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If pressed prior to the end of the world, Crowley would have said his least favorite experience in the bookshop was when he left Aziraphale standing in the middle of the front room with his eyes full of tears, his freshly-kissed mouth agape in distress, and his voice calling out Crowley’s name.
Now, standing here in the darkness amongst the shelves still inexplicably existing in the middle of nothing, Crowley realizes quite abruptly that…
This is worse.
(Because the bookshop should be warm and golden with sunlight and a thin coating of dust, as an angel scribbles away in a ledger only he can understand, perched on the armchair in front of his desk with his silly little glasses atop his adorable nose, while Crowley pretends to nap on the sofa and watches him in sleepy contentment.)
Looking over at Aziraphale now, Crowley watches him lift his hand to drift his fingers thoughtfully over the sign hanging in the door, before he apparently makes up his mind, leaves it untouched, and turns away.
“Closed?” Crowley questions gruffly, unable to help himself. “What if someone wants to buy a book?”
Aziraphale looks pointedly out the window at the indecipherable blackness. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s very likely, do you?”
Crowley grunts noncommittally.
“Besides, I have a feeling they’re all blank, anyway. The rest of the world is gone, after all. How could there be anything in them?”
Crowley frowns and reaches to the nearest stack for a random book, flipping through the creamy, white, empty pages in surprise, before reaching for another to confirm. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows in question from across the room.
“Got it in one,” Crowley confirms curtly.
Aziraphale nods sadly, but then continues undeterred as if he hasn’t been interrupted, pacing slowly toward Crowley across the bookshop. “At any rate, I’d rather we weren’t disturbed at present…”
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh,” Aziraphale confirms, his tone worryingly serious. “I think you’ll find we need to talk, Crowley.”
The demon’s inner snake writhes uncomfortably.
Undeterred, Aziraphale moves closer. “It’s just us, after all,” he muses. “In the whole of everything. This could be a place for us, as it always has been…”
“But we’ve got nothing,” sneers Crowley, gesturing to the empty books, deflecting to protect himself, and trying in vain to be cruel.
“I quite agree,” says Aziraphale unexpectedly, still unnervingly civil. “Without each other…we’ve got nothing.”
Crowley watches warily as the angel comes to a stop in front of him, standing very close to the demon, perhaps closer than ever before.
Except one time.
“So, Crowley,” he murmurs, doing his best to look into the demon’s eyes through his sunglasses. “Before anything else happens, there is one more thing that needs fixing.”
“…What?”
“I need to earn your forgiveness.”
“Oh, angel,” Crowley snaps, rolling his eyes and tossing his head in exasperation for good measure. “For fuck’s sake -”
And then suddenly Crowley is shocked into silence by Aziraphale’s hand darting up to grab his chin, clutching it firmly in between his thumb and forefinger, and holding his head steady so Aziraphale can look directly into his eyes through his glasses, apparently…deadly serious.
(And it’s not as though Crowley doesn’t feel he’s owed an apology - because he knows he sure as Hell is - but it’s more that he’s tired of Aziraphale harping on about forgiveness, and even more than that, if the angel wanted to apologize, surely he would have done it by now -)
“I’m sorry, Crowley.”
Oh.
Crowley stares into Aziraphale’s eyes, somehow all the colors of the sky and sea at once, and finds he’s unable to tear his gaze away, but not just because Aziraphale still has a firm grip on his chin. Their connection thrums warm between them and Crowley feels his eyes grow wider and more yellow by the second. Inevitably, it seems, his gaze slips down to Aziraphale’s lips - with his captivating and aptly named cupid’s bow - and the demon starts to lean forward as if pulled into the angel’s orbit.
(And, really, when hasn’t he been?)
But Aziraphale’s fingers tighten on his chin to stop him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, as if Crowley somehow didn’t hear him, even with as close together as they are.
“Yeah, got that,” mutters Crowley, wanting to keep moving forward, but for some reason unwilling to move out of Aziraphale’s grasp.
“Do -” Aziraphale begins, before stopping, reconsidering, and correcting himself. “Can you forgive me?”
And for a moment, Crowley considers him.
Because he’s not as Hell-bent on the concept of forgiveness as Aziraphale is - he’s much more in favor of forgetting - but he knows how much it means to the angel…and he did just finally apologize. And while he knows in his heart that it doesn’t excuse so many of Aziraphale’s actions from the moment he left the bookshop with the Metatron what feels like ages ago, the intention is certainly there.
(That, and Crowley has never been capable of staying mad at Aziraphale for very long and - while he meant it when he said they were way beyond little dances - the end of the universe is not a good time to be picky.)
So, slowly and without dislodging the angel’s hand from his chin, Crowley nods.
For some reason, Aziraphale’s brow remains furrowed in concern.
“And will you? Eventually?”
(Crowley’s heart breaks just a tiny bit at that, at Aziraphale thinking he’d spend his last few moments of eternity being mad, when he knows deep down that Aziraphale cares. Just…not as much as Crowley does. But he’ll settle for what he can get.
He always has.)
“Only if you kiss me now, angel,” the demon whispers, imploringly, thereby sealing his fate.
For the first time in their tense exchange, Aziraphale’s eyes widen.
And then darken.
Moving as slowly as Crowley did, Aziraphale uses his fingers on Crowley’s chin to tilt his head as he leans in, aligning them to compliment one other before, impossibly…
Their lips touch once again in the sanctity of their bookshop.
It’s so much softer than their first and only other kiss, no violent grasping or pressing of teeth, and the gentle give of Aziraphale’s plush lips is the nearest thing to Heaven Crowley has tasted in centuries.
It’s a short moment of this bliss before Crowley starts to itch inside, suddenly hyper aware and utterly petrified that this - as wonderful as it is - this may be all he’ll ever get of Aziraphale.
So he’d better make the most of it.
