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Crowley’s wings itched. They had been like that for a while. This always happened when he got worked up or excited about something. He felt like he wanted to fly, if only just to stretch his wings. He was antsy, pacing around the bookshop, trying to get rid of the nagging urge. Aziraphale seemed to take notice that something was amiss, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, but it was clear he was annoyed with all of Crowley's buzzing around and grumbling interrupting the angel’s peace after closing time. After a while, Aziraphale seemed to have pinpointed the source of Crowley’s agitation, ever the detective.
“Do you need to groom your wings again? I can do it if you’d like.” The angel offered. When Crowley didn’t respond(out of shock, because the angel had been distant and hadn’t offered anything like this in centuries. Crowley’s fault since he’d gotten drunk and said something he shouldn’t have revealed), Aziraphale backed off, as if he thought he was being invasive. In truth, it would’ve been, but it was Aziraphale, and almost nothing he could do would push him away. Not this time. Crowley grunted. Aziraphale raised a brow, searching for a more definitive answer.
“Weeeell…maybe.” Crowley finally assented. He turned his back toward Aziraphale and let his wings out into the physical plane. Aziraphale’s soft hands were on him before he had a chance to prepare himself and he gasped without warning. Crowley’s knees nearly buckled, and Aziraphale motioned for him to sit down on the rug. Aziraphale knelt behind him, even and steady, mind on the task.
“Sorry, dear.” Aziraphle whispered. He lifted Crowley’s shirt agonizingly slowly, and Crowley shivered, nothing to do with the cold air on his exposed skin. In fact, he felt like his whole body was on fire. It was good that they were alone and the shop was closed, not just because coming across two supernatural entities would wreak havoc on the human brain, but because Crowley felt like he might do something risky. Crowley was torn between pushing the tainted angel against the wall and kissing him and staying right here under his touch. He wanted to scream, to move, to do anything. But he stayed still. He'd never really been good at that, but now he was something akin to stone. Aziraphale uncovered Crowley's wings and gasped. Crowley's nerves were a jumble. Did Aziraphale hate them, did Aziraphale hate him? Oh, someone save him, this was torture.
Crowley itched to do something, to turn around and demand answers. But he did none of those things. Instead, Crowley titled his head, conscious of his every move, cautious, aware of Aziraphale’s closeness, of their breath in the small corner of the bookshop.
Crowley had to remind himself that he was safe here, in the bookshop, with Aziraphale, but his wretched heart would not stop beating furiously. He inhaled sharply as he felt Aziraphale’s precise fingertips brush his spine.
“Oh.” said aziraphale softly. “You're–They’re—” Crowley's breath hitched and his skin tingled as Aziraphale’s hands brushed his back.
“Hah.” he said cockily and tried(but failed) to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. He tried to parse the angel’s reaction, but he couldn’t see Aziraphale's face without being obvious about it. "I know, they're black. That's what happens when angels fall.” Behind the facade, Crowley was terrified; what did aziraphale think?
Aziraphale took Crowley's shirt off the whole way, exposing him fully. Crowley was blushing fiercely and was glad when Aziraphale got up for a moment to dump it somewhere Crowley couldn't see. He ironically missed the angel in the short time he was gone folding the garment meticulously, so when he came back, it was like a miracle. Aziraphale turned his attention back to Crowley. Suddenly, he was glad his back was turned. He didn't want to see the disgust in his ange;’s eyes. Like all the others in heaven, Aziraphale probably hated to see angel’s wings so dark and corrupted to a demons’ set.
“No,” Aziraphe whispered, like he could read the demon’s mind "They're beautiful.” Aziraphale said it with such reverence that Crowley was inclined to believe him. He'd murmured the words close to Crowley's ear, and he only now caught on how close. You’re beautiful, Crowley could’ve sworn he’d heard underlying the angel’s statement. Crowley shuddered as Aziraphale leafed through his feathers.
