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Crowley came bursting into the bookshop around closing time, rain beading on the wool of his coat and clinging to his hair. He looked slightly breathless, as if he’d walked the distance from Mayfair, rather than driven. Indeed, Aziraphale had not heard the car pull up outside. Nor had he felt the demon appear, by magic. This, in itself, made the entry unusual.
Crowley’s greeting threw him even further.
“Hi, can I borrow you for a moment?”
No intro. No sarcastic remark about the fact that the bookshop’s doors had been locked, closed sign in place, three hours before Aziraphale's reported 'end of day'.
Setting down his manuscript, the angel turned his back on the desk and set his hands in his lap, watching his friend expectantly.
“Of course.”
“Need a favour.” There was something insistent about the way the words came out, something rushed in the delivery.
It was growing dark outside, a short winter afternoon giving way to evening; an odd time to be in a rush, Aziraphale thought, unless Crowley was late for an evening engagement. But, then, he wasn’t dressed as if he were heading out.
“What can I do for you?”
“Uh…”
Pulling a face, Crowley moved a few steps closer to Aziraphale’s chair. His breaths were, indeed, coming a bit faster than usual. His skin was wet. He had walked here, then. How curious, the angel thought, watching the demons stand, silently, clearly unsure how to begin.
“I see that storm has broken,” Aziraphale commented, hoping to get things flowing. "The one they were harping on about on the news."
“Yeah…” Crowley spared a glance at the window. “Ciara, or Cade, or whatever its name is…” He frowned. “Weird that they name them, isn’t it? Though, I suppose, they’ve always done that." His expressive eyebrows contract further, throwing a network of lines across his brow. "Alphabetisation has been an improvement, though, eh? Much better than the old ‘the great storm of ninety-three,’ or ‘the fierce little wind of thirteen’, or ‘the sodding big raincloud of-,”
“Did you walk here?” Aziraphale interrupted, gently.
Crowley looked down at himself, as if still surprised to find his body wet and present.
“Uh... Yup.”
“Something the matter with the Bentley?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I was just in the park and… and I needed to ask you something.” Crowley cleared his throat and then, throwing Aziraphale completely, reached up and pulled off his glasses.
The angel blinked, surprised.
Unveiling his eyes was not something Crowley usually did without a decent number of drinks in him, or for specific demonic purpose. Even now that they had begun to spend more time together, in their newfound freedom, it was rare to see him without them. And it was even rarer for him to let his irises slide out, snakelike, right across the sclera. It was nice, though, Aziraphale thought. It was nice, to be trusted to see him this way. To see Crowley as he was meant to be seen.
The angel smiled.
“Ask away, then.”
“Uh, okaaaay…” Crowley blew out heavily, as if using the moment to build momentum, then cleared his throat and shifted from one foot onto the other. “Right. So, it’s a daft thing, really, but I’ve had it bouncing around my head for a while, now. I just thought, well, you’re my best friend, right?” He paused, eyes seeking reassurance.
Aziraphale nodded, trying not to react too much. (Because it gave him great pleasure to hear those words but they were both still unused to open displays of emotion, six months into their post-armageddon life, and he didn’t want to scare Crowley off).
“I am.”
“Cool.” Crowley looked slightly mollified. “And we’re planning on continuing to bugger around on this planet, for a while, right?” He paused, then added. “Togethery-y?”
The angel smiled slightly. “That is the plan.”
It probably needed refining, at some point, or embellishment - but after the year they'd had, Aziraphale was actually rather happy with the vagueness of it. He liked buggering around on Earth, with Crowley. Togethery-y.
“Right.” The demon cleared his throat again. “Well, in that case…” He looked back up at Aziraphale, wearing the sort of expression the angel would have normally associated with facing down a firing squad. “I need you to do something and not ask why."
Unease bit at the base of the angel's spine. Not because he was afraid of what Crowley would ask - because he had long ago realised that the demon would never ask more of him than he was capable - but because it was beyond the normal scope of their interactions. And Aziraphale was the first to admit that he functioned sub-optimally, outside that comfort zone.