Parting briefly from the angel to suck in a bracing breath of air, Crowley recaptures his lips with new urgency. Pouring all his desperation and yearning into the kiss, Crowley moves to let their lips slide indulgently together, reveling in the feeling of their mouths connecting again and again. Meeting him kiss for kiss, and most likely blissfully unaware of the depth of Crowley’s suffering, Aziraphale has the audacity to release a soft whimper of desire.
Unable to stop himself, Crowley bites his lip in punishment.
As soon as he’s done it, Crowley waits belatedly for it to end. He anticipates Aziraphale jerking back from his demonic teeth with words of reprimand. He expects the angel to scold him with disgust and revulsion.
He does not, however, expect it when Aziraphale bites back.
Shock and anger and lust flare hot inside Crowley and he surges forward, where Aziraphale meets him without question, and the angel’s hand leaves his chin to grab his silver scarf and pull.
Crowley snarls.
They start moving then, pushing and pulling at each other, beginning to stagger unsteadily around the bookshop. Aziraphale’s fingers tug at Crowley’s hair and pinch his hipbones, and Crowley’s hands squeeze brutally around Aziraphale’s soft waist and press hungrily into his broad, warm back. Locked together and unwilling to contemplate breaking apart, they stumble together over a folded corner of rug, and Aziraphale steadies them both with a strong, banded arm around Crowley’s slim midriff. Crowley’s snakeskin boot hits a stack of newly blank books and sends them flying.
Neither of them notices.
It’s not until the backs of Aziraphale’s thighs hit something solid and largely immobile that he suddenly sinks downward, making Crowley arch his back to follow him desperately, before strong angelic hands tug him down to kneel on something soft.
Crowley opens his eyes and reluctantly releases Aziraphale’s lower lip from between his teeth to look down and see the angel has collapsed into the armchair at his desk and pulled Crowley down to straddle his lap, each of his folded legs tucked between the arms of the chair and Aziraphale’s plush thighs.
Crowley sits down fully onto Aziraphale’s lap with a low groan.
Aziraphale’s red, wet mouth drops open at the feeling of them pressed even closer together and he tilts his head up desperately for another kiss. Crowley doesn’t hesitate, reaching up to grip the back of the armchair above Aziraphale’s fluffy white curls, and bending his neck slightly to capture that tempting mouth once again.
So distracted by the feeling of an angelic tongue grappling with his own, it takes a long moment for Crowley to notice the fingers fumbling with the buttons on his vest and button-down shirt. By the time he detaches from Aziraphale’s mouth again and peers down at himself, the angel has worked his way halfway down his shirt, the two halves of black fabric gaping open to expose his chest.
The cool air of the bookshop feels good on Crowley’s overheated skin, until he looks back up at Aziraphale to see his nostrils flaring in lust, and Crowley feels as though he’s burst into flames.
They work together then, their fingers fighting and fumbling to finish unbuttoning Crowley’s shirt and yanking it out of the waistband of his tight black jeans to hang loose around his torso, framing his pale body for Aziraphale’s appraisal.
After another tense moment of heated staring, Aziraphale reaches out to smooth a warm, soft hand down the middle of Crowley’s chest to his belly, caressing his skin and making the demon shiver and shutter.
There’s a soft click as Aziraphale swallows dryly and then he’s speaking, his voice low, rumbling and reverberating in Crowley’s core.
“My greatest regret,” he rasps, watching his own hand stroke the thin trail of hair leading down, down to where Crowley is straining for him. “Is that you should feel you are not loved by me…just as you are.”
Inexplicably, Crowley’s own throat tightens, suddenly choking back an onslaught of tears, and the filter between his brain and mouth is obliterated by Aziraphale fondling the button of his jeans.
“Then why didn’t you ever tell me?” he spits, still so angry and utterly miserable about it.
Aziraphale’s fingers still, and his eyes flick upward to meet Crowley’s, flashing dangerously. “You know I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” snaps Crowley, reaching down to unbutton his own trousers, impatient. “I told you. In every way I knew how.”
“So did I,” Aziraphale replies, smacking his hands out of the way and taking over once again, dragging Crowley’s zipper down roughly and withdrawing his cock - flushed and achingly hard - with no more preamble. “You just weren’t paying attention.”
(Not paying attention? Was he not paying attention when he asked Aziraphale to be an us and kissed him with all he had? Was he not paying attention when Aziraphale rejected him, let him walk out of this very bookshop, and fucked off back up to Heaven without him -)
Crowley’s brain gives up on the argument, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of Aziraphale’s miraculously slick hand working up and down his cock, and he can feel the angel’s very unangelic gaze on him, unfaltering and heated as his glances bounce between Crowley’s flushed face and his own quickly moving hand.
Crowley doesn’t last long - how could he? - and by the time he chokes out a yell, arching over Aziraphale and making a mess of his precious waistcoat, he feels Aziraphale tense underneath him as well. Riding the waves of his intense orgasm into Aziraphale’s spasming grip, Crowley just manages to pry his eyes open in time to see the angel’s other hand pressing swiftly to his own crotch, barely getting his fingers around the bulge of his unseen cock before he’s throwing his head back against the back of his armchair and coming in his pants.
All from watching Crowley.
The demon’s hips stutter weakly in response but there’s nothing more he can do for now, so instead he watches Aziraphale, his red mouth open in a soft o of pleasure and a large wet spot quickly blooming on his trousers. As he comes down, gently releasing Crowley’s cock and taking the other hand from overtop his own, Crowley settles his weight gingerly back onto the angel’s thighs from where he was holding himself up, watching as Aziraphale’s heavy eyelids slide open to gaze up at him.
Somewhat shell-shocked, they sit in silence and simply look at one another, their heart rates slowing in tandem as the long-awaited and irreversible changes between them settle in the age-old air of the bookshop.
Well, that was certainly a thing.
(And Crowley can already tell they’ll be doing it again.)
He’s right.
In the immediate aftermath, Aziraphale takes it upon himself to stoically clean them both and right their clothes, all with one brisk snap and the metallic whiff of an angelic miracle that shouldn’t really be possible, so Crowley can clamber off him and allow Aziraphale to rise unsteadily from the armchair.
