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The thing is, Crowley didn’t know.
Not entirely, at least. Not in the same way he knew the measure of every nebula, the heartbeat of every star. He wasn’t given the tools–wasn’t afforded the right–to know.
He’d thought around it, of course. He’d spent many a moment (or century) daydreaming impossible things. He’d read enough books and seen enough movies to feel pretty confident about the mechanics, at least. He’d even written a little scene or two himself–carefully vague, of course, and never to the extent of his mind’s vivid imagination. Given an Effort, his body responded the same way theirs do; it was all pleasant ache, shivering heat, and dazzling hope.
And yet.
When the moment came, it wasn’t what he was promised. The ache sliced through him. The heat dropped in his stomach like wet cement. And the hope? It was a fragile thing, brittle and sharp. Irreconcilable. He was severed, he was shattered, and–perhaps most importantly–he was not at all dazzled.
And yet.
When it was over, Crowley stood tall in the rubble. He pictured himself waiting stoically for his turn at the gallows, when in fact the noose was already pulled tight around his neck, the platform falling, falling, falling… He didn’t succumb to the shock of it, this ruinous thing he didn’t know. He took the hit like a 6,000-year-old demon who’d never really thought any of it was possible, anyway. And he’d clearly done it wrong. Wrong time, wrong reason, wrong technique–hard and bruising and desperate in a way that gave it all away. His body had failed him.
And yet.
After a millennia in the same corporation–even with countless untested opportunities–he wasn’t convinced he was the only one with a problem. Sure, he’d fucked that moment up, but there had been others in the past. Perhaps not so physically acted upon nor so heavily leaden with devastation, but that wasn’t the first time Crowley had looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and saw only one possible future for himself. He’d spent thousands of years with the angel. He already knew how painful love could be.
And yet.
Crowley never knew a single kiss could be so excruciating.
***
It wasn’t expected, is the thing. Crowley wasn’t ready for it. Wasn’t ready for any of it.
Sure, they’d agreed to work together to save the world (again). But they’d snipped and jabbed at one another almost the whole time; apologies were made and rejected, offered again and rejected once more. Fine. They agreed to disagree. The fate of the world and all. Heaven could choke, but grievances could wait. After all–despite evidence to the contrary–Crowley was a demon, not a toddler.
And so, a week after Aziraphale returned from Heaven, a dance was performed in the backroom of the bookshop. No apology was accepted, but the dance was permitted. It was a tense moment, cushioned by a bottle of wine that drained rather quickly. Then someone said something clever. Someone else said something unintentionally funny. They laughed. When it grew quiet again and their gazes drifted back together again and again, and the tension threatened to suffocate, Crowley made his excuses and said goodnight. Are you sure? I have that Brandy from Leon you adore. Hand on the doorknob, Crowley hadn’t turned back around. Another time, Angel. He’d shuddered under the weight of the name, bit his tongue in reprimand. He didn’t say it again. And he never took his glasses off.
Two weeks later there had been no more laughter. No more shared bottles of wine, no more jokes about Jesus’ hair, no more strategizing within arm's distance of one another. They met at the coffee shop, the park, and, once, the library… the library where Crowley went when Aziraphale was out of town doing blessings/temptations, the library Crowley spent hours lounging in an oversized chair by a bay window, soaking up the sun and inhaling the familiar scent of old books. But that day, Aziraphale looked positively resplendent–truly and absolutely breathtaking–in Crowley’s favorite chair and Crowley had to shut his eyes. They didn’t meet there again. Crowley wouldn’t return to the bookshop, either. It was a source of conflict, but they already had plenty of those, so what was one more? Crowley didn’t know. It didn’t matter, anyway. After they saved the world, Aziraphale would leave again.
But then they saved the world, and Aziraphale stayed.
Crowley wouldn’t go back to the way it was. But, ever the passive-aggressive queen, the angel pushed. Aziraphale stopped looking guilty and started acting entitled. To Crowley’s time. His space. His attention. He orchestrated meetings and dropped by the flat unannounced. Crowley remained undeterred. They couldn’t go back. Not now, maybe not ever. He loved too much, and the pain was too great.
And so, the angel tricked him into visiting the bookshop under the guise of Muriel’s request.