Crowley had no sense of time as the angel ran his fingers through Crowley's feathers. He was cursing himself every time they twitched in response to aziraphale cording through a particularly sensitive part of his wings. Aziraphale knew that wings conveyed emotions such as desire, and that they were extensions of a celestial body, so if Crowley let on how good this felt, he’d be in deep trouble. He was so anxious that he could feel his shoulder blades rub together under his thin skin. Another thing to be careful about, not to show aziraphale his skeleton-like body. Deep down, he knew the angel wouldn't mind because he had his own image issues, but there was still that shred of doubt telling him he’d never be enough for Aziraphale.
He’d loved the devious angel ever since they’d met, but he could never tell him. He could see it all going wrong, centuries of friendship wasted and ruined with a single sentence. Stop it, he chided himself. dwelling on the past does you no favors. His head spoke in Aziraphle’s voice and Crowley was mildly disturbed. Since when has that been happening?
Crowley hissed in shock as aziraphale placed both of his hands on Crowley's back, just underneath his wings. They flapped once, twice, inching toward aziraphale's touch. Shut up, stop thinking about him, you’re only making things worse, he yelled at himself.
“Sorry about that, dear boy. All right there?” Aziraphale asked, not unreasonably since Crowley's reaction had been strange to say the least. Azirahale was too good to him. He always checked in when Crowley faltered. Crowley nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. “You have to relax, otherwise this will all have been for nothing. Now, I’m going to keep picking at this task, and you just stay still, and relax.”
Then he was back at it, picking out dead feathers and brushing down the rest with his hands. He finished with the first wing, then moved on to the remaining one. Crowley really didn't need this since he kept up his own wing maintenance, but it was nice to have someone else do it for once. Crowley followed Aziraphale's orders and sank into Aziraphale’s touch instead of dwelling on his anxiety. All things aside, this was the best Crowley had felt in ages.
“All done, dear.” Azirapahle announced, standing up. Damn it, Crowley thought, dazed. He'd almost fallen asleep. He didn’t want Aziraphale to go.
“Wait.” Crowley said, turning around and standing up. “Let me return the favor. Tempt y’ at leas’.” Crowley was slurring his words, though he’d had nothing to drink. Aziraphale was beautiful in the sunlight coming in from the windows. His hair was spun gold, his lips were cherries, his body like cream, pale and plump. He only realized he was staring when his wings twitched forward, trying to tug Aziraphale closer. No, he said to them. Not yet. This was an extremely dangerous game to play.
Aziraphale pondered this for a moment, then gave in. “Alright then. Temptation accomplished. But please be gentle." Always. Crowley thought, then pushed away the thought. It sounded creepy. Aziraphale sat where Crowley had been a minute ago, his head tilting back to look at Crowley. His mouth was slightly opened, and Crowley realized Aziraphale was staring at Crowley's chest. Crowley blushed, shocked that the proper angel would do something so shamelessly. Suddenly, Aziraphale’s eyes turned questioningly. “Will I, um…” he started. “Will I have to take my shirt off too?” he asked. It killed Crowley to hear such self-deprecation in his angel’s voice.
Crowley tried to ignore the stabbing in his heart as he looked down at the angel. “‘Course you will, but don’t worry, angel. I won’t look. Promise. And plus, we’ve done this loads of times, you know me. I don’t push.” That seemed to ease Aziraphale. He knelt down behind the angel, admiring his soft perfect form. He was like a marshmallow, and his clothes did nothing to stop that image. Cream-colored waistcoats and tartan, still dressed like the 1860s.
“Good, yeah?” he asked Aziraphale as he tugged up the bottom of his shirt. He wouldn’t force Azirahale to do anything he didn't like, so he always checked in.
“Y-yes.” Crowley beamed. Sometimes Aziraphale said he'd rather do it himself, and that was okay but when he allowed Crowley to do it, oh, someone, he felt lucky. He made sure Aziraphale was totally okay with it as he pulled Aziraphale’s many layers off. Once, when drunk, Aziraphale admitted they were sort of like protective layers of bubble wrap, shielding him from the outside world. Crowley accidentally skimmed the edge of the angel’s stomach, and Aziraphle gasped loudly. Shit. We fucked it up, right when everything was going fine. Well done, loser. Crowley mentally kicked himself. Aziraphale said nothing, and Crowley continued to pull the angel’s shield off him, extra careful this time to not mess up.