After that, they make it as far as the backroom, where they become decidedly…waylaid.
Something about the view of Crowley from behind, his black-clad hips sauntering in perhaps a more pronounced way than usual, has Aziraphale grabbing him by the shoulders, turning him, and shoving him unapologetically up against the bookshelves.
It’s somehow even better than the armchair, being pressed so fully into a flat surface by Aziraphale’s sturdy body, touching from lips - where they’re getting heartily reacquainted with each other’s mouths - down to their shoes, the tips of which are flirting and brushing together whenever they shift their weight.
They also manage to shed some clothes this time.
Crowley is fully shirtless within moments, his black clothing in a forgotten heap on the floor, and he’s gotten Aziraphale’s suit jacket and waistcoat off, leaving him in his button-down shirt and trousers. By Crowley’s reckoning, the angel is still furiously put together and dangerously attractive with his shirtsleeves shoved up to expose his flexing forearms where they massage Crowley’s naked waist.
Distracted by the way Aziraphale is mapping the expanse of Crowley’s chest with his teeth, the demon kneads at his lovely, soft sides as best he can, dipping his fingers below the belt of his cursed trousers to try and entice him into removing them.
Aziraphale pays his teasing fingers no mind.
The spines and corners of the books on the shelf behind Crowley dig into his bare back and shoulders, the sensation grounding him as Aziraphale’s lips and hands work at his front, and the air of the bookshop is quiet aside from their hushed panting and the soft, wet sound of their intermittent kisses…until Crowley opens his stupid mouth.
“Hmm…a-angel…missed you.”
Aziraphale’s ministrations slow to a stop and Crowley wishes he could reabsorb the thoughtless words back into his lungs.
“What?” he snaps, deferring to his only defense mechanism automatically: snark. “You can’t tell me you hadn’t pieced that together.”
Aziraphale lifts his head slowly to look into Crowley’s eyes, his hands tightening around the jut of his hipbones. “No, I - well, you’ve never actually said it before, that’s all.”
Crowley rolls his eyes. “And what part of me sleeping in an alley behind the bookshop said ‘healthy coping strategy’ to you? Didn’t realize I had to spell it out…”
Aziraphale’s eyes flash and some masochistic part of Crowley preens in success.
“I was appalled when I found you back there, as a matter of fact,” Aziraphale snaps. “I wanted to take care of you, but you told me to leave. Quite rudely, I might add -”
“And then I immediately came after you!” Crowley cries, disgusted both at Aziraphale’s obliviousness and his own pathetic behavior. “Fuck’s sake, Aziraphale, thought you were smarter than that -”
“Well, pardon me for trying to respect your boundaries!” Aziraphale grits out, looking truly angry now. “And at the expense of my own, I’ll have you know! I wanted nothing more than to pick you up and carry you into the bookshop, get you good and clean, and tuck you into bed -”
(And Crowley tries desperately not to let it show on his face how much he craved exactly that while sleeping in the alley, how lonely and cold and miserable he was, how much he fruitlessly wished his angel would come back and take care of him -)
“You hurt me,” hisses Crowley instead, defensive to the last, and petrified of showing his vulnerable, snakey underbelly to anyone. “You hurt me and then you left me. Did you expect me to jump for joy and leap into your arms the moment you deigned to descend from on high and find me slithering in the dirt -”
Growling in frustration, Aziraphale abruptly returns his mouth to Crowley’s chest, his lips latching around a peaked nipple, before he laves it with his tongue and then bites.
Crowley hisses in surprise and his hips kick forward without his permission, seeking friction for the once again hard cock that’s been trapped in his jeans since his shoulders hit the shelf behind him. He can hear Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath as Crowley’s length brushes his thigh and, instead of moving away, giving them space, or stopping to think -
Aziraphale steps forward to slot their feet fully together, sliding his thick, strong thigh in between Crowley’s and giving him something to rut against.
Crowley groans in gratitude, unable to stop himself, and presses his own meager thigh right back where it’s fallen naturally in between Aziraphale’s, actively consenting to a rather frantic session of grinding, all the while leaning against the blank books at his back, like something out of Crowley’s filthiest fantasies.
By the time they once again come in their pants, desperate and miserable about it, Aziraphale’s face is tucked into the side of Crowley’s neck…
(And Crowley pretends he can’t feel the wetness on his skin.)
Time is done, what with all the clock hands in the shop immobile and silent, but it can’t be long before they’re going again.
An indeterminate amount of time later finds them sprawled across the sofa in the backroom, where they’ve hastily relocated for more space, after Aziraphale miracled their respective trousers clean once again, only for them to quickly be removed altogether.
Now, Crowley is back on top of the angel…and they’re both naked.
He’s exploring Aziraphale’s body with single-minded focus and intensity, resentful of the fact that the first two times they’d come together, barely a stitch of Aziraphale’s clothing was removed.
Crowley is making up for it now.
He starts back at Aziraphale’s mouth, Crowley’s new favorite place, with lips so soft and silky and responsive to his own, ready to open and admit him to a wonderfully filthy tongue that somehow doesn’t mind - and in fact seems to delight in - Crowley’s tongue with its more…inhuman capabilities.
From there, he moves down, down, down, making a meal out of the soft skin of his neck, tracing his collarbone with his tongue, and brushing his nose through the curls of chest hair that smell like his angel. He gives special treatment to two dusky pink nipples, kneading the soft flesh of his pectorals with something like reverence, before moving further down to kiss and lick and nip the angel’s belly, soft and warm and the only part of him Crowley has been able to love conspicuously over the centuries, with crepes and sushi and endless cups of cocoa. By the time Crowley makes it to Aziraphale’s thighs - those gorgeous things of his dreams - the angel is flushed and squirming and sighing Crowley’s name like he can’t stop.
Unable to deny himself any longer, Crowley tucks his hands under Aziraphale’s thighs to pull them up and drape them over elbows, holding them slightly bent at the knees and relishing in the perfect weight of them, as he noses the crease between angelic leg and torso…
And then he takes Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth.
