helping them along on the path to damnation. His angel should not have to wear anything but superb quality.

If asked, he couldn’t say exactly when he’d gone from, in his mind, calling Aziraphale ‘the angel’ to ‘my angel’. When the possessive pronoun had become the de facto way of describing Aziraphale. He knew it had never been ‘an angel’. The definite article had always been there.

Not that he minded the change, quite the opposite, but it meant that sometimes, he had to focus very hard to keep the possessive pronoun from spilling out when he addressed the other as ‘angel’. He meant it as much of an endearment as a statement of fact but took some comfort in the fact that Aziraphale only heard it as the latter.

The thought of Aziraphale hearing it as the former, too, and rejecting it...it wasn’t a thought to be thought and kept his tongue from slipping up.

Sometimes, though, sometimes the wish to say something burned hard inside him. To say what he found his body communicating and insinuating more and more often as the centuries rolled on. Just confess and let things run their course. Test it.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? It would be to destruction and that...he’d rather fall again than have to live immortality on his own. As in, without his angel.

So, he found other ways of letting off steam, as it were, and among them had been finding trinkets and other objects with the wing motif the angel seemed to favour.

No, the trick was to find a way that made it seem as though Aziraphale himself stumbled across it and was given it or nominally paid for it, where in reality he’d been carefully steered by the demon who had already paid the craftsman in question.

In more recent years, as in the last two centuries, when he’d owned the bookshop, it had been a bit easier, as there was also the option of just leaving a thing or two around the shop, such as the winged mug. Which admittedly wasn’t the greatest of quality and slightly gaudy but he couldn’t help himself when he’d seen it. It had been just right. And in any case, Aziraphale seemed to enjoy it. Them, really, because he’d bought two. So what if he enjoyed the occasional cup of tea or cocoa, too? And the wings made surprisingly good handles even if they didn’t look it.

There had been a few blunders over the years, of course, both in terms of what he had bought and what Aziraphale had gravitated towards but mostly, he’d gotten it right. Certainly right enough that the angel had worn the accessory until it wore out or no longer fitted with the new clothes he’d had to adopt, with growing reluctance as time passed. Which he had to admit had brought him quite a lot of joy to see.

The ornament on the fob chain in particular he was happy with, in no small part because it had lasted as long as it had.

He’d ‘given’ that to Aziraphale shortly before that whole debacle with the holy water and his subsequent sleep, so it had been something of a surprise to see it still there when he’d gone to rescue the angel from the Nazis.

It was still there now, seeming to have become as much of a fixture as the ring, even if it didn’t have the same metaphorical mileage.

Even so, Crowley had become so accustomed to and comfortable with finding things for his angel that it was almost automatic to keep an eye out for something that would fit the criteria.

At some point, he couldn’t say when, having or wearing something snake-related himself had become somewhat of a fixture, too. Not quite as much as the wings but he’d found ways to sneak it in. Oddly, it had almost become easier to find something with a snake motif than proper angel wings. Or maybe he’d just become picky in his old age, at least when it came to his angel.

He had considered finding things to mark some important dates or times for them but when he’d realised the risk of Aziraphale cottoning on - the angel might be soft and kind but that wasn’t the same thing as blind or stupid - he’d scrapped it.

The possibility that he might cotton on and the result wouldn’t be a rejection was there, of course, and it did strange but wonderful things to his heart when he dared to entertain the idea, usually only in the safety of his flat, in the dead of night. But however much it appealed, he dare not risk it. Teetering on an edge was better than plummeting down. He’d tried the latter and in consequence, had gotten extremely good at the former.

Anything to keep being at the side of his angel.

It took a burned down bookshop, a discorporation, a reunion and the astonishing events of the averted apocalypse for him to not only realise that he wanted more than that eternal limbo but far more importantly, that he was not alone in this. That his angel had balanced on a similar knife edge and was willing to risk it now. No more different sides. Just their side, together.

He’d had the irrational urge to go out and find something with wings just to celebrate but he still wasn’t sure he wanted to have that exposed - he didn’t think at this point that he could keep from just buying it and giving it outright to the angel, which might very likely clue him into the other instances where they’d ‘found’ something - as that would be embarrassing.

He had briefly wondered whether it would even be welcomed now, considering Aziraphale’s break with Heaven. His own break with Hell, he didn’t fret over. Well, not much, anyway, and never beyond what potential retaliation might look like.

But then he noticed that not only did the ornament stay on the fob chain - that could be argued to just have been forgotten as what it was - but the mugs and other things around the bookshop stayed, too, and was used. So, he reasoned that it would be safe to steer him towards something on a later date.

Besides, he had enough on his hands just basking in the knowledge that he was now free not just to look but to touch.

Which ended up being mostly grabbing Aziraphale’s hands, a hand on his hip and other such small gestures. Oh and soft, gentle kisses, sometimes on lips. And hugs. And cuddles. He’d found himself craving cuddles at night.

After all that waiting, he would have thought he’d be keen for more overt touches but honestly, the one time he had tried a lot of it at once, he had had to fight not to combust from it all.  It had also felt a bit wrong, somehow. Slow was good. They had time, now, and he wanted to savour it.

That said, he might just browse stores and such a bit. Nothing wrong with building up a stash, was there?

One day while out for just a stroll with the angel, or more accurately a stroll after a delicious and, for Aziraphale, substantial, meal, their hands linked, Crowley spotted something that almost made him stop in his tracks. It was enough of a stop to alert the angel and he looked at the demon curiously.

“What is it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, peering at the window display that had made Crowley halt and which he was staring at, in an effort to see what it was the demon had spotted.

Said demon would dearly like him not to spot it.

He was also caught between the desire to walk past and pretend it had been nothing so he could return later and buy it without Aziraphale being any the wiser and the desire to run in and buy it immediately, lest it be gone before he could come back and buy it.

Technically speaking, he could just materialise it but as it was something for Aziraphale, the possibility no longer even crossed his mind. And neither he wasn’t sure he’d get the details right and he had to get them right because they were beautiful. More than that, it was perfect.

But the longer he hesitated, the greater the risk that Aziraphale would work it out.

He realised that he couldn’t get it now because either Aziraphale would come into the shop with him or he’d stay outside and see what it was that was removed from the window, spoiling it regardless.

“I...just thought I saw something but I didn’t. Never mind. Come on. There’s a new stall down on Portobello road whose books look promising.”

Aziraphale hesitated, frowning. But then he smiled, one that didn’t register to Crowley as just a tad too knowing until later, and let himself be led towards the market.

They did actually find one or two first editions Aziraphale been after for a while. Generally speaking, picking up anything from Portobello Road these days was unreasonably expensive, even when the quality wasn’t there to match.

With everybody thinking they knew the antique world just because they could recognise a Clarice Cliff or a Lalique and the dealers savvier as well, it was difficult to genuinely get a reasonable price, let alone a bargain. But books were still a bit more of an uncharted territory, if you avoided the obvious ones such as Casino Royale, ‘Pride & Prejudice’ first editions that boasted her name rather than by ‘the Author of Sense and Sensibility’ and the like. It was possible, if you looked in the right places for the right type of book, to find treasure.

And so Crowley felt reasonable sure that the little incident had been subsumed in the angel’s mind by the glee of not just locating the books but getting them at a very reasonable price. He certainly didn’t talk much, just kept smiling as they went home. Even Crowley’s driving didn’t get a comment.

Later that day, Aziraphale deeply absorbed in a book or some such, Crowley nipped back down to the shop, hoping desperately that it was still there.

It was. Still in the shop window, the workmanship of it incongruous with the shop in general and the other items on display.

He went in quickly, though once inside he managed to pull off the impression that he’d just sauntered in out of casual interest. The glasses certainly helped there as did, though Crowley would never admit it, the fact that the staff seemed to consist of a teenage boy with more nervous stutter than voice and a woman who screamed ‘motherly’ from every fibre of her being.

