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As with all their bad ideas it began with a night of drinking.
Crowley had come by the bookshop, not for any particular reason as was his wont now. He had brought crepes which started off as being a shared dessert at the kitchen table, only for the pair to move quickly to the bedroom where he eagerly offered himself as the serving platter. Sated and full they moved their antics to the back room to partake in Aziraphale’s newest collection of wines, having recently acquired a particularly hard to find Riesling Eiswein, and spent a lazy few hours enjoying the refreshing and fruity notes. It’s funny how Crowley found sweet things so much more enjoyable lately.
Deep in their cups, chatter turned from one topic to another until Crowley somehow found himself describing how he went about taking down the London phone network all those years ago, casually strolling from the building with no one the wiser.
“I’m telling you Crowley, no one can just saunter in anywhere like they own the place and get away with a crime! People would surely do something”
“And I’m telling you Angel, if you have the right amount of confidence, no one bats an eyelid.”
“Preposterous!”
“And a high vis vest.” Crowley added.
“What?!”
Crowley swayed forward and dramatically counting off on his fingers, “High vis vest, clip board, maybe a ladder, and the righteous sense that you belong and you don’t even get a second glance. How else do you think Banksy’s got away with it for so long?”
“Surely you can’t be serious!” Aziraphale scoffed.
“I am,” Crowley paused for effect, “and don’t call me Shirley.”
Aziraphale would never admit to it when sober, but that was always his favourite joke. And Crowley would lovingly play into it every time Aziraphale set it up. They giggled drunkenly for a while before Aziraphale leaned forward conspiratorially, a wicked gleam in his hazy eyes.
“Alright. Prove it!” He challenged.
“What, that I’m Banksy?” Crowley answered flatly as he sipped his wine.
“No, not that, I mean - wait, are you Banksy?” Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously.
Crowley only waggled his eyebrows.
Aziraphale waved away the thought and continued, “Doesn’t matter, I meant, prove that you can just walk into anywhere and cause trouble.”
“I told you I’d already done that, the telephone network-”
“Ah, but I mean on a much grander scale!’ Aziraphale interrupted, spreading his hands wide. “Something far more elaborate. Somewhere far more visible. Somewhere…” Aziraphale gestured vaguely trying to grab at the right concept. “Noticeable!” he finished.
Crowley heard the temptation call to him on a primal level, flaming a hunger not wholly satisfied by the long forgotten crepes. Slowly he turned his head and looked longingly up and down Aziraphale’s figure, pressing himself slightly closer against him in a long languid roll.
In times gone by, the distance between had them had always been maintained. Crowley’s couch and Aziraphale’s chair, an invisible barrier dividing a line between the two, both knowing to never cross. Now was different, now they sat side by side, the warmth of Aziraphale’s thigh pressed up hard against Crowley’s, as Crowley’s arm draped along the back of the couch, circling Aziraphale’s shoulder, the heat from his arm alone seeping into Aziraphale’s core. The closeness was comforting, so new and yet so familiar, neither caring to admit just how much it took their breath away to finally throw down those walls and sit by the other.
“Alright Angel, and what do I get if I prove you wrong?” Crowley quietly murmured in Aziraphale’s ear, the tickle of his hot breath ghosting across Aziraphale’s cheek, causing him to shiver in delight and surprise.
For a moment Crowley’s enticing advances caught Aziraphale off guard and he found himself almost overwhelmed, resisting his natural instincts calling to him to pull away. He still found it difficult to allow himself the natural pleasure of Crowley’s affection even now, but reminded himself again and again that this was allowed, so quickly swept his doubts to the side. Even so, he still found it hard to voice his desires, and instead opted to whisper his hidden thoughts deep and low into Crowley’s ear. The demon’s eyes blew wide at the offering and swallowed hard.
“Challenge accepted!” He said before plunging in for a kiss to seal the deal.
—~—
Aziraphale had been coming back from a stroll when he heard the murmuring of people as he passed. Unwilling to believe what he heard, he snatched up a newspaper from a vendor outside the local Tesco’s then hurried back to the bookshop. Still reading the article as he burst through the doors, he carefully manoeuvred around the furniture with practised ease and called out to the back room, “Crowley! Did you hear the Louvre was robbed!”
He stopped short to take in the sight. Crowley casually sitting on the couch, casually scrolling on his phone and absolutely draped with a kilo and a half worth of missing jewellery.
“Nope.” Popping his P, he didn’t even have the decency of looking up. After an age he finally put the phone down, then rounded on Aziraphale.
“Now about my reward…”
‘You are going to have to take those back.” Aziraphale commented as he turned towards the stairs. Crowley pretended not to notice the smirk Aziraphale attempted to hide as he climbed upwards.
“And where would be the fun in that?” Said the demon, stalking behind him.
The missing jewels turned up a week later as a new display within the British Museum, a small sign hung next to the glass case simply stating “Finders, Keepers.”
—~—
A month later, Crowley was again on route to the bookshop, strolling up from the bakery with a new load of sweet pastries when he saw the headline as he scrolled the morning news. Clutching his phone as he entered the bookshop he called out in excitement, “Angel, you will not believe it! Apparently someone’s knocked off the Tower of Londo-“
There stood Aziraphale, a rather familiar looking crown tilted precariously to the side of his head, the wild tufts of white curls peaking out underneath white ermine fur. Crowley dropped his gaze from Aziraphale’s wide eyed expression to see him clutching a large sceptre and jewel encrusted globe.
They stared each other down for a moment. Finally, Crowley started an attempt at some kind of question before Aziraphale cut him off.
“I panicked!”
How one can panically steal the crown jewels of the British monarchy was something even Crowley wouldn’t have thought possible, but this was Aziraphale after all and if there’s one thing his angel was capable of, it was causing the most spectacular of scenes.
“What are we going to do?!” Aziraphale clearly did not see the humour of the situation and was genuinely looking for a solution.
Crowley allowed his most devilish smile to creep across his face as he seductively sauntered towards Aziraphale.
“Fancy a trip to Paris, Angel?”