The loud shout of pleasure Aziraphale releases sends sparks of heat and lust through Crowley’s stomach and - when combined with the blazing heat and lovely thickness and salty tang of what he’s cradling in his mouth - he has to stop himself from reaching down to squeeze his own cock in commiseration.
Apparently driven to distraction by Crowley’s ministrations and unable to hold it in, Aziraphale begins to babble.
“Oh, Crowley…my darling, that’s so good…so very nice…you’re so kind to me -”
(And the demon barely refrains from pulling off to hiss in protest at three four-letter-words in a row before he remembers there’s no bad guys of Hell to be afraid of anymore -)
“Crowley, we’re so good together - oh, please, tell me it’s good, darling - we should have done this years ago -”
Releasing Aziraphale’s cock with a wet pop, Crowley can’t hold his thoughts in anymore, roiling as they are behind his sharp teeth and lax, Aziraphale-covered tongue.
“Shouldn’t have left me for Heaven, then, I suppose.”
Aziraphale’s body goes tense underneath him.
(And Crowley could kick himself for picking another fight in the middle of this, everything he’s ever wanted, but Aziraphale’s thoughtless words keep prickling and stinging painfully at his bruised heart, still sore from when Aziraphale stepped in that blasted white elevator and disappeared -)
Trying in vain to hide, Crowley bows his head to return to Aziraphale’s cock - waiting for him where it rests hard and straining against the delicious curve of the angel’s stomach - only to suddenly feel a hand fist in his hair and pull, preventing him from reaching his destination and, even worse, forcing his head up to look into Aziraphale’s flushed, angry face.
Damn.
“You know very well why I had to leave, Crowley,” Aziraphale seethes, his voice low and quiet. “I explained that to you in the Bentley. I had to try and give the humans a chance, give the planet a chance, give us a chance -”
“But you didn’t tell me that before you left, did you?” snarks Crowley, tossing his head until Aziraphale finally releases his fistful of hair, brutally enjoying the pinpricks of pain that dance over his scalp. “So how the bloody hell was I supposed to know? Thought you’d just left me, even after I begged you to stay! Spent three years down here all alone, missing you -”
“And you think I didn’t miss you in Heaven?” demands Aziraphale bluntly. “You think I didn’t pace the blindingly white halls, wringing my hands until they were raw, wondering if you were alright? You think I didn’t turn my head on any given day, expecting to find you by my side, wanting to hear your thoughts and wondering what you’d say? You think I didn’t mourn you like a missing limb -”
“Shut up!” snarls Crowley, unable to listen to any more without admitting something he can’t take back. “You’re the one who left! You’re not allowed to mourn what you chose to give up! And you can’t expect me to follow you right off the edge of a cliff, not when I’m the only one who knows it’ll kill us both, sorry if I have some self-preservation left -”
Aziraphale growls in frustration, effectively cutting off Crowley’s words and the tears that are already threatening to fall, and reaches for his own insistent cock, apparently too distracted by its demands or too impatient to wait for Crowley to get back to it. He just manages to wrap his fingers around the base before Crowley is slithering out from underneath his thighs, grabbing the offending wrist and pinning it firmly to the back of the sofa -
Only to replace it with his own hand.
He gives the straining cock - thick and heavy and perfectly Aziraphale - a few perfunctory strokes, watching the angel’s eyes roll back in his head with pleasure as Crowley grinds his teeth in frustration.
“Stubborn fucking angel…”
It’s a half-hearted mutter at best, barely audible, and Crowley doesn’t give Aziraphale time to protest before he’s unpinning the angel’s guilty hand, placing it back on his own head, and taking Aziraphale’s cock back into his mouth.
The angel’s answering wail makes Crowley’s lust roar back to life, tinged with anger as it always seems to be now, and the fingers on his head weave into his hair and tug in concert with the plush hips rocking up ever so slightly into his mouth.
When Aziraphale comes a few short moments later, coating Crowley’s tongue, the demon swallows him down eagerly, fulfilling an existence-long wish with no small amount of disbelief, shock, and gratitude.
(And neither of them acknowledge the tear or two that falls to mix with the sweat and spit on Aziraphale’s heaving stomach.)
Their fourth time is against Aziraphale’s desk.
After recovering from Crowley’s invitingly warm mouth and talented tongue, Aziraphale unceremoniously urges him off his comfortable body and then hauls him swiftly over to the centuries-old piece of furniture. The angel runs a strong forearm over the books and stationary on top and sends it all clattering to the floor in an uncharacteristic show of disinterest for his belongings that makes Crowley’s mouth go dry and his body suddenly very aware of his still hard cock.
And then he finds himself pushed down to land heavily on his elbows…and obligingly bent over Aziraphale’s oak desk.
All right, then.
“You don’t mind, do you, dear boy?” Aziraphale whispers into his ear, draping himself across Crowley’s back before slowly sliding down, the glide of warm skin and coarse hair making Crowley’s eyes roll back in his head. “This has always been rather a…fantasy of mine.”
Crowley can only moan in response, unable to conjure up an English word that encompasses the depth and strength of his arousal, utterly set aflame by the angel’s words.
And so, there he stands, leaning all his weight on the thankfully sturdy desk, propped on his elbows with Aziraphale kneeling behind him, strong angelic hands kneading the jumping muscles in his thighs and arsecheeks…
As his tongue conducts a thorough exploration between them.
Out of pure instinct, Crowley tries to hide his vulnerable noises - indulgent curses and groans - behind bared and gritted teeth, embarrassed by the sounds and the fact that he’s never heard himself make most of them before.
But Aziraphale has no such reservations and is clearly invested in making Crowley just as unguarded.
Every time he hears Crowley stifle a sound, he pulls his mouth back to nip at Crowley’s skin, no doubt leaving marks that the demon hopes will stay on his skin forever. And, even as Aziraphale’s jaw and tongue work powerfully around and inside him, the angel finds a way to sign and groan in pleasure, as though he’s the one being tongue-fucked within an inch of his life.