“Okay,” he began, cautiously. “I can do that.”
“It’s nothing dangerous, or anything.” Crowley assured him, unease etched into the lines around his eyes. “It’s nothing bad, It’s just... something I need to check.”
Aziraphale felt the unease fade, softened by the nervous sincerity in his friend’s eyes. If it mattered to Crowley, of course he’d do it. When push came to shove, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for his friend.
“Okay,” Aziraphale told him, softly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“And no questions?”
“No questions.”
“Okay.” They stared at one another for a long moment, then Crowley nodded. “Stand up for a second?”
Aziraphale stood and took a step towards Crowley, feeling the mood in the room shift. The demon’s eyes darted around his face, making two passes over his mouth. Aziraphale wasn’t terribly good at reading social clues, but this one was a definite implication in those golden eyes.
A flicker of nerves passed through his own belly.
Was this…? Did Crowley want…?
“What do you need me to do?” He asked the demon, a little breathless all of a sudden.
“Come closer.”
They were less than three feet apart, but Aziraphale obeyed, stepping forwards until he had to lift his chin to meet Crowley’s eyes.
He really did have a lovely face, the angel thought, looking up into it. There was a raindrop clinging to the rise of one sharp cheekbone. The lashes around his wide, golden eyes were very dark - more auburn than the copper of his hair. Like the dark hair that scattered over his chest, the angel thought, remembering all the times he had seen his friend half-dressed, over the years; in roman baths, in the pits of a gladiator’s arena, basking in the sun in a sheltered glade. All of him was lovely, really.
“Is this close enough?”
Crowley gave a tiny jerk of a nod.
That place, deep in Aziraphale's belly - the place he had felt a squirm of delight when Crowley said ‘best friend’ - was filling with liquid warmth. The demon’s pupils were dilating and this was absolutely what Aziraphale had thought it was. It couldn't not be. And i t was coming completely out of the blue, but that was okay. It was okay for this to be happening on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon. Aziraphale was ready for this to happen. He'd sort of been expecting this for a couple of weeks, now.
They'd been exploring the edges of their friendship carefully, over the last few months. Spending more time. Putting themselves in new situations. Sharing a bit more. Aziraphale had suspected this might be where they were heading. They hadn't really talked about it, yet, but that was okay. They'd had enough intro to last a thousand lifetimes.
This wasn’t the only way that Aziraphale wanted Crowley, but it was one way. And Crowley seemed to want it, too. And wasn't that brilliant, the angel thought? Wasn’t it wonderful that they matched up?
“What do you need, dear boy?” He prompted, gently, because he wasn’t sure that his friend was going to go through with it, now that they were actually standing there. And he wanted him to. He so wanted him to.
“I-,” long ovals of black pupil scanned his face. “No questions, right?”
“No questions,” Aziraphale confirmed.
“None, alright?"
"Alright."
"Okay."
A long pause.
"I need you to kiss me.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale didn’t manage to catch the happy sigh that fell from his lips. Thankfully, Crowley cleared his throat at the same time, and the sound masked it. “Kiss you... on the mouth?”
“Yup.” The demon’s voice was very tight.
“Right now?”
“Mm-hm.”
Sometimes it was best not to let thoughts get in the way of feelings. That was perhaps the greatest lesson Aziraphale had learned, over the years. Sometimes it was best just to trust yourself.
So, Aziraphale did.
“Okay.”
He leant in, the movement gentle, designed not to spook. His eyes fluttered closed by some unspoken instinct and his closed lips met Crowley's. It was so soft, their lips barely brushing. So soft. Almost nothing. Then, as they both realised that the other was not going to pull away, it became a little more. Tilting his head, Aziraphale felt the pressure of Crowley leaning closer, lips parting. He felt the slight wetness of the inside of his mouth. the warmth of his cheek and the nudge of his nose as their heads tilted. The tiniest press closer. Then, Crowley was tilting away again. Eyes down. Hovering there for just a second, as if prolonging the moment where he would have to meet Aziraphale's gaze.