They were very helpful, even when he asked to have it in a proper box - they seemed to have mislaid the one it had come in, the poor boy managing his apology mostly through mimes - and found him the best they had.

It was made for a slightly less...voluminous item than the one he was buying but it still mostly fitted and in every other respect, it was perfect for it.

He found himself beaming through most of the transaction, only noticing when he stopped. That was a little way down the street, the box nestled in an inside jacket pocket - he could barely fit half his hands in his trouser pockets, he was never going to fit a small but square box and be able to walk well, never mind drive - when he realised the implications of what he’d just bought. Well, at least one of them.

A ring. He had actually bought a ring. For Aziraphale.

Not only that, though that was quite significant enough, really, seeing as the only other he ever had on was the one he’d worn almost since the beginning, it was quite a distinctive image. One that wasn’t wings.

Well, no, it was. He wasn’t sure it would have caught his eye at this point if it hadn’t been wings. The wings on their own wasn’t the significant point, though.

That went to the fact that the wings were attached to something; the body of the ring was a serpent rather than a mere circle, complete with curved tail and a rather detailed head, almost exquisitely so. The wings stretched upwards from a point suitably distant to the head, spread out with details of its feathers edged into the soft material. Which was gold, pale but warm, while the body of the snake was of beautiful platinum, with eyes picked out in amber.

In short, it looked as though someone had managed to perfectly intertwine the concept of the two of them. Which...well...

A voice in his mind pointed out that technically speaking, the image could  be purely him. He was a snake, yes, but he was also a fallen angel, with wings to prove it. A winged serpent, as it were.

But no. It wasn’t him alone. It was the two of them, together. Irrevocably so, part of each other forever. Had he...well, yes, of course he meant that, believed that. Hoped that it would be forever. That wasn’t in question.

The question was...was he ready to admit that out loud through a thing such as that? Because the significance of giving a ring like that, so carefully picked and so perfectly appropriate, was...well, it was tantamount to asking for...

His heart was suddenly beating very fast and he was glad he’d reached the car so he could lean against it, as his legs felt a bit wobbly.

Would that be going too fast? Would it  even be welcomed? Would the angel see it as...as a sin? Would he reject it and, by extension, Crowley? Perhaps not in so many words and he would be achingly kind about it, but still.

Crowley wished he could answer that question. He ought to, probably, given all that had gone before, but doubts and worries that have had so long to sink their claws in do not magically disappear completely once they are proven wrong. They needed only nourishment, and often not much, to grow again.

He could always turn around, of course, and return it. They wouldn’t be difficult to convince, should he need it.

His hands tightened at the mere thought and his throat constricted. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. The ring was staying with him.

But that meant he would have to find somewhere to store it. No, wait, he couldn’t. Sooner or later, and probably sooner, Aziraphale would putter about and find it. Which would be worse than if he gave it to him outright. Normally, it would be the other way around, of course, but for this - if the angel was going to receive it at all, Crowley would be the one to do it, bless it!

He also very much wanted to see the angel’s expression, as much as he was afraid of the reaction, too.

So, find a way to keep it with him at all times without being discovered. Easy.

-----------------------------------------------

He made it back to the bookshop without any incident and was just planning on sauntering through to the back room and sprawl across a soft piece of furniture there until Aziraphale noticed and either joined him or hauled him up to an actual bed.

Neither needed sleep, but then again, neither did they need food, and so one partook in what the other enjoyed.

Sleepy cuddles with a soft, warm angel was rather addictive. Especially when he also gave you soft kisses on whatever part of you was within his reach.

He made it through the closed bookshop and to the sofa in said backroom and also sprawled across it. Aziraphale also did come to join him, in a sense, but as he sat down, manhandling Crowley slightly to get a spot, the demon noticed that something was slightly different.

“Nipped out for a quick temptation?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked at him, upside down from his position halfway between leaning the other and having his torso in his lap.

”Why would I want to do that for?”

“You are a demon.” It ought to have sounded accusatory but it came out sounding fond more than anything.

“So?” Honestly, what had that got to do with anything?

“Good point.” A pause. “Where did you go, then?”

It was asked innocently enough but Crowley suddenly found himself wishing he’d said he’d been out tempting someone. That would have gotten him a slightly disapproving look but at the same time, it would have been accepted easily. Now he had to come up with something plausible.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t lie about it - he was a demon, it was rather part and parcel - but...oh, he didn’t know.

“Went to terrorise some ducks.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question. It came out far too flat but at the same time, with a very slight edge.

“Yup,” Crowley confirmed, popping the ‘p’. He snuggled a bit further into the side of the warm angel body he was settled against, the hand on his chest a lovely counterpoint. Oh, yes...

“Funny.”

“What is?” Crowley had to blink to shake the slight sleepiness off.

“You don’t feel smug or content.”

Crowley’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

“When you’ve managed to pull off one stunt or another, you always have an air of smugness and contentment about you and right now, it’s not there. At all.”

The demon grimaced a little at that. That was true enough, he did feel that way when he managed that sort of thing. And he most definitely didn’t feel that way now, which his angel had unfortunately picked up on.

He opened his mouth, ready to rattle off some sort of lie that would fall within something approximating plausible when lips touched his forehead. Gently, almost reverently, and if that didn’t always make his heart do a funny little dance, then... But it was rather a shift from one mood to another.

The hand that had been on his chest, just comfortably resting there, suddenly tensed into a ball then shot forward or, perhaps more accurately, downward.

It took him a split second to realise what Aziraphale must have spotted and thankfully only another split second to shoot his own hand up to intercept, gripping the plump hand tight.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale queried, and his voice was soft but mildly perplexed. Or was that really it? There was that slight edge again.

“Leave it, Aziraphale. Just...leave it.”

“Whatever is the matter? You can tell me.”

“I said to leave it.” The words came out as a hiss.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. My apologies.” The edge was still there but mixed in with it was quite the dose of hurt, which stabbed at the demon’s heart.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he’d meant to do. He sat up and turned to face the other.

Yes, the hurt was definitely there.

“I don’t - angel, it’s not - it’s got.” He’d been about to say it had nothing to do with him but that wouldn’t just be a lie, because again, demon, it would be one that would cause further hurt.

He was torn as he looked at the other, who was waiting for an explanation, his expression...odd.

Was he ready to admit to his angel what it really was? Would he be ready to admit to all of it? Could he somehow admit to this part without revealing the rest of it? How would the angel react? Would he even interpret it as something more?

The last question was easy enough to answer, really; Aziraphale was anything but stupid, however nice he was - nice in its modern meaning, that was - and in any case, Crowley’s reaction to it all might as well have been bent in neon. How did they do that, anyway? Freeze the gasses in trays like with ice cubes? Could you dye gasses?

Anyway, the rest of the questions still needed answering before he felt he could take action one way or the other. But at the same time, the longer he hesitated, the less he could play it off.

Perhaps that boat had already sailed. As he looked at his angel’s expression, that genuine concern and care, the love there that he had been pining for for six millennia and hadn’t realised had been there for so much of them, he realised it had not only sailed, he was glad to see it disappear over the horizon. Well, perhaps not exactly glad, per se, but...

He needed to give it to him. Whatever the outcome might be, he needed...no, he wanted to. Which was actually much more important and significant a distinction to make.

He’d been, and still was, afraid, terribly so, but at the same time, he wanted desperately to show his angel. Not just the ring itself but that he’d actually been the one to find all those things through the years. Hoping that it would be understood and taken the right way.

Knowing that it would and being immensely scared of the prospect even as it filled him with indescribable warmth.

With fingers that were only slightly trembling, keeping his gaze firmly on the angel, who looked back at him with a pinch of hurt, a dash of confusion and a heaped tablespoon of hope and warm expectation, he managed to reach down into his inside jacket pocket, made bigger so as to fit but evidently not big enough that it wouldn’t be visible to certain bookshop keepers. There he found and fished out the box with two fingers, moving it instinctively so that his hand closed around it fully.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, his voice soft but hopeful this time.