(And isn’t that a thought to be considered.)
At the same time as he licks and sucks, Aziraphale is almost obsessively kneading the demon’s flesh, his large, warm hands roaming all over, traversing smoothly from his knobbly, trembling knees to his aching lower back and everywhere in between. Every time Crowley reluctantly lets a noise slip past his lips, Aziraphale squeezes wherever his hands currently are, almost as if in reward.
Crowley wouldn’t put it past him.
With a particularly mind-bending slide of angelic tongue, Crowley can’t stop himself from moaning Aziraphale’s name, low and clear. The pornographic sound seems to trigger the angel into speaking as well, managing broken off sentences in between licks, words that sound unnervingly like praise the more Crowley strains to listen.
“…looked after the bookshop while I was gone…gave up the Bentley for it, you romantic old fool,” Aziraphale is mumbling into his skin, his words fervent and deep.
“Y’got it back for me,” Crowley moans, arching into Aziraphale’s sinful mouth. “For us.”
“Of course I did,” Aziraphale mumbles, brushing it off as if it’s obvious.
(And not the best, most thoughtful thing he’s done for Crowley in years.)
“And you took me to lunch,” Aziraphale continues, saving the best for last, judging by his worshipful tone. “…Bought me dim sum…so much of it…with champagne…oh, I was so hungry and you knew -”
“I always know,” Crowley gasps back, writhing in Aziraphale’s firm grip and reveling in the push back, recalling with vivid clarity the way Aziraphale had moaned at the first dumpling. “I know you, angel -”
He’s distracted for a moment, when his words make Aziraphale moan wantonly - replicating the sound in his memory almost perfectly - the sound echoing deep in his chest and pushing delicious vibrations into Crowley, before he desperately regathers his scattered thoughts enough to continue.
“Went to Heaven with you, too,” he gets out, having to pry his grinding teeth apart to speak again. “Even after you asked before ‘n I - I said I wouldn’t -”
Suddenly, the world inverts as Crowley finds himself being flipped over, handled bodily by Aziraphale in a way that makes him swoon, as he lands on his back across the desktop, with loose papers fluttering to the floor around him from the unexpected movement. He peers down his own body in aroused confusion to find Aziraphale glaring up at him, still kneeling on the floor.
His mouth is inches away from Crowley’s straining cock.
“I didn’t want you to go with me,” he snaps, clearly annoyed. “It was too dangerous! I told you that!”
Crowley rolls his eyes, unable to stop his hips straining upward fruitlessly, but Aziraphale ignores him. “Yeah, but I did anyway,” he mumbles, before adding his next words in an undertone. “Wanted to protect you…”
Aziraphale’s eyes soften, his hands gentle, and he rests his cheek on Crowley’s sweaty, trembling thigh. “Oh, Crowley…” he sighs.
“Never trusted any of those fuckers,” Crowley hisses, suddenly fiercely defensive, watching Aziraphale gaze affectionately up at him with shining eyes. “And look how right I was -”
Without any warning, Aziraphale wraps his hand around the base of Crowley’s cock and guides it into his mouth, effectively stopping Crowley’s words in their tracks.
“Angel -” he gasps, reaching a hand down to tangle helplessly in his white curls.
It feels transcendent - like warm rays of sunshine and sparkling starlight all at once - to be in a part of Aziraphale, like he’s always wanted to be and, oh, he was right to crave it because nothing could ever be better -
Aziraphale pulls off him with an obscene, wet smack.
“I never trusted them, either,” he breathes, continuing their conversation like nothing happened. “I hated the way they always looked at you, like you were nothing but a demon, when they couldn’t possibly understand how special you truly are. I wanted to wrap my wings around you and hide you from their sight because I didn’t trust them -”
Trying desperately to regain both his breath and his senses, Crowley manages to scoff in weak disbelief, skeptical - at best - at Aziraphale’s statement, only to yelp when Aziraphale pinches the skin of his inner thigh in punishment.
“I didn’t,” he insists, his eyes fixed rather ravenously on Crowley’s cock and the fingers of his pinching hand now traveling down and around, squeezing his balls lightly on their way past. “Not like I’ve always trusted you.”
Crowley’s mouth falls open as he feels Aziraphale’s fingers circle his rim, still wet and loose from his earlier attention, and then the tips of two fingers press gently inside.
“And none of them looked quite as…delectable as you did in their stifling, white, Heaven-issued garb, did they, my dear?” Aziraphale purrs. “One of my best miracles, if I do say so myself. Your legs alone, miles long, dear Lord. Not to mention barely any secrets left as to your Effort…not that they would notice, of course, that was all for me -”
And Aziraphale’s mouth descends back onto the angry, red cock in front of him.
Crowley keens.
(And, as he’s somehow always expected him to, Aziraphale treats Crowley’s release like the finest of desserts at the Ritz.)
The fifth time is different.
Instead of being haphazardly pressed or pinned against some piece of furniture or other, they’ve created something just for the two of them, in the middle of the bookshop floor. On the rug and under the oculus, with the darkness of the empty universe kept at bay by the drawn blinds, they lie tangled and moving together in a mass of miracled pillows and blankets.
Surrounded by their vanished history in a shop full of empty books, Aziraphale fucks Crowley.
The demon is on his back, long legs splayed to accommodate the breathtaking angel working between them, and Crowley’s mouth is open and gasping, his yellow eyes blazing as he watches with rapt, unbreakable attention.
Aziraphale, for his part, has a deathgrip on Crowley’s thighs, holding them apart where he kneels in between them and thrusts into the demon with single-minded focus. The rigor of his movements visibly reverberates in shocks and ripples of the generous flesh of his belly and Crowley flushes hot at the intoxicating sight. His wide eyes trace greedily over the flush running down Aziraphale’s chest, the sweat falling in tantalizing droplets through his fine, white body hair, and the way his storm-grey eyes blaze.