“They asked if you wouldn’t mind accompanying them to the car show this Saturday. I have appointments, you see–”
Crowley wasn’t interested in the angel’s plans, and he wasn’t much interested in what Muriel wanted either. Still, he said, “Fine. I’ll pick them up at noon,” before hanging up. But when Crowley walked into the bookshop two months after the most excruciating moment of his life, he immediately regretted it.
The angel stood by the counter, shoulders tense, hands clasped behind him.
Crowley asked, “Where’s Muriel?”
And Aziraphale looked down, fretted about. “Well, you see, they’ve decided to go alone, after all. But since you’re here, we could— “
Crowley saw red. He was done. “Is this a game to you, Aziraphale?”
The angel’s eyes widened at the broken sound that accompanied the demon’s accusation. “Of course not. I just… Crowley, my dear–”
Crowley growled. “Don’t.”
Aziraphale paled. “I’m…Please, Crowley. Please listen to me. I–I should have known what Metatron–”
Crowley’s laugh was harsh and bitter, his smile cruel. “You already said this bit, Aziraphale. Do you honestly believe there is a magic word to fix this? Something you could say that would make me–”
Aziraphale closed the distance between them so quickly, Crowley didn’t have time to think. The angel was right in front of him, tears in his eyes, a hand on his chest. Crowley didn’t dare breathe.
“All I know, is that I can’t go on like this. We have sacrificed so much for this world. We’ve worked so hard for this...for this... life, I just want to spend it together. Oh Crowley, I just…” His eyes traced the angles of Crowley’s face, followed the frown lines across his brow, lingered on the hard curve of his mouth, turned down. “Crowley, I want…”
Okay. So. Here’s the actual thing. It wasn’t really that Crowley didn’t expect it.
Because when Aziraphale’s hand slid up Crowley’s chest and cupped his cheek, the angel did it so slowly, Crowley could have stopped him. And when Aziraphale’s thumb brushed the sharp edge of his cheekbone, Crowley could have stepped away. And when the angel’s hand moved toward the back of the demon’s neck and began to pull, pull, pull... Crowley could have resisted.
But he didn’t.
And so, an angel and a demon kissed for the second time in (recorded) history.
Aziraphale’s lips fit gently over Crowley’s lower lip, holding still until Crowley–utterly devastated by the development–kissed back. His hands were on the angel’s waist, his mouth encouraging the lips that parted and again pressed in, harder, deeper, an eternity in a single kiss. Aziraphale’s other arm wrapped around Crowley’s shoulder, pulled him closer, closer, closer, and Crowley went. Over and over again, he went.
It wasn’t the torturous pain of their first kiss, but it also wasn’t the dazzling wonder of what a kiss like theirs should be. The angel’s lips, pressed so securely, so beautifully against Crowley’s, were apologizing for all the wrong things. Those lips chose Heaven; they’d left him for it.
When the angel’s tongue grazed Crowley’s lips, he froze, and the sudden tension in his body startled Aziraphale enough to pause.
“I’m sorry, my dear, was that too–”
“No.” Crowley shook his head, pulled himself out of the angel’s grip, and stepped away. “It’s not. That. No.”
Aziraphale’s voice was tender but full of anxiety when he asked, “Then what’s wrong?”
Crowley held Aziraphale’s gaze for a moment and tried to figure out how to say what he needed to say without discorporating, but he had no answer for him. Not yet.
And so, when Aziraphale tried to move closer again, Crowley stepped back. He shook his head, spun his head to look around the room, and exhaled (at least) a century’s worth of desire.
He wanted to tell Aziraphale he wasn’t ready. He wanted to remind the angel that he was still angry, that there was something inside Crowley that still wanted to punish the angel. He wanted to say it was only temporary, this feeling, this thing that made him want to protect himself, protect them from the hurt he still harbored.
But what he actually said was, “I can’t, Aziraphale.”
Eyes on the distance between them, he couldn’t meet the angel’s gaze again. He tried and failed, tried again, and failed once more.
“Crowley, please,"
The demon raised a hand, and Aziraphale fell silent. For a moment, they both thought Crowley was going to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned on the spot and walked swiftly to the door. He managed a broken murmur, something like, I’m sorry, before he was gone.