“I...ehm, I wasn’t terrorising the ducks.”

The angel didn’t say anything. He likely already knew.

“I saw something earlier and - “ he faltered.

Where was that silver tongue of his now? The one he had carried out a million temptations with - well, perhaps only 828.488, but who was counting? Though honestly, where was it ever when it came to his angel? He pressed on, regardless. This was important.

“I found this.” He opened his hand and held it out to the angel. Aziraphale looked at it then looked back at him as though he wanted to make sure. Sure of what he wasn’t entirely clear, however.

“For you,” he clarified.

The angel reached out and took it, carefully. Did his hand tremble ever so slightly? Probably a trick of the light - he could see in the dark but light could still play tricks on him.

At the same time, though, Crowley felt both his nerves skyrocket and a sense of calm settle over him simultaneously.

He still found himself closing his eyes. Aziraphale opened the box slowly, carefully, and let out a small, soft gasp when the lid revealed what was inside.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart plummeted as he heard nothing more and felt no movement.

Then he felt a hand on his cheek caressing it for a moment before his sunglasses were gently removed. With one hand, as it turned out when he slowly opened his eyes to look at the angel.

In the other still sat the box, opened, presumably with the ring still inside though Crowley couldn’t be sure with the angle.

The sunglasses were put carefully down on the small table beside the sofa, but done without looking. Greenish eyes were focused firmly on yellow.

Neither of them broke the silence that sang louder and louder until its cacophony almost screamed in Crowley’s ears. Or maybe that was merely his heartbeat, going at an ever-increasing speed that would be alarming had he been a human rather than a demon. “

Angel?” he said finally, his nerve and voice both cracking despite his best efforts. “Say something.”

Anything. Please! Aziraphale blinked, as though he’d been shut down forcefully and was now attempting a hard reboot. He looked at the demon, then down at the box and then back up at Crowley.

“It is for me?” Aziraphale asked, sounding as though he couldn’t believe it even though he so wanted to.

“Who else would it be for, Shadwell?”

 Hiding behind snark, like that’s going to help any.

It was almost instinctual, though, and had helped...well, not actually helped, had it? Not when you got down to it. But it had gotten him through more than one encounter with the angel where he’d felt vulnerable.

“Anyway, it’s not as though it’s the first thing I’ve found,” he then mumbled, realising a little too late what he’d said.

An urge to backtrack immediately rose inside of him but he not only resisted it, he actively squashed it. He didn’t want to take it back, not now, even if he hadn’t been quite ready to admit it all in one go like that.

“First thing?” Aziraphale echoed. “What do you - oh.”

He went quiet then, his eyes gradually widening. Not in horror or shock or even surprise, as Crowley might have expected if he’d dared think about this much. Which he hadn’t.

No, they were widening in what appeared to be growing joy and delight.

“All of them?” the angel asked.

Crowley was tempted to reply ‘all of what?’ but resisted. There really was no point to denying it and if he’d get that reaction from his angel for it, he’d admit to all the items. Heaven, he’d admit to ones he had no idea about or had to materialise right then and there.

So instead, he nodded but clarified; “Almost all of them. Not the cuff links.”

That had been just a touch much for him. Honestly, harp cuff links? That was downright gaudy, he felt - and it wasn’t even as though they played harps, for crying out loud! You wouldn’t catch him dead - figure of speech - wearing something with horns or pitchforks! Urgh.

“I did wonder.”

Did he? Then why for...for somebody’s sake hadn’t he said any -

No. No, he couldn’t really put that one on Aziraphale, could he? He was as much to blame for that one, wasn’t he? He had made an effort to conceal it, and a concerted effort at that.

And even so, it seemed as though he hadn’t done quite a good enough job of it, if Aziraphale had picked up on it enough to wonder.

But perhaps that was just as well because that lovely, wonderful expression only got lovelier, which didn’t seem possible.

“But my dear, that’s...such a very long time!”

“Couple of thousand years, give or take, yeah.” It seemed that tonight was the night for confessions he hadn’t quite meant to admit to out loud.

“Oh. So...oh.”

That was definitely a blush stealing quickly across the soft cheeks, no trick of the light could hide that. But there was still that expression, too, the one that was threatening Crowley’s heart something fierce.

“If that’s the case, then why didn’t you...no, that’s hardly fair, is it? But I should have bought you something, too.“ His always expressive hands gestured towards Crowley’s snake’s head belt.

The demon shook his head. “Only if you wanted to...” He trailed off, leaving the rest as implication.

The angel didn’t hesitate, as Crowley might have expected, had he thought about it. In fact, he reached out immediately with his free hand to grasp the demon’s hand. Not just grasp it but to pull it over to him, squeezing it gently.

“I did. Very much so, so many times. But, my dear, this isn’t...are you sure it’s for me?”

I said, didn’t I? “It’s got wings, hasn’t it?”

“But it’s also a snake,” Aziraphale pointed out. “A winged snake is more you.”

“When do I ever wear something with wings?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s hardly my thing.”

He got the distinct feeling, though, that that wasn’t all there was to what the angel was saying. That...that maybe, just maybe, he’d actually picked up on not just some of the implications but all of them.

“No,” the angel agreed, “it’s not.” He paused and for a moment, the demon thought, no, feared he wouldn’t continue.

But he did.

“It is very much...us, though, isn’t it?” he said and bless if his expression didn’t just somehow...intensify.

“It is,” Crowley agreed, in his mind adding, That’s the whole point. “But then...something is missing, isn’t it?” Aziraphale went on.

“Missing? What do you mean, missing?” And there went his fear again.

“Well, do correct me if I am wrong but the general way of doing...this involves two rings, doesn’t it?”

What? Oh. Oh! He really - and he didn’t even blink or hesitate or anything?!

Right. Keep it cool, Crowley. Keep it cool. Breathe.

“Depends, doesn’t it?”

“On what?”

“Engagement rings are normally only worn by one party. Nowadays, anyway.”

“Not really, and you are daft if you think I will have this as my betrothal ring - “

Crowley’s heart dropped so fast his head spun, which almost made him miss the next word.

“ - only.”

“What?” he croaked, trying to keep up.

“I don’t want to stop wearing it and you can’t really wear both your betrothal ring and your wedding ring.” The demon’s head was still spinning a little but for an entirely different reason.

“You still wear the one on your little finger,” he managed to say.

“Oh. Yes. That’s quite different, though.” The smile he’d donned turned a little bit brittle for a moment and Crowley decided not to pursue it further. He knew it would be...unwise.

“Yeah. But I...” Oh, screw trying to be cool and tiptoeing around just because that was what he always did. “Angel, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Aziraphale hesitated but only for a very brief moment, and the hesitation seemed more to do with plucking up courage than anything.

“I believe I am,” he then said, the blush returning. “To be honest, I have no idea how we would go about the practicalities but I suppose that’s just technicalities, when it comes down to it.”

Crowley stared. He could admit that he stared, to the point of nearly boggling. All of this...this...thisness, and suddenly it’s a discussion about the practical side of it all. As though it was easy.

He felt somehow cheated. Which was hardly fair and more importantly, didn’t make much sense.

What was important was that Aziraphale was apparently so okay with the idea that he actually jumped, once the hurdle of whether he meant it and meant the angel had been cleared, straight to how to do it. Which in itself was maybe quite significant.

However, what happened next swept that whole line of thought completely out of his mind for the moment.

If the demon had thought his eyes had been close to boggling before, they were practically falling out of his head now. Not literally; he’d only done that the once and the experience had made him very nauseous. To have vestibular disconnect or whatever it was called was significantly worse when your eyeballs were rolling around on the table.

The reason they were boggling was because Aziraphale, after carefully closing the box again, slid off the sofa, with far more grace than he normally exhibited.