The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than five seconds - Aziraphale pressed up onto the balls of his feet, to hold the closeness between them. Then, Crowley took a rough breath in. Aziraphale gave a shaky smile.
He was beautiful. Pupils wide, cheeks flushed, still a little damp from the rain outside. Every single part of Aziraphale wanted to say so, but he held his tongue. He held it until Crowley's eyes met his own.
“Kiss you like that?”
“Yeah.”
The demon’s voice wasn’t tight anymore, just a little breathless. The tension in the room had faded, too, replaced by something that was not dissimilar to the sensation of buzzing in the ears - an existential tinnitus.
Aziraphale had long become used to the sensation of Crowley's love. He had been the demon’s friend for far longer than he had been willing to admit, and Crowley had cared about him for all of that time. The flavour of the love had changed and shifted, through the years, but it only grown greater. It was always there - a sharp edge to his magic - something that Aziraphale could sense in the split-second before he had materialised at his left shoulder (in a church, or a dungeon, or a crowd).
You are my best friend and you love me, the angel thought, staring up at him. For whatever I have done to deserve such a gift, I give thanks.
“You okay?” He asked Crowley, softly.
“Mnh.”
Crowley nodded, minutely.
They stood for another ten seconds, Aziraphale's hand still where it had come to rest, against the demon’s side. Then, Crowley cleared his throat.
“Was that…” he frowned, slightly. “Did that feel… weird, to you?”
Warmth rolled though Aziraphale, nipping at his lungs.
“Well, yes, a little. But you are very wet,” he smiled, unable to resist the tease. (Crowley would have done the same, had their situations been reversed). “I will have to lend you an umbrella, if these storms are going to continue.”
Crowley blinked at him.
“I, uh-,” he faltered, paused, then blinked again. “That’s not really what I meant.”
Warmth rolled through the angel again. Fresh depths of fondness.
“I know, dear,” he smiled. Stroking a placatory thumb against Crowley’s damp side, he let his eyes travel over the demon’s face. Sharp angles and soft skin, bright eyes, pupils still blown wide. “I didn't find it at all weird,” he answered, simply, after a moments’ pause. “Just new.”
“Good new?”
Never one to pass up an opportunity, when presented so nicely, Aziraphale leant back in, towards his friend.
“It's hard to tell, from just one kiss.” He snapped his fingers and Crowley flinched, finding himself suddenly dry.
"Hey."
"Apologies." Then he leant back in. “May I?”
Crowley swallowed.
“Yeah. Go on, then…”
Their second kiss lasted significantly longer than the first and involved substantially more grasping of hands and exploration of tongues. By the time they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.
Eyes dragging over flushed faces, they drew back an inch, still close enough to feel the warmth of one another’s breath.
Crowley raised his eyebrows.
“Well?”
The angel felt a smile tug at his lips.
“That was-”
“Good new? Bad new?” The demon gave a little tilt of his head. “Really-fucking-weird-don’t-ever-do-it-again new?”
Aziraphale couldn't help a rush of laughter.
"For goodness sake, Crowley. I..." He laughed again, "The first one, I suppose.”
Crowley’s dark eyebrows contracted. He gesticulated vaguely with one hand.
“What do you mean, you suppose?”
Aziraphale shook his head. He was beaming foolishly - head swimming, heart thrilling, cheeks very red - but he found he didn’t care a toss.
“It was good new,” he laughed, hand tightening on the demon’s side. “Definitely good new.”
Crowley relaxed a little. His hand, resting on the rise of Aziraphale's shoulder, squeezed gently.
They watched one another for a long few seconds, then the angel sighed.
“Crowley, why-”
“Ugh - no! None of that!” Dropping his hands to his side, the demon shrank away. Turning, he paced three steps towards the door, then two back again, biting absently at his lower lip as he eyed the angel. “We said no questions,” he reminded, pointing accusingly. “You agreed not to ask why!”