***
The thing is, Crowley planned to work up to it.
He had ideas about what it was going to be like, how he was going to–how they were going to–and all those ideas involved a steady progression of intimacy. Short embraces. Hand-holding. A gentle kiss goodbye, softer kisses to say hello. Crowley had a strict schedule to follow, a plan that would ensure they didn’t fuck it up.
Crowley stayed away for a little while and Aziraphale didn’t try to manipulate him into meeting again. He waited for Crowley to come to him. The first meeting was crucial, so Crowley wanted to get it right. Not too much pressure, nothing grand or overly complicated.
And so, two weeks after their second kiss, a demon called an angel on a Thursday afternoon and asked if he’d like to go for a walk in the park. Feed the ducks. Maybe grab some ice cream. And, delighted, the angel accepted. They met. They smiled. They walked. And as they fed the ducks, they talked.
“I’m sorry for how I left before,” Crowley told him.
“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, ever the earnest angel, “I’m sorry for how I acted. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t respecting what you wanted.”
“Well, to be fair, it’s not like I told you what I wanted. I mean, other than to “fuck off.”
It was meant to be funny, but Aziraphale’s lips didn’t even twitch.
“But I knew. Even though I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I knew you needed time to…to…” His hesitation spoke to how unsure he was about their future, and Crowley couldn’t have that. He reached across the bench and took the angel’s hand. Aziraphale, clearly stunned, stared down at their interwoven fingers.
“I needed time to forgive you,” Crowley finished. “But it wasn’t just me who needed time, Angel. You needed time to forgive me too. I should have given you all the information before giving you an ultimatum like I did.”
“Oh Crowley, I forgave you well before the world didn’t end.”
Crowley smiled. “Not a sentence one hears often.”
They fell into a comfortable silence until Aziraphale took a deep breath and gently squeezed his hand.
“I should have asked what you wanted, before telling you what I thought was best for us. I should have made it clear I wanted to change Heaven to make it good enough for you, not the other way around.”
Crowley hadn’t heard him say that one before. He didn’t know it was something he needed to hear. He avoided the angel’s gaze as he tried to clear the lump from his throat.
“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued. “I have treated you terribly for thousands of years. I was so blinded by Heaven’s propaganda, I couldn’t see–No. I couldn’t admit that what I saw in you–what I still see in you, it wasn’t what Heaven told me it was. You have always been–"
“If you say ‘nice’ I’m going to feed you to these ducks,” Crowley warned.
Aziraphale smiled, absolutely smitten. He put his other hand on top of Crowley’s and cradled it on his thigh. “No, Dear. I was going to say, you have always been worthy. You have always been deserving of love and respect.”
“Ngk. I–well.” Crowley’s face was on fire; his eyes burned. He cleared his throat again. “That’s uh. That’s. Okay. That’s a–a thing you said.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Aziraphale replied, voice relieved and proud in equal measure. Crowley wanted to kiss him. “I should have said it a long time ago. I should have never made you doubt it.”
Crowley swallowed. Nodded. Plucked up the courage to meet the angel’s gaze. “Well, I should have been more patient with you. I should have tried harder to make you understand why I didn’t want to go–didn’t want either of us to go.”
“Perhaps if I’d given you a chance,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. “But, oh, I was just so excited for something that was so naive and short-sided. I kept thinking about how happy you were making the stars, how brightly you smiled..."
"Aziraphale, even if I were an angel again-that poor sod is gone. I'd never be him again."
"And I realize now, I wouldn't want you too. I like you just the way you are."
Crowley blushed. "Yeah. Well."
"And you knew," Aziraphale continued, as if he hadn't just made Crowley's heart soar right out of his chest, "You knew what Metatron was doing. You knew Heaven could never be what I wanted it to be."
“I did, yeah, but, uh, I guess I was so focused on getting you to see…you know…getting you to see us that I didn’t think to give you all the information. I just. Well, I panicked a bit, I think."
“We both did, there at the end.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, a ripple of shame settled between them. He looked down at their hands in his lap. “I apologize for my reaction.”
“Hmm. Well, I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I’m sorry I kissed–”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” The angel’s frown was pronounced, his voice stern. "Take it back."