More importantly, though, he slid so that he was on the ground, resting on one knee while the other was bent in a rather telltale way.

In a way that Crowley was sure did horrible things to his heart, which had been abused already.

He wouldn’t stop it for the world. Nor the end of it.

Aziraphale still held onto the demon’s hand, enfolding it gently in his own, plumper one.

“I do realise that it’s rather unorthodox for the one giving a ring to be asked,” Aziraphale said, “but I hope you’ll forgive me the breach of etiquette on this one occasion, dearest.”

“I...ah, eh, uhm, yeah. Course,” Crowley managed to get out, his eyes glued to the scenario in front of him. Aziraphale smiled. Somehow, he managed to open the lid of the box with the hand he was holding it in.

He’d turned it so it faced Crowley rather than himself, though, which the demon initially thought was a bit odd, as much as thought made it through his mind right then. After all, he already knew what was in it, didn’t he?

But when the angel opened it, it became clear why; there wasn’t one ring in there anymore. There were two, perfectly identical.

Except...not quite. The size and shape, yes, the direction of the snake’s head, and the rest of the rather exquisite details - his excellent eyesight again - but there was one difference that stood out.

They were mirrored; where the original had golden wings, as did the fob ornament and the little finger ring, so Crowley had known it would fit in even if it was a paler gold than the others, and a platinum body, the ‘copy’ had a gold body of the same hue as the wings of the original, and platinum wings that looked almost white. The eyes were warm jade rather than amber

They both now nestled quite comfortably yet snug enough to stay put in a box that ought to have been too small and wasn’t designed for two rings, much less ones with such...volume.

Aziraphale had made that.  Of all things, he had miracled that into existence so they could have perfectly matching, if inverted, rings that encapsulated the both of them.

Crowley tried to speak, to say his angel’s name, at the very least, but nothing would come out when he opened his mouth. And suddenly his vision was slightly blurry. Who was messing with the light?

“My dear, will you...would you do me the honour?”

It took Crowley a moment to realise that he hadn’t actually finished the question. But then again, he didn’t need to, did he? They both perfectly understood what was meant, after all.

He nodded, hard, his voice still refusing to cooperate.

Aziraphale positively beamed. He let go of Crowley’s hand but only so that he could carefully take the miracled ring out. Then he recaptured the hand, holding it so he could gently slide the ring onto the appropriate finger.

It looked...like it belonged. Like it had always been there and always should. Crowley looked up from his hand and took a deep breath.

He could do this.

With hands trembling more than slightly, he took the other ring from the box - which Aziraphale had somehow managed to hold onto despite putting the ring on Crowley - and took the plumper hand in his.

It had felt quite important, one might even say monumental, to have the ring put on him. However, it paled in comparison with the feeling he had when he slid the ring onto the angel’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Aziraphale whispered, his smile bright enough to light up the entire country, if not the world.

That proved too much for the poor demon; grabbing both of the angel’s hands tightly in his, he hauled him upright with ease and pressed their lips together.

Normally, their kisses were tender, soft and sweet, or they had been up until now. Mostly, at least. This...was still tender, achingly so, but it also contained so much more. Love and yearning, pining and passion poured out of him as the kissed the other. It turned open mouthed almost by accident but as one or both of them groaned softly and dove further in, it didn’t matter.

Aziraphale was holding onto the bonier hands as though they were his tether and managed to meet Crowley beat by beat, emotion for emotion. Which was everything that it should be.

Inside Crowley’s mind that same pool of emotions swirled around and around, somehow managing to amplify, while a voice echoed around the walls, whispering ‘wedded’ over and over again. Then it was joined by the word ‘husband’, which hardly helped matters. Well, it did but it didn’t.

Husband.

----------------------------

If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to say how exactly they made it to the bedroom they had set up in the bookshop when Crowley had moved in after That Saturday.

It was upstairs, littered with even more books and held the most comfortable bed Crowley could think of.

And right now, it held an angel on his back, arms splayed out as he looked up at the demon above him, his eyes showing surprise, too, presumably at being there suddenly.

But it didn’t matter how they had made it. What mattered was that they were there, together.

They had touched before, of course, with and even without clothes - though that had actually only been the torsos - but as Crowley slid his fingers down to undo the worn buttons of the waistcoat, it felt as though he had never touched him before at all.

Aziraphale didn’t move, just watched in warm, patient silence as his waistcoat and then his shirt was opened, baring his stomach and chest.

Long fingers touched the skin carefully, almost reverentially, sliding them up slowly from the lower belly, around the navel and further up to the chest, brushing tenderly across lovely nipples, rosy against the skin. A shiver ran through the angel at that. Seeing that, it was hard to resist the urge to do it again and so he didn’t, which elicited another shiver.

Crowley then moved his hands across the shoulders, pushing at fabric as he went until it bunched around Aziraphale’s elbows. The angel lifted his arms to assist and waistcoat, shirt and jacket were slipped off him all in one go. The fob chain jingled minutely but somehow clung onto the waistcoat as all three items landed on the floor somewhere.

Crowley took a moment to sit back - he was kneeling on the bed with Aziraphale’s legs on either side - and just appreciate what was in front of him, still scarcely believing that this was real and this was his.

The blond, for his part, let him look his fill, though to be honest, that fill wouldn’t ever be, well, filled, without an attempt to cover up.

There was no need to but the fact that he didn’t feel the need to, either, that made all the difference.

Honestly, to see how Aziraphale had been treated by the other angels, not to mention being told of some of the other comments they’d made, made something fiercer than Hellfire burn inside the demon whenever he thought of it. His angel was perfect just the way he was.

Still keeping eye contact, the redhead began to slide off his own jacket and then the rest of the clothes on his upper body, with much more efficiency than he had with Aziraphale’s.

At least, so he began, until he heard the blond whisper ‘slow, please’. Then he slowed down, taking the items off one by one rather than slipping all of them off at once, feeling the weight of a gaze on him. It was all he could do not to shiver minutely himself.

Once the t-shirt had gone over his head, he met that gaze, the warmth in there somehow even stronger. The demon swallowed at that, then, to distract himself, he turned his focus down to Aziraphale’s trousers.

A brief thought about why the heaven he couldn’t have modern trousers, with their convenient zippers, but at least it wasn’t the early Victorian fastenings flitted through his mind. He undid the top button...

Then, seemingly out of the blue, he hesitated.

“Is...is this alright?” Crowley asked, spreading a hand out to include them both and what they were doing, suddenly needing to know. Words spoken a little over 50 years ago, metaphorically a blink of an eye for them, rang in his mind and keened in his heart.

Was this too sudden? Too fast? Too soon? What if it was? What -

The legs on either side of him lifted to wrap around hips, pulling at him and somehow managing to unbalance him. He fell forward, just about catching himself on his elbows above Aziraphale’s shoulders. The rest of his body was now against the one beneath it.

He looked up in shock at the other and saw that not only was there an apologetic smile, the warmth still in his eyes had an edge of what could only be termed lust.

It was so much more tender than Crowley had ever seen lust before, to the point that calling it ‘lust’ felt almost wrong, but then again, this was an angel, not a human.

For him. Aziraphale was...for him! And he was showing it openly.

Hands came up to rest against both sides of his face.

“More than alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “Perfectly - “

“I swear, if you’re going to say ‘tickety-boo’, I will - “ Crowley interrupted but was distracted himself when one of the legs still wrapped around him slid a little and pushed at his arse, which in turn slid them further together.

Angels, and demons by extension, were sexless unless they made the effort, and Aziraphale had...made the effort, as it were.

So had Crowley, admittedly, but that was...he always did! Even if he didn’t see the need to exclusively stick with one sex all the time.

To have Aziraphale make the effort, however, that was...head-spinning, in the absolutely best way possible.

“That’s cheating,” he nevertheless hissed.