“I don't need to ask why, you ridiculous creature,” Aziraphale murmured, softly.
Crowley’s cheeks flushed scarlet. He held Aziraphale’s eyes challengingly, for a moment, then looked down at the floor again and repeated the three steps towards the door and back.
The angel allowed him two more revolutions before gently clarifying;
“I only wanted to know why now.”
Still five feet away, Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and lifted his chin, defiant against the awkwardness of the moment.
“I was just-, I don’t know-, in the area...” He shrugged, sharp shoulders throwing shadows under his black jacket, sharp collarbones jutting forward. “Didn't have anything else on today. And I knew you were in. ...Sss’just a thing, really. Sstupid thing.” Giving an almighty eye roll, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and threw his head back, squinting at the ceiling. “Are you busy, Friday?”
“Friday?” The brusqueness of the question threw Aziraphale a little. (His mind had been lingering on the warm, squirmy feelings that his friends lips had left behind in the pit of his stomach). “This Friday?” His eyes darted quickly over to the calendar sitting on his desk, just to double check he hadn’t got the date wrong.
“Yeah.” Crowley pulled a face. “I mean, if you’re free.” He wrinkled his nose, “…but if you’re not, that’s fine. I mean, at the end of the day it’s just a day.” He cringed. “I was just wondering if you were busy. Or free, rather…” He frowned. “Though, I suppose, knowing one kind of tells me the other-,”
“The evening or the afternoon?” Aziraphale cut in gently, to stop the rambling.
“Uh… evening.”
“Oh.” The angel folded his hands in front of him. “Well, then, yes. I’m free.”
“Right.” Crowley blinked at him, then added, with slightly narrowed eyes. “Why? Did you have plans, in the afternoon?”
“No.” Though it gave him a strange rush of pleasure to know that the idea made Crowley jealous. “No plans. Just a perfectly normal Valentines day.” He gave the demon a small smile, knowing it was harsh to call him directly on what Friday was, but unable to resist one last tease. “Opening up the shop until four. Having a sale on some of the romantic poetry. It's all in ancient Greek so I don't expect to sell anything.”
The demon hung his head slightly to one side, watching him with a mixture of irritation and something which closely approximated hunger - an expression Aziraphale had always tried not to think too hard about, when he had spotted it before.
“We should do dinner,” Aziraphale suggested, brightly.
Crowley continued to stare at him for a few seconds, then rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. The angel caught the words ‘so annoying’.
“Is that a ‘yes’, to dinner?” He asked, pressing his luck.
Crowley brought his head back around, his long body following as if it were caught up in the momentum. Hands still shoved deep into his pockets, he strode forwards, long legs carrying him across the shop in three easy steps.
A feeling that could easily have been mistaken for unease tightened, in the base of Aziraphale’s spine.
It was not unease.
“Dinner." Crowley muttered, drawing up on front of the angel, face tilted down so that their noses almost touched. “This Friday. Great idea, angel. Brilliant. Perfect.”
Aziraphale stared up at him. He had every intention of saying something clever and witty, but Crowley’s eyes were very wide and very golden up across his vision, and suddenly that was easier said than done.
“Dinner."
"Dinner."
“This Friday.”
“This Friday.”
“Like a date,” Aziraphale pointed out, then beamed.
They both watched one another for a long moment.
“This is ridiculous,” Crowley muttered. “You’re ridiculous…”
“Good ridiculous?” The angel asked, feeling a happy little rush.
“Ugh…” The demon pulled a face of abject disgust.
“Wh-,”
Crowley held up one long finger, to silence him.
“Listen. I’m going to kiss you, again,” he said, somehow making it sound like a threat. “And then I’m going to leave,” he pointed towards the door. “And if you’re still on for Friday-,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at Aziraphale. The angel nodded. “Then I’ll call and give you a time and place.” He took a slow breath in, then out, then added; “And we will never discuss how awkward this has been, ever again.”
Staring up at him, Aziraphale’s stomach did a quivery little flip.
“Thank you, Crowley.”