“Azira–”
“No, Crowley. Please don’t regret kissing me.”
Crowley just stared back at him, lips parted. When he found his voice, it was heartbreakingly gentle. “It wasn’t the right moment for us, Angel. I did it for all the wrong reasons.”
The fear in the angel’s eyes ebbed away, and, in its place, hope. His smile turned impish. “And what would the right reasons be?”
Crowley couldn’t help it, he laughed. He pulled their intertwined hands up to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the back of Aziraphale’s hand, who blushed furiously and looked nervously around the park.
Crowley grew cold. “They’re not watching us anymore, Aziraphale.”
He tried to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale squeezed it tightly to his chest.
"Crowley, we have been hiding…well, hiding this from them for six thousand years. I’m sorry if my instinct is to hide–but it’s just a reflex. If any of them showed up right now, I’d hold just as tight to your hand.”
Crowley raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“Truly,” Aziraphale insisted. “Why, you could do anything you wanted to me, right here on this park bench, and I–” Realizing that sentence had ended up in a much different place than it started, Aziraphale blushed and stammered. “I mean I-well. You know what I mean.”
Crowley smirked. “Anything I want, huh?”
Aziraphale slapped him gently on the arm. “Wiley serpent.”
Crowley’s smile was big and bright. “That’s me.”
And so, the angel and the demon talked. And then, as planned, they bought some ice cream, which Aziraphale ate on the way back to the bookshop. But Crowley didn’t follow him inside. He wished Aziraphale a good afternoon and promised to call him. The angel was clearly disappointed but didn’t make a show of it.
Crowley took Aziraphale places. The theater, farmer’s markets, antique shopping, and–two weeks after they fed the ducks in St. James Park–Crowley took Aziraphale to the Ritz. He’d steadily spent more time at the bookshop since renewing their friendship, but Crowley had yet to join the angel for the nightcap he was always offered. That night, after an exquisite meal and riveting conversation, Crowley smiled when Aziraphale offered him brandy and followed him inside. He took off his glasses and left them on the desk.
The plan was for Crowley to drink his nightcap, enjoy his angel’s company for a little while, and then bid him goodnight with a gentle kiss. They hadn’t kissed since the day Aziraphale tricked him into visiting the bookshop, and Crowley felt more than ready to give it another go. He was fairly confident Aziraphale was waiting for him to make the first move. He planned something soft, something sincere. Something that didn’t leave scars behind.
And yet.
When their glasses were empty, Crowley couldn’t bring himself to leave. And when Aziraphale offered him another glass, he’d let him pour in another healthy measure. Crowley swirled the liquid in the glass, placed it on his knee as he watched the angel prattle on about the latest shopkeeper drama. He sat within arms reach, not even at the other end of the couch. Crowley would only have to reach out and they’d be one breath away from an embrace. He swirled his drink.
“Are you alright, dear?”
“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Just tired I think.”
“Oh, well. We can pick this up tomorrow if you like.” Aziraphale was so good to him. So patient.
Crowley nodded slowly. “Yeah. Alright.”
He stood but couldn’t bring himself to move away from the couch. Instead, he looked down at the drink in his hand, still full. He could say he wanted to finish his drink first. He could say–
Aziraphale stood up beside him, apprehension apparent as he placed a tentative hand on Crowley’s forearm. “Are you sure you’re alright, my dear?"
Crowley didn’t know. All he knew was that Aziraphale was touching him. And that–well. That’s the thing.
And so, a terrified demon placed his glass down on the table before turning to face an equally terrified angel.
Crowley’s eyes were on his mouth, entranced. “Angel. May I kiss you goodnight?”
Aziraphale’s chest visibly shuttered. He licked his lips. “Yes please.”
When he reached for him, the angel’s arms were already outstretched, already pulling Crowley in.