“But of course,” Aziraphale replied, with just the suggestion of a smirk. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Well, yes, it had, Crowley had to grudgingly admit. And then he couldn’t help but grin.

Oh, his angel.

He could reach a hand down and undo their trousers. But that would mean he would have to shift and he really didn’t want to do that right now. Nor did he want to get up properly to get them off himself and Aziraphale. So instead, still grinning, he snapped his fingers.

“Crowley!”

“Hmm?” he asked, looking innocent.

As innocent as he could, at least, what with a broad smile that threatened to become another grin plastered on his face.

“I’ve been keeping those trousers for a century and a half, you can’t just - “

The demon kissed him, briefly.

“Relax. They’re on the chair, perfectly okay, neatly folded.” He let his weight fall a little more onto the body underneath him, pressing them together. “And you can’t really say it doesn’t have some benefits.”

“That’s hardly the - ah!”

Soft hands fell from his face to grip onto his shoulders.

The grin returned. He rolled his hips forward, slowly and deliberately, feeling the hardness against the V between his hip and his groin. It earned him another gasp, louder than before.

He’d meant to be in control, to show his angel just what it could be like.

Then Aziraphale, still gripping onto the demon’s shoulders, shifted a little and brought their erections into full contact and it was him who let out sound, a gasping moan that was quite loud and uncontrolled.

The embarrassment was mollified by the fact that he heard Aziraphale make a similar noise.

Crowley felt a hand on his cheek and opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed, to look into soft green eyes.

“Please, my dear,” the angel said, “would you teach me?”

Something lodged inside Crowley at that, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it bloomed.

It wasn’t lessened by the fact that the hand was the one that had a new adornment.

“Of course,” he said, and he managed to say it without stuttering or blushing too badly.

He shifted himself for a better position and rocked his hips forward again, making sure it was slow but pushed against the other length in just the right way.

He got an outright moan for his trouble, which rose in volume again just as it started to taper off when he thrust again.

He could go faster and harder. He could snake a hand down between them, bring them together and get them both to climax like that. He could even slither down and show Aziraphale what worship could also be.

But he didn’t do any of those.

Because he didn’t want to. He wanted it to be like this, tender and warm and unhurried. It gave him the opportunity to drink in all the little sounds the angel was making, the way his expression changed slightly. The way he was holding on him and the way he felt underneath him.

It felt right that their first time being physical like this would be something to savour. Besides, they had all the time in the world, didn’t they? Both for this and for everything else.

Aziraphale had leaned forward and up a little and now caught Crowley’s lips in a kiss, which was passion and adoration and love.

On the next thrust he met him. Perfectly. And again on the next, drawing a deep felt groan from the demon.

There was no awkward moment of trying to find the right rhythm together, no fumbling with sliding too far or too hard. No friction beyond what was pleasurable. Well, not much, anyway.

For all that they had stumbled through the millennia as well as their relationship, they had also spent so much time together that in their own way, they had become part of a whole, two halves in sync, which matched and complimented each other perfectly.

Still kissing, Crowley’s fingers tangled themselves in blond hair while the other hand moved to cup a soft cheek. One of Aziraphale’s hands had meanwhile drifted itself and kept tracing patterns on the demon’s back. Touching in as many ways as possible, because they could.

Crowley, with his greater experience, felt it when Aziraphale began to tense up in a rather telling way. He didn’t speed up or even slow down, though, content to keep it at the same pace until the angel climaxed.

He did pull away from the kiss, though, mostly so he could focus on the other’s face. “Crowley, I’m...I think I’m...”

The ginger brushed his hand very gently over a forehead beaded with sweat.

“It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He couldn’t help the besotted smile he just knew was plastered on his face.

Aziraphale tensed further before he jerked and then shuddered hard as he ejaculated, the warm liquid spilling between them.

The demon would have expected him to shout or something similar. Instead, though, what he did was a cross between a throaty moan and a whisper. A whisper of Crowley’s name, which made it sound like, of all things, a benediction.

It was that sound, along with the expression of surprised bliss on that familiar face, that pushed Crowley over the edge a few moments later, to his own surprise.

He felt his own ejaculate join the mess already between them but his main focus was split between the orgasm itself and the fact that the moment it started, he was kissed, Aziraphale’s mouth swallowing any noise he made.

When everything settled into a semblance of something comprehensible after a small eon, he opened eyes he didn’t know he’d closed, to look down at Aziraphale who positively glowed.

No, actually, he did, and for a moment Crowley was worried he’d accidentally slipped into a more ethereal form. But no, the body beneath his still felt solid and real - and alive. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“I love you,” he said, starting to snuggle down.

Aziraphale beamed. “I love you, too, my dearest...husband.”

Crowley gasped softly, his head snapping up. The feeling such a simple word could bring.

He met the warm, loving gaze with his own.

“Yes,” he agreed, lacing their fingers together, their rings against each other. It might be traditional for the rings to be worn on the same hand for both but this way, they would touch when they did, which felt far more right.

“My husband.”

----------------------------

“Do we need a ceremony?” Crowley asked some time later. They were still lying in bed but it was under the covers, at least.

“I...suppose not, no. After all, we do rank higher than a priest.”

There was a sense of disappointment to be found in the angel’s voice, nevertheless.

“You do. I certainly don’t.” Nope, not going there right now. “But anyway, I don’t think it’s a good idea to...make it easy for them.”

“What do you - oh.”

“Yeah.”

Going into a church to get Aziraphale out in one piece and dealing with Nazis was one thing. Going into a church, a house of God, to have his romantic bond with one of God’s servants officiated, as it were, when they had royally pissed off Heaven was another one entirely - and probably not the smartest of ideas, to put it mildly.

Yes, they had managed to get both sides off their backs and quite effectively so, if he did say so, but even so...that was a bit too much like tying yourself to the lightning pole in a thunderstorm.

“Yes. Of course.” Still that undercurrent of understanding disappointment.

Crowley, who wasn’t having that - quite apart from wanting something to celebrate himself, among other reasons because he liked the thought of having a wedding anniversary quite a lot - pulled at the warm, soft, naked body beside him until he had a blanket made of angel over him.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t still have a reception or even a ceremony, if that’s what you’d like.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up at that and he kissed the ginger. He’s determined to discorporate me, isn’t he?

“With a cake?” the angel asked when they pulled apart.

Crowley touched their noses together, practically beaming himself.

“Of course. Anything you’d like, angel. Anything at all.”

Anything for his angel.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #go fic #Ineffable Husbands #Aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale/crowley #gifts #wedding ring #proposal

[tried-not-to-makeagoodomensblog]

All the Feels

Here’s how I see it. (long post) There are lots of legitimate ideas of when and where the ineffable husbands fall in love. But the way I imagine it is that love isn’t normal for them. Do angels and demns form couples in Heaven and Hell? It’s clear they don’t get real warmth from anyone in their home offices. They no doubt did have warm relationships with humans at times, but they weren’t their peers and anyway they weren’t immortal and they died so after a while they probably discouraged it. So on day one when they laugh together about something neither of them could have laughed or joked about at the office, so to speak, they start to make a connection. Crowley’s comment about Aziraphale being an angel so he doesn’t think he can do the wrong thing is clearly sarcasm. (Crowley was an angel once and *he* did a wrong thing.) But Aziraphale takes it as a kindness and Crowley lets him, maybe because he likes his smile. Then Aziraphale shields Crowley from the rain when he starts to sidle towards him. So each has the perception at least that the other was kind to them. Neither gets that at home. Then they see each other in Mesopotamia and at Golgotha. Both times, even though Crowley is the one who is outspoken about it, he can see that Aziraphale is uncomfortable with the things going on that are sanctioned by his side. He likes him for that, and I think Aziraphale likes it that Crowley is saying some of the things he’s thinking but would never say.