“Shit, angel. Your wings are worse than last time." Crowley chuckled.
“I know. I should've come to you last time. I always do a mock-up job, but you do so well.” Aziraphle said with a hint of shame. It was what he said after that got Crowley smiling. He couldn't believe it. Azirahale actually thought Crowley was good at something?
“Really? Well, we should do this more often, then.” Crowley said boldly, half-expecting the angel to decline.
"I agree. I do believe you are much better in this area than I. I hardly had to clean yours up.” And with that, Crowley got to it. He immersed himself in a familiar rhythm, feeling the feathers, then gently pulling out dead ones as he corded through the angel's wings. Crowley took his time, loving to see the angel relaxed yet poised, and enjoying the feel of being this close to his crush. He stalled for time as he neared the end of the process, but Aziraphale, too clever, caught on.
“If you wish to comb my wings a bit longer, dear, you only have to ask.”
Crowley blushed as the handsome man turned around to look him in the eye. Crowley's wings flinched toward aziraphale, trying to envelope him in their grasp. “Stop it.” Crowley hissed to them, then said to Aziraphale, “I-I…ngk. I just want to spend time with you.” nonono. no. shit. He'd said too much. He was ready to leave this bookshop, leave London altogether and hibernate for 100 years, but Aziraphale caught him by the wrist.
“My dear, you do spend time with me.” Aziraphale hooked his fingers under Crowley's chin, and his skin burned where aziraphale touched him.
“Not enough though. Or important stuff. Sure, we talk, but thas’ not…I need more than that.” Fuck. He'd really blown his cover now. Aziraphale looked at him with those hazel eyes that could make him do anything. They were confused now, his eyes.
“More? Crowley, what on Earth do you mean?” Aziraphale wondered. Crowley looked down at the ground, face ablaze with embarrassment. He couldn't tell Aziraphale what he meant, right? No, that was foolish. He'd be laughed at, disgusted, or rejected. “Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, pulling Crowley out of his stupor.
“Sorry, yeah. Wanna spend more time with y’ angel. More than now, not just frien—” SHIT. This was bad, astronomically,world-endingly…bad. He looked at Aziraphale’s lovely belly and didn't regret his decision. Oh, go-sa-someome, he was too much. Too handsome, too tempting, too good. Crowley could never be with Aziraphale. God would forbid it, and even if She didn’t, then Heaven and Hell would. They'd tear them apart for the sake of propriety and sides. Who cared about sides? Not Crowley. The only side he’d ever been welcome on was Aziraphale’s side. and now he was about to ruin it.
“You…don’t want to be friends?” Aziraphle sounded so hurt it was like a slap to the face. Crowley had to fix that immediately, even if it meant sacrificing his heart and serving it upon a platter for the angel to feast on.
“Angel, shit, angel. That's not what I—” Crowley broke off, sighed, tears forming in his eyes. No going back now. He took off his glasses and slid his eyes to Aziraphale's. He needed Aziraphale to know he was genuine.
“I-I want to be…more. More than friends. ngk. Sorry.” Crowley inhaled, feeling like it would be the last breath he took. His heart was acting like a caged bird. He wanted to keep it all a secret, but Aziraphale needed to know, and he was too deep in now to stop himself.
“Look, angel. I’ve loved you for centuries. I wasn’t lying in Rome when I said I said I wanted you to be my angel. It wasn't just the wine talking. It was me." Crowley was talking at a thousand miles an hour now, wings flapping, hands gesturing, yet he still refused to look Azirahale in the eye. “I love you. Always have, always will. an’…an’ if y’ hate me f’ this after, that’s okay. I’ll…well, I'll never stop loving you, but I'll try. If you want me to leave. and before I leave, I just wanna tell you, erm…you’re perfect and I’ll never deserve you and I'm sorry for corrupting you or if I ever made you feel worthless. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Crowley let tears slip down his cheeks, making streaks of cool over his too-red face. He'd said it. He'd said and now Aziraphle was standing in silence. He'd never got over this, not ever. He'd be rejected and it would be worse than Falling. He might go back to Hell just to escape his own feelings. He'd done it before, why not again?