Crowley hovered, for a moment, looking torn between fleeing the scene and grabbing him by the lapels and forcing him up against the nearest surface. He compromised by giving a sort of strangled little-
"Ngk."
-and not protesting too much when Aziraphale stepped up on the balls of his feet to kiss him again.
"I'd love to grab dinner on Friday," Aziraphale murmured, as he drew back. "I'd love to."
The demon stared at him, mouth slightly open. Then, he cleared his throat and stepped away.
"Right. Well, that's settled, then." His voice was noticeably higher than usual. “Friday. Dinner. Date… thing.” He gave his head a little shake, then turned on the spot and wandered off towards the bookshop door. It took two attempts to orientate himself through it, but eventually the little bell above the frame chimed and he was making his way unsteadily out into the street. “See you later, angel!” His voice trailed, nonchalantly, after him.
Aziraphale watched the demon wander off, into the rain, thinking that he really should have offered his friend that umbrella. It was absolutely pouring and Crowley had never been any good at drying spells. But that thought was soon swallowed up by other thoughts. A few lingering fear-type thoughts - about this new step that they’d taken, against the wills of their former masters - but mostly just delighted thoughts. And one or two very un-angelic thoughts.
They had a lot to work out, really, he thought, watching Crowley’s back disappear into the sea of backs on the street outside, the brilliant red of his hair fading from sight. They would have to have a proper conversation about all of this, eventually - work out what they wanted from one another and what they could have, in this brave new post-armageddon world - but that was a conversation for another day. Today, Aziraphale would just be happy that Crowley was interested in investigating this little corner of their relationship. And on Friday, he would just enjoy sharing dinner with his friend in a slightly different manner than they had shared dinner, before. And maybe, afterwards, he would see if Crowley maybe wanted to try kissing again, because kissing Crowley had been lovely.
Aziraphale had a few follow-up ideas on the kissing, actually, but he would have to check what the demon was on board with, before pursuing any of that. Despite the tight trousers, and the affect, and all of the flirting, Aziraphale had never been completely sure what Crowley went in for, in terms of physical intimacy. He suspected the demon had fairly specific tastes and that they wouldn’t be an issue, in their case, but he didn't want to assume.
An awkward conversation for a later date, the angel thought, moving back over to sit at his desk, on front of the manuscript he’d been annotating earlier. They would have plenty of them to get through, but Aziraphale was confident that they would work things out. They’d seen the beginnings and endings of the world together, after all. After that, everything else seemed manageable. One day, the angel thought with a smile, Crowley would be as comfortable teasing him about kissing as he was about everything else.
The angel was excited for that day to come - for them to carve some comfortable, domestic bliss from this new world - but he didn’t want to miss anything along the way. There were countless tender moments that new couples went through that Aziraphale wanted to experience for himself. He wanted all of it. Wanted the awkward learning of one another part, just as much as he wanted to know Crowley as a partner. And he was fairly sure his friend did, too. This was certainly a very promising first step.
Picking up his pen, the angel set it to some scrap paper and doodled idly for a bit, smiling to himself - not really concerned with getting any more work done today - happy just to daydream about how Crowley's face had shifted and changed, at the touch of his fingers.
More of that, he thought, tracing words in ancient script across the pale surface of the paper. More of these moments was exactly what Crowley deserved. More life. More pleasure. More moments that were just for them. Not for their masters or their work. Not even for the earth. Crowley deserved some happiness. He had been such a good friend, over the years. Beautiful, clever thing. He deserved everything that Aziraphale could give him and more.
Aziraphale would start with that wine he loved, the thought - the one that he’d been keeping a spare bottle of, in the cellar. That was an ideal first gift. Then, flowers. Or, perhaps, some flowering plant the demon might enjoy threatening, back in his flat. Wine then flowers, the angel decided, doodling on. Little things. Small steps, towards what they might one day become, together. Good new, he thought with a smile.
Outside the rain battered on, damping nobody's spirits, and the angel daydreamed until the early hours of the night.
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