Then comes Rome. A lot has come and gone over the years. At this point for both of them they are the only constant on earth. Despite what Aziraphale says later, it’s clear they have more in common with each other than they have with anyone else. Is Crowley fishing for an invite when he says he’s never eaten an oyster? I think so. Aziraphale certainly falls for it. That’s probably the first time they eat together and have some drinks. Lots of in-jokes between them. What a relief to have someone who understands! When they meet again in armor, Crowley says right away to his crew, “He’s all right. I know him.” No mistrust on his side, but Aziraphale isn’t sure his suggestion to stay home and just send memos isn’t an attempt at  temptation. By the Globe, they’ve met a lot. The Arrangement is in full swing. Lots of room for fanfic in there and it’s being filled. But by now, Crowley clearly enjoys and is amused by Aziraphale, much more than at any point before. Aziraphale is still suspicious, but is for the first time sweetly concerned about Crowley’s well being if they’re found out. He also seems to frown a bit when Burbage appears to be hitting on Crowley. France, the first rescue. They’re familiar enough that Crowley is now free to affectionately but not without exasperation criticize Aziraphale’s foolish choices. The second invitation to a meal, at least that we get to see, once again from Aziraphale. Up next is the Holy Water incident, I believe. By this time, they’re both getting weirded out by their feelngs. I don’t think angels or devils fall in love, so they don’t expect that in themselves let alone the other. Their feelings confuse them. About all you can be sure of is that each has begun to see the other vaguely as a significant other. Love or no, a closeness has developed. Those emotions are a little uncomfortable and they irritate them, so they fight.

Then the church Nazis. We all know that one. Saving Aziraphale could be construed as Crowley not wanting to risk having to deal with an angel who walks the party line if Aziraphale is reprimanded and replaced, but the books show something more. He knows what Aziraphale values and cares enough to save them for him. Notice that he has absolutely *no* doubt that Aziraphale will save him when the bomb drops. He put his life in his hands without hesitation. Also, the back and forth about Crowley’s name and initial shows them speaking as if they’re the only two people in the room, even though someone is pointing a gun at them. When they’re together, they’re the only people who matter to each other now. On to the touching scene in the Bentley. This is the most tender scene of all. By giving him the thermos Aziraphale shows that Crowley has come to mean more than he can say. Crowley seems sad, maybe a little lonely. When did anyone show this much caring for him? He wants more time with him. The feels are ratcheted up. The Anti-Christ arrives. Crowley probably thought they had another 6000 years to enjoy human pleasures and slowly spend more time together. Is it love? I don’t know that he would call it that, but I think we would. Some kind of love. He wants Aziraphale to help him stop the Apocalypse, partly for the Bentley’s sake, partly for their sake. No matter who wins, the Apocalyptic war will end with Crowley spending eternity in Hell where no one cares about him or drinks with him or laughs with him at all. Thinking about it makes him keenly aware that only one person understands him and cares for his well being. And that he only cares for that one person. I don’t think Aziraphale is thinking like that. He’s fond of Crowley but duty comes first, more or less. He can’t stand to see himself as he is, pretty compromised morally, so he still clings to this vision of being an angel on the side of good.

But it’s the incident at the monastery that really sets something off. When Crowley slams him up against the wall, they both feel something. You can see it in how they act afterward, Aziraphale pointedly fixing and settling his clothes almost accusatively. He’s clearly doing the same with his feelings, unexpected intense feelings that came surging up. Crowley is if anything even more flustered by the same kind of feelings. He tries to fight it off by being sarcastic at Aziraphale. Their bickering over how to handle Sister Mary is to cover up the feelings that surprised and overtook them. I’ll skip to the bandstand. The bandstand is everything. They’re talking about the AntiChrist. Aziraphale is a bad liar. He’s feeling more guilt about lying to Crowley about not knowing where the Anti-Christ is than he has ever felt about lying to Heaven. But Crowley seems to suspect nothing. Then he walks up to Aziraphale, almost too close, like he’s experimenting too see whether getting close arouses any feelings again. He’s doing all right, maybe enjoying it a little, but then Aziraphale puts his fingers up as he speaks and they touch. Boom! It happens again. Just that little touch. Crowley gets agitated, loud, and sarcastic and maybe just a little bit closer. “Kill him yourself, hol-i-ly.” Are they arguing at this point or are they making out? “I’m not killing anybody,” Aziraphale is staring Crowley in the eyes at the start of that sentence, but looking into each other’s eyes is so intense he has to look away by the end. It seems very intimate. Aziraphale throwing around his holiness, emphasizing their differences just as their feelings are coming up is probably self defense and is frustrating to Crowley. He thought they were past that. Passions are running high, mostly frustration fueled by that intensity they’re not naming. Crowley has to walk away. For a moment Aziraphale desperately calls him back. Then Crowley says what’s never been said before. “We can go off together” “We’re on our own side” Shock. Aziraphale has had thoughts like this, but felt guilty about fantasizing about it. He can’t believe he’s hearing them. He panics. When Aziraphale says, “We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you!”, he can’t even look Crowley in the eyes. He’s just taking the party line and making himself desperately unhappy while doing it. For someone who could feel love all around him in Tadfield, he must have to go to great lengths to ignore his own love for Crowley now. He’s forcing it down. And when his only friend in the world does just what God did so many years ago, abandoning him for piousness, rejecting him for ideas and not for who he is, Crowley doesn’t even argue. He wasn’t expecting it from his friend but he recognizes it. He’s been here before. This is what the good guys do in the end, isn’t it? This is what the ones who *say* they stand for love always do. He walks away, knowing that a lonely eternity in hell with no friends is what awaits him without Aziraphale’s help. He walks away already falling back into that pit of burning sulphur. It will be until all the angels and even God prove not to be on his side before Aziraphale will come around and realize that Crowley was his only friend, too, and that his heart and not what he’s been taught is his highest obligation. But when they leave the bandstand only Agnes Nutter could have foreseen that ever happening.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #all the feels #all the good omens feels

[emotional-support-demon-crowley]

I can’t stop thinking about Good Omens...

SPOILERS AHEAD. This is mostly based on the show though I’ve read the book many times over the years. Though it’s not the point or the purpose of what follows, you could boil this whole theory down to ‘god shipped an angel and a demon so hard she made the earth and humanity so they could meet and fall in love and then she created an ineffable plan in which they also managed to save it’.

So here goes. Both Aziraphale and Crowley are very different from their respective counterparts. 

Aziraphale is genuinely nice and agonizes over being good and doing the right thing when all of the others of his ilk that we meet really don’t. 

There’s a lot of evidence that Crowley is basically the same. Sure, he rolls his eyes at the other demons methods because they aren’t thinking big enough, but really, I think he just can’t stomach targeting evil towards a single individual. In truth, he’s pretty appalled when he encounters the evils dreamed up by humanity. And yeah, he’s stylish af and full of bravado, but that just makes the rest of the demons resent even him more.

So one day, bam! god creates the earth and both heaven and hell have the same thought. They both independently seem to have said to these misfits, “We have a very important job for you. The humans must be monitored. Go very far away from us and keep tabs on that. For 6000 years.”

So Aziraphale and Crowley show up on earth and I think in general they’re thrilled to be away from the repressive, toxic environments they came from. But they’re still fundamentally lonely.

From this perspective, their first conversation in the garden is so perfect. They are both adorable cinnamon rolls that are starved for attention and desperate for camaraderie, so Crowley decides to just strike up a conversation. What has he got to lose? And they both seem sort of excited/amused that they have a pleasant interaction. It’s probably the best conversation they’ve had maybe ever based on all the other angels and demons we meet. 

I think it’s very telling that Aziraphale never admits to anyone else that he gave the sword away. He tells Crowley, one of his mortal enemies, after like half a minute of nice chit chat. And he gets all happily flustered when Crowley, despite the light sarcasm, says that he doesn’t think Aziraphale could do the wrong thing. This is in stark contrast to how he’s treated by everyone in heaven who constantly reinforce that he’s not measuring up to angel standards at every turn.