“You…love me?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley looked up to see tears in his angel’s eyes. Oh no. What had Crowley done?
“Yes.” Crowley croaked out, throat closing with emotion. He felt so ashamed he couldn't handle it.
“Good, then. I-I love you too.” Absolute shock rippled through Crowley. His angel loved him? Was this a joke?
“No. No you can't possibly love me. I'm too ruined, too evil. I'm a demon, for somebody's sake! Y-you couldn't possibly love me because…because I don't deserve it. I dont deserve you."
Aziraphale looked pained. Crowley had let him in, and now hurt too much. He thought he wanted Aziraphale to see past his walls, but now he wished nothing more than to die alone in some small corner of space where no one wouldfidhim. hurting his angel felt like the worst thing in the world, but he shoved aziraphale.
“Go!” he yelled, sobbing now. “Live your life without me. You've never needed me, so just…go. You've left me before.” All the rage dissipated, and Crowley curled in on himself. He hugged his sides as he sobbed, not even worried about Aziraphale witnessing this. Whenever he’d done this over the years, Aziraphle had never been near, Crowley made sure of that but with all his feelings laid bare, Crowley didn't care anymore.
“Oh, Crowley." He heard a soft voice break through his crumbling mind. "How can I convince you this is real?” Crowley wasn’t really sure who Aziraphle was talking to. What was real? His love for Crowley? No, it couldn't be. It was another cruel game another one of Heaven’s angels was playing. No angel except Aziraphale had ever been kind, but now he thought Aziraphale had been lying all this time. No, Aziraphale couldn't pull a trick like this. How long had he been working for the Angels full-time again? How long would it take for Aziraphale to leave him again? It had happened twice in the last few years, but more times than he could count going back later. It wasn't always Aziraphlae though. Crowley often stormed off when his emotions got the better of him. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fucking fair!
Crowley felt two hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. He lifted his head, eyes red and puffy. He should go. He should really leave now before he did anything stupid. Then, he felt Aziraphale’s hands on his face, cupping his cheeks. He brought Crowley closer, so their foreheads were touching.
Then their lips touched.
Crowley almost jolted back in surprise, but Aziraphale held fast. When Crowley realized it wasn't a joke, he kissed back with the intensity of a sun. He felt like flying again. His wings enveloped them both, shielding this moment from the rest of the world. This moment was theirs only. When they broke away, both had tears in their eyes.
“It was real? ”Crowley asked incredulously.
“Yes, my dear.” Aziraphale chuckled. “I've always loved you too, I just wasn't sure you did. You were always kin—” “
“Not kind.” Crowley interrupted. “‘m a demon. Never nice.”
“Alright then, not kind, but at the very least, caring. you never saw me like the other angels. You never teased me for being too soft, or too round or too dumb. When you did, it wasn’t out of malice, it was necessary because of my naivete." Aziraphle kissed Crowley again, and this time, it was slow, nothing like the passion before. It was nice. Crowley felt like he never wanted to leave Aziraphale's side. ever.
“Well, somebody's gonna tell you when you're being stupid.” Crowley protested. He realized he'd put his walls up again, so he let them back down and hugged the ever-loving hit out of Aziraphale. “You're my ang’l f’rever ‘n ever. ‘m never gonna let you go.” He tugged Aziraphale as close as he could, so they were chest to chest. It felt like they were made for each other. They fit together like puzzle pieces.
“And you’re my lovely demon. Ah-ah-ah. You are lovely, so don’t even try to deny it.”
“I love you ‘Ziraphale.” Crowley nearly sobbed again with the relief of it. He hugged Aziraphale and tucked his head into the shorter man's neck. He wrapped his arms around him and Aziraphale returned the gesture.
“And I you. Now, what do you say to some chataneuf-de-papes?”