And so, an angel and a demon fell back together in a rush of long-tempered desire--but it wasn’t the gentle thing Crowley had planned. It was instantly ravenous. Hands in hair, squeezing hips, roaming backs, and sliding lower, lower, lower. Groans of relief and sighs of pleasure, bodies crushed together then moving back and down–Crowley pushing, Aziraphale pulling–and then they’re sprawled across the couch, kissing so deep Crowley felt it in his toes. Aziraphale shivered beneath him, wrapped a leg up around Crowley’s waist, and urged his hips into movement. Crowley’s lips were on Aziraphale’s neck–kissing, licking, sucking–as his hands worked to reveal more flesh. And then Aziraphale was pushing Crowley’s jacket off his shoulders, unbuttoning his shirt, and the demon thought of nothing but the angel’s smooth skin beneath his hands, under his mouth and tongue.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, breathless, “please.”
“What, Angel?" Crowley kissed down Aziraphale’s chest. “Anything. Absolutely anything.”
And so, the angel groaned and pulled Crowley’s lips back up to his own, kissed him–wet and deep–and reached for the demon’s belt buckle.
Crowley knew that wasn’t the plan, but the only way he was stopping was if Aziraphale asked him to, and the angel was only working faster, unzipping the demon’s pants and roughly pushing them down, down, down his slender thighs... And then the angel's hand was wrapping around him, and Crowley saw all the stars in the sky. He bit gently at Aziraphale's bare shoulder, urging himself to calm the fuck down before it was over too soon, then looked down between them to watch the angel’s hand stroke him, absolutely mesmerized.
“Darling,” Aziraphale whispered, voice broken, pleading.
“Fuck, Angel. You have no idea–this–this is–” Crowley thrust himself into Aziraphale’s hand and let out an embarrassingly loud groan.
“No, perhaps not,” Aziraphale answered, voice shaking, mouth kissing along Crowley’s jaw, “not yet, at least.”
“Oh fuck, yes, Angel. Let me–” Crowley scrambled to get the angel’s pants down, and nearly lost his hold on reality when he wrapped his hand around Aziraphale for the first time. Aziraphale cried out with pleasure, shuttered in Crowley’s arms, and then Crowley was settling between the angel’s legs, and–with the help of a quick demonic miracle–their naked bodies slid and ground deliciously together.
“Oh, Crowley ,” Aziraphale groaned as he thrust up against the demon.
“I know, love, I know,” Crowley responded and then they were kissing again, desperate tongues seeking in rhythm with their hips, until their movements grew erratic and one and then the other tumbled over the edge, gasping and trembling, and clinging, clinging, clinging...
After, they lay quietly–the only sounds in the bookshop their heavy breaths and rapidly beating hearts–until Crowley raised his head from Aziraphale’s chest and gazed down at him. A faint smile played on his lips.
“You know, this wasn’t really my plan, Angel.”
Aziraphale giggled, so very happy. “No?”
“Well, not yet, at least. I thought maybe we’d start off sweet. Do the courting properly this time.”
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, smiling, “we’ve been courting for centuries.”
“Well, alright, but I thought we’d have maybe a snog or two before we start fucking like rabbits all over this bookshop.”
With a mischievous glint in his eye, the angel smirked and then stretched up to kiss at the bolt of Crowley’s jaw. The demon shivered as Aziraphale’s nose grazed his skin, his mouth just brushing the shell of Crowley’s ear as he whispered, “Is that a promise, my dear?”
Crowley groaned as his body reacted with interest. “You’re going to be insatiable, aren’t you?”
Aziraphale pulled back to stare up at him with another irresistible smirk. He subtly rolled his hips up into Crowley's. “I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. I fear I may never get my fill.”
And so, an angel and a demon proceeded to take every advantage of their celestial bodies as they spent the first day of the rest of their existence–as Crowley put it–fucking like rabbits all over their bookshop. And four hours later, when they took a break for a glass of wine and a few biscuits (I’ll need you at 100% for what I have planned next, Angel), Aziraphale and Crowley–sitting naked as a jaybird on the floor between stacks of books–shared a simple, soft kiss. It was slow and sweet–something beautiful that left no scars but still marked them both for eternity.
And when Aziraphale whispered against his lips, “I do so love you, my dear," Crowley was not at all surprised but somehow still totally unprepared for it.
“Yeah. I–yeah. Me too. You know, I–” He blinked away tears. Needing a moment to recover, Crowley looked down at their hands, interwoven between them, before settling his gaze into the crystal blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “I love you too, Angel.”
And that–as it turned out–was the thing. Love. That had always been their thing.