This scenario would explain why neither side really seems to check up on them. They’re reporting back, sure, but no one is bothering to verify facts on either side. Crowley does make the presentation about the highway, but honestly, that really looks more like hell’s monthly mandatory torture luncheon than an actual exchange of information. Everyone in attendance looks like their soul is being crushed, their brain is about to dribble out their ear, and they are keenly aware that they are currently in actual hell.

So Crowley and Aziraphale progress through all of human history and they just keep meeting up. And sure, maybe they disagree a little on their fundamental view points, but the interactions are always respectful and pleasant. Before long, they begin to do a series of increasingly large favors for each other.

In the church, Crowley set the rescue into motion, but he relied on Aziraphale to actually keep him from being discorperated. We know demons don’t trust each other, but Crowley has perfect faith that his angel will go against what heaven would expect him to do and save them both. And while we’re here, I’ve seen a few posts implying that Aziraphale might struggle if forced to chose between books and Crowley, but when the literal bombs were literally falling from the sky, we all saw where his priorities were.

I’ve also seen posts that propose the theory that Crowley didn’t realize he loved Aziraphale until he lost him, but I don’t think that can possible be the case. In my mind, Crowley realized what Armageddon would actually cost him well in advance. When he’s gently prodding about no more old book shops or classical music, he’s actually trying to get his angel to think about what else he might never see again. When he’s talking about how horrible eternity in heaven will be, the worst detail is who it will be spent with or in this case, without. Crowley isn’t trying to manipulate or trick Aziraphale into saving the world, he’s trying to get him to realized that the end of the world is the end of their relationship. That might feel like a stretch at first until you consider that as soon as Crowley accepts that saving the world might not be possible, he immediately goes into panic mode and suggests they run away together. Crowley has realized that Armageddon is going to rip them apart and take away the only place they’ve ever been happy. No matter which side wins, they’ll both be facing their own version of hell - spending all of eternity suffering because they can’t spend it together.

This explains why Crowley is so set on convincing Aziraphale that the two of them have to reject their origins and chose each other. When he says Our Side, he isn’t talking about their arrangement, or rebelling, it’s about the fact that all of heaven and hell put together does not deserve either of them. And that’s why he becomes so agitated when he gets shut down. Aziraphale has that moment where his voice catches when he tells him “You can’t leave Crowley” like he felt a pang of that same sense of loss, but he still hasn’t thought through the larger implications because he’s still so sure there must be a way to stop it.

And then Crowley tries again and fails again and responds in anger again. And before he can try a third time, he loses Aziraphale.

I agree with the theory that Crowley has some supernatural method to kept track of Aziraphale. His frequent last minute appearances are too timely to be pure luck. So when he gets discorperated, for the first time in centuries, if not millennia, there’s silence. 

This explains why Crowley gives up. Because Crowley wasn’t fighting to save the world. Crowley was fighting for a safe place where he and his angel to continue to exist together. Without Aziraphale, there’s no point, the thing he feared most has already happened.

Which also means that everything he does once his hope is restored, he does for love. He sacrifices the Bentley for love, because deep down some part of him had to know the car would never be the same after what he was about to put it through. And yeah, he mourns it, but he doesn’t go to a bar and give up on stopping the end of the world because it’s gone.

And he recognizes Aziraphale instantly, even in a different body. Initially I assumed angels and demons could just see and identify soul, but based on how they resolve things in both heaven and hell no other angels or demons posses this ability. And Crowley compliments the outfit! Considering this is probably the first time Aziraphale has worn anything that isn’t a shade of white since the French revolution, it’s just a terrific example of positive feedback and support.

And then somehow, they manage to succeed. Apocalypse averted. And when Gabriel angrily asserts that everyone knows who is responsible, Crowley grins like a silly, love struck idiot. Did he just save the world just so he could stay with his angel? Hell yeah! He’s proud as fuck.

But then he feels something gut wrenching and he realizes that they saved the world, but they won’t survive to enjoy it, and Crowley gives up again. I imagine somewhere deep down he had the horrible, tragic thought that at least this time he wouldn’t be left alone - they would both die, but his suffering would be brief. And then Aziraphale threatens to never speak to him again. And Crowley’s brain does some math: 

Dying together = We are FUCKED! 

Dying together while Aziraphale is refuses to speak to me = No, fuck that noise!

Crowley is inspired and the world is well and saved, for now anyway, He FINALLY gets Aziraphale to agree they truly are on their own side, so they prepare to face the combined wrath of heaven and hell. During the proceedings, they both have a moment and it looks like fear, like they’re gathering themselves for the grisly end they’re about to face - until you know about the switch. When you consider they are both fully aware they aren’t facing any danger, I think that moment is actually both of them processing not only the fact that this could have been how they lost the other, but also that this is the shitty way that the person they love and cherish more than the entire world itself has been treated since the beginning of time. I’ve re-watched it a few times and I like to think I see anger and that sort of hopeless empathy feeling you get when you wish you could undo the pains someone you care about has already felt.

So yeah, I think the ineffable plan was that god decided all those ass-hat angels and demons who only wanted a war deserved to be disappointed in the biggest way possible, all except for these two lovable cream puffs who decided to chose love instead. Also, Crowley could have avoided a lot of wasted time, heartache, and shenanigans if he’d just said “I love you, angel, and the thought of being separated from you is more painful than anything I ever experienced in  hell.” But honestly, I kind of love that everything they do whenever they’re together basically screams how much they love and care for one another without them ever actually saying it. 

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens fan theory #good omens theory #good omens series #good omens headcanons #david tennant #michael sheen #anthony j crowley #good omens thoughts #the ineffable plan #god ships aziraphale and crowley #demon #angel #crowley loves aziraphale

[xtintlune]

After the non-apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale had only thought of that night, the night Aziraphale spent in Crowley's place. At the same time, they had done nothing but to avoid speaking of it, although after that evening, they felt closer to each other than ever.

Crowley had thought to mention it at the Ritz to Aziraphale, however he had made up an entire situation in his head that would end up with him denying the whole situation or even fighting. He never wanted to fight Aziraphale again, he never knew how long their fights would last. For them it could be years, decades, centuries. And knowing himself as he is, he knew his pride sometimes could get the best of him. He decided to let the whole thing go, that he would never mention it as long as he could be close to Aziraphale as he was in that very moment.

"Are you okay, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, interrupting his thoughts. He stopped eating his crêpes and swallowed "You seem distracted. Are you still worried about your... Or my side?"

Crowley smiled, his glasses had slipped a bit through his nose, so the angel could perfectly see his yellow eyes. Aziraphale had always secretly thought that that tiny and harmless detail made him look very cool.

"I couldn't care less about those wankers, angel. Like I said before, after the scare we gave 'em , I don't see them risking coming after us in a while." He watched his untouched and intact crêpe on his plate and hissed.

Aziraphale laughed, remembering the scene of a Michael giving him a towel. "You're right, dear. You must be. We souldn't worry, of course. What were you thinkikg about, then?" He had resumed his job with the crêpe and then sighed in satisfaction. It was delicious. Crowley felt his human back get a chill after seeing that face on the angel. A silence suddenly came between them. Crowley gazed the angel's eyes and stood quiet. Aziraphale, realizing Crowley would not want to speak on the matter, tried changing the subject.

"Are you gonna eat your crêpe, dear?" he asked, a bit nervous "It's gonna get cold and that would just be an a..."

"An abomination" The demon interrupted "Yes, nk, you can have it for me. You know I'm not all into human food." Crowley took a sip to his wine and then took the white plate and slipped it through the table without even looking to it. He felt a touch in his hand and freezed. He gazed at the plate, and saw a hand, the angel's hand, Aziraphale's hand above his. His stomach felt light but his chest felt heavy. Bloody human bodies, he had thought. So contradictory.