It takes a long moment of staring at the angel’s plush lips - too far away - to realize that he is speaking to Crowley.
“I was trying to do the right thing,” he gasps, his words accented by breath and strain in odd places with the force of his thrusts. “Wanted to make you proud, to show you how much I’ve learned from you. Tried to do the right thing. I was just - ah - wrong about what the right thing was -”
Crowley pulls his thighs from Aziraphale’s grip only to wrap his legs tightly around the angel’s plush waist, crossing them snugly at the ankle, and allowing his newly freed hands to link with Crowley’s and intertwine against the pillows on either side of his head.
“What was - ahhh -” Crowley interrupts himself with a moan, the new angle from Aziraphale’s changed posture hitting a gorgeous spot inside him, before he manages to continue. “What was the right thing, then?”
It’s a bit of a challenge but also an honest question and, to his surprise, Aziraphale has an answer ready.
“Tell the Metatron and Heaven to fuck off and save the world together, like we did the first time,” Aziraphale pants, hovering over him now, staring right into his eyes. “On our own side, just like you said, Crowley. An us. I’m sorry -”
With a grunt and a twist of his sinuous hips, Crowley takes them both by surprise and flips them, turning Aziraphale to lay on his back in the soft mass of blankets and stare up at him in awe. The transition, as fluid as it was, causes Aziraphale’s cock to slip out of him and - as Crowley wraps a hand around the base to steady it, preparing to sit happily on his lap and take him back inside - Aziraphale touches his wrist hesitantly.
“Can we…would you like to…switch?”
Crowley’s hard cock jerks violently against his own stomach.
“Gah, yeah - course -”
With a soft snap of his fingers, Aziraphale makes himself relaxed and wet for Crowley and the demon nearly chokes on his own tongue in anticipation as he guides his cock inside the angel for the first time, both of their eyes rolling back in pleasure at the sensation.
“Oh, Crowley -”
“A-angel -”
It’s a few endless moments of warm, wet, tight friction and utter bliss before Crowley faintly remembers they were attempting to have a conversation.
“M’sorry, too, you know,” he gasps, unable to keep his hands from incessantly kneading Aziraphale’s thick thighs where they’re pressing hotly into his sides.
“What on Earth for?” Aziraphale gasps, prying his eyes away from Crowley’s snapping hips with evident difficulty.
“Not believing in you,” Crowley croaks, in between thrusts. “Not understanding why you had to go to Heaven ‘n try. Not helping you in the ways I could. Being so mad at you that we almost couldn’t be an us anymore, even when you came back…take your pick, really.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmurs, entreating, but Crowley’s not finished.
“Was too heartbroken to - to see that choosing Heaven was your own sort of…c-confession to me,” Crowley gets out with difficulty. “Meant you loved me enough to try ‘n make a future for us…so we said the same thing, really. Just in d-different ways, s’all.”
“Ah - as usual, we didn’t listen to one another,” sighs Aziraphale, closing his eyes briefly before reaching up for Crowley, urging him to lay himself down across Aziraphale’s warm, welcoming body. “Oh, we’ve both made quite a mess of things, haven’t we, dear?”
“Don’t we always?” snarks Crowley with a grin, and slithers willingly down onto Aziraphale, their lips meeting in the middle with desperate fervor.
“Just in case you somehow weren’t aware,” Aziraphale breathes when they part, gazing up into Crowley’s eyes with tears shining in his own. “I’m quite hopelessly in love with you.”
Crowley’s heart surges in his chest at the matter-of-fact words, gazing down at Aziraphale’s small smile in wonder, before his mouth moves of its own accord, his tongue seeing fit to unleash the words of devotion he’s kept trapped behind his teeth for centuries.
“Loved you since I can remember, angel,” he chokes out, his throat feeling thick. “You’re everything to me. M’whole world -”
Aziraphale moans, overcome by emotion, and pushes his hips up to meet Crowley’s on his next slow, deep thrust, trying in vain to get closer to him and pressing wet kisses to the straining tendons in his neck.
“What a shame it took us so long to say it,” he gasps, followed by a watery laugh. “Let alone start doing this - oh -”
Crowley slips an arm underneath one of Aziraphale’s thighs and pushes up, allowing him to push in even deeper, and making the angel’s mouth drop open before he lets out a slightly hysterical giggle.
“Perhaps that was the Ineffable Plan all along…”
Crowley can’t suppress a huff of laughter. “What, you think God planned for us to get here in the end, fucking in the bookshop?”
“Who knows?” Aziraphale murmurs with a mad grin, before Crowley twists his hips and finds a spot that apparently makes him see stars. “And oh, who cares -”
Crowley bites back another watery chuckle because - while he’s oddly proud at hearing Aziraphale blaspheme so unapologetically out loud - he’s also struck with a sudden wave of sadness and fear, a sense of dread that this is all they’ll get to have together. He can’t ever lose Aziraphale and what if this is all they ever get, this endless moment in their bookshop with the darkness of the non-universe surrounding them like a foreboding shadow, supposedly empty and quietly ominous -
“Maybe we can talk to Her, She must be around here somewhere,” he blurts madly, his thrusts picking up speed in desperation and fear and a grief that’s threatening to consume him. “Ask Her what the bloody hell She’s playing at -”
Aziraphale, panting and writhing beneath him like he’s coming out of his skin, catches on right away. “Tell Her to stuff Her…Her Ineffable Plan -”
“Yeah - yeah, ah, angel - ”
Crowley, becoming nonsensical, can only agree in the simplest terms, because yes, that’s right -
(Because nothing about this, about them, is pre-destined, it’s been fought for and hard won, chosen over and over again throughout the course of the world’s history, whether they realized it or not -)
Abruptly, Crowley feels tears leaking from his eyes and sliding hotly down his face, as his climax rapidly approaches with the force of a freight train. Reaching blindly for Aziraphale’s cock, rock hard and pressed deliciously between their stomachs, Crowley wraps a reverent hand around it and starts to stroke in time with his quickening thrusts until Aziraphale wordlessly cries out, his hands finding Crowley’s sharp hip bones and squeezing so hard his fingerprints may be imprinted there.