The angel's look was in the plate, he seemed to be studying it, on a light pause. Crowley wondered if he had even realized of the hand-touch, maybe he was just excited about the crêpe. His hand is still in Crowley's. He doesn't know how long that pause has been so far, but Arizaphale's gaze seems serious, like he is analyzing. Is he looking at our hands or at the crêpe? Crowley asked to himself.

"Is there anything else I can offer you, gentlemen?" A voice said, making Aziraphale jump in his seat. The touching was gone and Crowley grumped to himself.

The angel looked at the waiter and smiled. "Oh, no, thank you very much. Perhaps you could give us the check." He said.

"Would you like your crêpe to go, sir?"

"Indeed. You are very kind." The waiter took the plate and left. Crowley was looking at the window, again lost in his own thoughts.

"Seriously, demon. Whatever it is you're thinking about, you seem pretty engrossed to that. Is there a problem?"

Crowley snorted "Weren't you gonna eat the crêpe?"

"I'm afraid I feel quite full, dear." Neither of them was looking into each other's eyes. Somehow their tension grew, but neither of them would even think of recognize that, much less the cause of that tension.

A bunch of claps caught their attention behind Aziraphale. They looked at a man on one knee hugging a woman on her seat. It was easy to asume they had just got engaged.

"Weird, isn't?" The demon asked. "Humans create all sorts of useless rituals to prove something to themselves."

Aziraphale gazed at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean weddings. Humans swear to love each other for their whole lives, their lives aren't even that long. And they don't know what eternity is. I mean, not like you and I. And the thing is they don't have enough time to even make those kind of promesses because they don't even have enough time to get to know a person well enough." Aziraphale realized Crowley was a bit past drunk. He looked at the table behind him, the happy couple laughing and holding both hands, whispering things to each other. The lady had a few tears of happines sliding through her cheeks. The male kept cleaning her tears with his thumbs, speaking to her. They didn't even realized the whole crowd they had created.

"I have a question for you, Crowley." Aziraphale said firmly. The demon freezed at the tone of voice of the angel. "What is it that upsets you, the whole 'wedding/ritual' situation, or the promess of eternal love?"

Crowley turned his eyes to Aziraphale's. The blue in his eyes where half covered by his dilated pupil. His hands were under the table and he looked almost like a statue, calmly waiting for the demon's response. He sighed, feeling almost... Exhausted?

"You see, angel. Can you feel the love in the air? Is strong, I believe in their promess. I do, truly. But it annoys greatly how foolish of them it is to make those promesses when they are not meant to last. Humans die, they do not discoporate, they die, angel. Eighty years? Seventy? These days most don't last until their fifties. Don't get me wrong, it amazes me how easy it is to them to partner to their loved one that fast. I mean, it's been six thousand years and I'm still waiting to..."

"Your check, gentlmen" The waiter appeared leaving a piece of paper inside a leather notebook and a plastic box with the crêpe inside of aluminum on top of the table. Aziraphale was looking at the demon with fear. Waiting? Waiting for what?

"Thank you." The angel gazed at the waiter, with a forced smile. He signed something on the paper and as soon as the waiter was gone he miracled the money on top of the table. "Ehm, what were you saying, dear?" Aziraphale suddenly seemed agitated, he looked at Crowley, who was gazing at the table. The angel waited for his response. Crowley looked up, into the angel's eyes and stood there for a few seconds.

"Crow..."

"Doesn't matter. We should get going. The love air in here is sofocating me." He stood up, took the box of the crêpe and walked fast out of the restaurant.

Aziraphale walked behind him trying to follow his step as best he could. Outside the Ritz, the angel watched how Crowley almost gets hit by several cars and tries his best to catch him. For a moment he thought he was gonna have to miracle a car to make it stop before it hit Crowley, who kept walking fast without even realizing the danger he had put himself in.

"Crowley, wait!" Screamed Aziraphale, now almost running in the grass of the park. It was getting dark and people were leaving. "Crowley!"

The demon did not slowed his step.

"Anthony!" Screamed Aziraphale firmly, now breathing heavily.

Crowley stopped walking, he turned around and from the angel's place, he seemed almost angry.

"What is it, angel?" He stared at Aziraphale's eyes, firmly, loud and, yes, angry.

"What is the matter with you!?" He sighed after bringing air to his human lungs. "You're going too fast for me, Crowley"

"I know that, Aziraphale. I know, you've told me that before. I know." He was being loud. He didn't had his glasses on, he must have taken them off when he was walking out of the Ritz. His yellow eyes were open wide.

"What? Crowley, what are you talking about?" The angel was confused, but mostly he was worried.

"When you gave me the holy water, rememeber? You said those exact words. You go too fast for me, Crowley." He imitated Aziraphale's voice. "How fast is that? Please, tell me. How come humans take an average of... What? Four years? Six? Six years to fall in love and promess to love each other and we..."

"We? Crowley, do you realize what you are saying?" Aziraphale stepped closer to the demon, even though he felt scared. Not scared of Crowley, but of what he might say.

"I do, angel. And you do too. What are you doing? They're gone! Your side, my side. They aren't after us anymore! We are on our side! Our side! That's you and me. Before I asked you to run away with me to alpha centauri, twice! For fucks sake" he laughed nervously. "I- I asked you twice, and you rejected me both times. That I can understand because you were still hung up on heaven's shit. But now they're gone. And now you are with me, and still you won't be with me.

"Crowley..."

"No, don't you say that. Because I know you feel it. I know it. You can't say this goes only one way because that's crap."

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Crowley" Aziraphale looked down, he couldn't bear to look into the demon's eyes. He was still so confused and it was hurting his best friend.

"Really?" Crowley walked to be right in front of the angel. "You won't admit it, will you?" Crowley seeked for the angel's gaze. He finally looked back at him. "Alright, then. Tell me something, tell me about that night, will you? You know, the night we kissed."

Aziraphale freezed.

"What? I-I don't know what you mean" The angel stuttered.

"Are you sure?" The demon steped forward until he was face to face to the angel. "What? Now you're gonna say you never went to my place at all? Because, if I recall, Aziraphale, it wasn't just that we kissed"

"Stop"

"No, not at all. If i remember correctly..."

"Shut up!"

"You. Kissed. Me."

"Stop it!" Aziraphale yelled loudly. His gaze were everywhere but on Crowley. His hands were fixing his tartan tie nervously. The demon kept seeking the angel's look. He noticed how scared and vulnerable he looked. Crowley looked down, he sighed heavily, he was tired, exhausted really.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Asked the angel, weakly.

Crowley was in shock. Why am I doing this to you?

"Because of six thousand years, Aziraphale. I am sick of waiting. I am sick of waiting for you."

Aziraphale had now tears rolling down his cheeks.

"But... I've been sick for centuries now. And tomorrow I will still be sick. But I'll still wait, angel. Because that's my punishment. Not the fall, no. I get it now. It's been six thousand years, but..." The demon raised his hand to the angel's cheek, and wiped the tears with his thumb. They stared at each other's eyes, broken. Crowley put his forehead to Aziraphale's and closed his eyes. "...for now..." he moved his hand to the back of the neck of the angel and put his lips to Aziraphale's.

Contrary to what he expected, the angel corresponded the kiss, took his jacket and pulled him closer to him to deepen the kiss. Their's lips danced for a few seconds until the demon stepped back.

"...we're even" he turned and kept on walking away from the angel with a, you might call it a sad but a satisfied smile.

Aziraphale was frozen. He was surprised for Crowley's actions and even more surprised for his own. He felt so confused still. He watched the demon get farther and farther.

"Wait!" Aziraphale yelled.

"Don't worry, angel" The demon turned his head to Aziraphale, putting his glasses on again. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. I will give you a lift, anywhere you want."

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I'm sorry for any spelling mistake. English is not my first language.

Would you like to know what happend at Crowley's place?

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