“Crowley, I love you -”
“Love you, angel -”
Frantically blinking to clear his vision, Crowley looks down and is shocked to see them both speak and come at the same time. As he spills into Aziraphale breathlessly, finding a home in his warm body, the demon watches Aziraphale’s simultaneous climax like he’s witnessing the birth of a new universe. The only imperfection is the salty tears Crowley can see running down the angel’s red cheeks, a perfect match to his own.
(And when they’re finally sated, easing down from their highs and shivering from over-sensitivity, Crowley falls onto Aziraphale’s softness to find himself instantly wrapped in the angel’s waiting arms, and oh, who knew he had to fall twice to finally land where he truly belongs?)
“Was it everything you thought it would be?”
Aziraphale breaks the discomfiting silence, rousing Crowley from where he’s been dozing, pillowed on Aziraphale’s chest as the angel scratches lightly at his scalp. The demon yawns and stretches a little, grateful for the wakeup call. It’s been far too quiet without the passing of cars or chattering people outside.
(Or the familiar sound of Aziraphale’s soft, deep voice, closer and more intimate than it’s ever been before.)
“What? The sex?” he answers, his voice rough with previous strain and the dredges of sleep.
Aziraphale hums an assent that Crowley feels vibrate under his cheek.
“No.”
“No?” Aziraphale repeats, tensing underneath him, his tone suddenly distraught. “Oh, I see…”
“Angel,” Crowley huffs a laugh at his unnecessary distress. “It was better.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale sighs in relief, relaxing underneath him once more, before tugging lightly on his hair in punishment. “Fiend…”
“The original,” Crowley preens happily. “What about you?”
“Oh, much the same,” Aziraphale says contentedly. “Although you are far more…cuddly than I anticipated, in the aftermath.”
Crowley looks down at himself where he has both arms firmly wrapped around Aziraphale’s middle, tucked underneath his heavy body where he lost feeling in them an indeterminate amount of time ago. Mostly because he can, Crowley runs his calves against the grain of Aziraphale’s soft hair where their legs are tangled together.
(And Crowley might rub his soft cock against Aziraphale’s warm hip, just to tease him.)
“That a complaint?”
“Never,” Aziraphale rumbles, running a hand down the long length of Crowley’s serpentine spine to pet at his flank.
They rest quietly for another few minutes, just breathing each other in while swathed in their nest of blankets and pillows, and Crowley looks vaguely up toward the oculus and tries to ignore the featureless blackness on the other side.
It doesn’t look right without the faint shine and sparkle of distant stars.
“It’s not quite the setting I expected, though…” Aziraphale continues unexpectedly, apparently reading his mind, musing and a little sad.
“Yeah, me neither,” mutters Crowley.
“What did you expect, then?” asks Aziraphale curiously. “About where we’d be when we finally…you know.”
“Did the deed?” Crowley teases, making Aziraphale chortle self-consciously underneath him. “Dunno…”
“Really? You must have thought about it…I know I certainly have,” Aziraphale prods.
“Oh, really? Out with it, then.”
“But I asked you first!”
“Ngk, fine,” mutters Crowley, feeling his face slowly flush red with embarrassment as he realizes what he’s about to say. “I always imagined…well, I pictured…a - a cottage, I suppose.”
“A…cottage?” The idea seems to give Aziraphale pause. “Not Alpha Centauri?”
“Well…” Crowley stretches the word out, adding a few extra, incomprehensible syllables. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to visit, sure. But, you were right, in the end, angel…I think we both know Earth is our home.”
Crowley hears a surreptitious sniffle above him. “Just so,” he murmurs in soft agreement. “So…a cottage, then? Whereabouts?”
“Thought near the coast,” murmurs Crowley, his lips brushing Aziraphale’s skin. “The South Downs, maybe…”
Crowley hears what he thinks is another sniff above his head but he can’t bring himself to look and see if Aziraphale is really crying.
“Tell me about it…” he hears the angel say instead, a quiet plea.
So Crowley does.
“Always thought a small place might be nice, for the two of us. Yellow front door, thatched roof, brick chimney. Entrance hall with a little shelf for my sunglasses…wouldn’t need them anymore, ‘cept for outside. Kitchen with pots ‘n ladles hanging from the ceiling. Sitting room with a sofa just big enough for two, like the one here. Study for your books. Nice, big garden for me. Maybe a hammock in the backyard, under an apple tree. Big master bedroom, huge bed, lots of pillows, just like this. Matching nightstands, mine empty ‘n yours crowded with stacks of books and half-drunk cups of tea. That’d be our favorite place, by the way, the bed. Where we could be…like this. I could sleep ‘n you could read ‘n be there to wake me up. We’d never have to leave. I’d miracle you all sorts of snacks so we could…make love all day, as much as we want. Try everything. Six thousand years of fantasies to make up for, after all -”
Aziraphale interrupts him with a choked off sob and a watery laugh and Crowley stops talking obligingly, although he thinks he could go on forever, describing the future he always dreamed of for them, the one he always assumed was out of reach.
(He only wishes he wasn’t right.)
“That sounds…perfect, my dear,” Aziraphale breathes, and Crowley wants to bathe in the wonder and love saturating his voice.
“What about you, angel?” Crowley asks softly, running his hand soothingly over Aziraphale’s side, reveling in his soft, warm skin. “What did you picture?”
“Oh,” says Aziraphale, attempting to gather himself before answering. “I’m not sure I had a specific place in mind. Or rather, every place was in mind, at one point or another. It never quite mattered where. It was more about the fact that we were together. Openly, freely, happily.”
Crowley’s heart warms, his eyes stinging and his throat tightening as he feels the same bittersweet, melancholy that Aziraphale must be feeling as well, and he turns his head to press a fervent kiss to Aziraphale’s chest, right over his heart.
“I quite like the sound of this cottage, though,” Aziraphale murmurs after a moment, reaching for one of Crowley’s hands to tangle their fingers together. “A real place for us…sometime, somewhere…”
(And the wistfulness and bone-deep sadness in the angel’s voice digs painfully into Crowley’s soul, making a home right next to his own, and the demon wishes more than anything that somehow he could give them what they both want, need, and deserve -)
“Ah, well,” Aziraphale sighs, audibly holding back tears once again, and lightly trailing his fingers over Crowley’s arm with his free hand. “Not meant to be, I suppose.”
And don’t they know it. That’s the way they’ve always been, all throughout history, not in the cards of the unwinnable game. Not in the grand scheme of things, the blasted Ineffable Plan, the fucking Book of -
Hm.
Abruptly, Crowley pushes himself up onto one elbow, leaning over Aziraphale with a thoughtful frown on his face.
“Darling? What is it?” Aziraphale asks curiously, peering up at him in confusion.
“D’you have a pen?” he asks abruptly.
Aziraphale looks pointedly down at his very naked body. “Not presently, no,” he answers dryly.
Crowley rolls his eyes in exasperation and snaps instinctively to relocate one from across the room on Aziraphale’s desk, only pausing once it’s already in his hand to wonder at how exactly he managed to do it.
Below him, Aziraphale looks similarly surprised, puzzled, and impressed.
Hm. Interesting.
“Can you…miracle me a book, angel?”
“…Which book?”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, they’re all blank,” Crowley reasons slowly. “Whichever one you give me is the right one.”
Aziraphale considers this before nodding in agreement, then closes his eyes and snaps, summoning a random book to drop onto the blankets next to them. Crowley picks it up and peers at the spine.
“Great Expectations,” Crowley reads, before snorting and looking down at a blushing Aziraphale. “You don’t say…”
Cracking open the book and flipping to the first blank page, Crowley slithers down to sprawl on his front, propped up on his elbows with their legs still tangled together, and lays the open book on Aziraphale’s stomach. He uncaps the pen with his teeth and spits the cap carelessly over the edge of their blanket nest.
“What are you doing?” asks Aziraphale curiously, unintentionally jostling the book with the movement of his diaphragm.
“Shhh,” Crowley says gently, before beginning to write, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration.
“But - but that isn’t the Book of Life,” the angel protests lightly when Crowley’s finished, apparently able to read upside down.
“Yeah,” muses Crowley, tapping the end of the pen on his chin in thought. “Or, maybe…it is if we say it is?”
Aziraphale stares at him, his brow creased in confusion.
“What’s something that’s not in this bookshop right now?” Crowley asks him, his penless hand idly moving to stroke the angel’s thigh.
Aziraphale thinks for a long moment, before sighing wistfully and answering with audible yearning. “Sticky apple pudding with toffee sauce from the Ritz…”
Crowley snorts fondly because of course Aziraphale would think of food. “All right, then…”
As neatly as he can, Crowley scrawls the words on the marked page, the book remaining still for him as Aziraphale stops breathing in anticipation. Adding a final, unnecessary flourish to the z in Ritz, Crowley’s tongue flicks out as he suddenly gets a whiff of cinnamon and apple.
And the book surges upward in front of him at Aziraphale’s shocked intake of breath.
Hardly daring to believe it, Crowley looks slowly over to his right to see - resting elegantly on a tasseled pillow like a suited waiter has just placed it there - Aziraphale’s dessert.
Crowley turns back to find the angel already staring at him, stunned. Crowley swallows reflexively, joy and something that tastes oddly like hope starting to rise in his throat.
“Well, go on, then,” he tempts, instinctively. “Try it.”
Slowly, Aziraphale reaches out to claim the little plate, bringing it to hover over his chest and picking up the fork. The toffee sauce clings to the utensil in a decadent line, connecting fork to plate, before it breaks with a rather obscene drip. Aziraphale carefully collects a forkful of cake and drags it in the pool of sauce with an ease that speaks of experience, before bringing it to his waiting lips.
Crowley watches the entire journey with bated breath, up close and personal.
The cake disappears into Aziraphale’s warm mouth, and Crowley’s irrational jealousy - along with most of his other brain activity - is interrupted by the moan that pours out of Aziraphale then, the vibrations of sound reverberating from deep in his chest and into Crowley’s skin wherever they’re touching.
It’s the same sound he’s heard over dinner tables for centuries and his cock twitches in interest in the way it has for almost as long…
Only this time he can’t hide it.
Aziraphale feels the movement against his leg where they’re still pressed together and he swallows his mouthful of cake, raising his eyebrows with a pleased little grin that Crowley wants to eat right up.
“Oh,” he purrs, his voice deep and intrigued. “So, it’s like that, is it?”
“Can’t tell me you never knew that,” Crowley says gruffly, feeling his cheeks redden.
“Perhaps not,” the angel hums, before giving a satisfied little wiggle that Crowley feels against his whole body. “But it’s always nice to have confirmation, isn’t it?”
“Bastard,” Crowley hisses, fiercely pleased.
“Quite,” Aziraphale says primly, before scooping up another forkful of cake and sauce. “Now, would you like a taste? It’s really very good…and still warm.”
Aziraphale brings the forkful to Crowley’s mouth in offering, his own brand of angelic temptation, and the demon - as ever - is powerless to resist. Crowley opens his mouth and lets his demonic, slightly forked tongue loll out just to see Aziraphale’s gaze darken, before the angel gently feeds him. Closing his mouth around the fork and letting Aziraphale slide it slowly out of his mouth, Crowley chews it thoughtfully, letting the flavors of apple and spice spread across his palette. All the while he never looks away from Aziraphale, whose gaze is locked on his lips, right up until he swallows.
“Well?” Aziraphale asks, his voice a little hoarse.
“S’good,” Crowley admits, before reaching up to run a finger through the toffee sauce on the plate and then bring it back to his mouth. “Be better eaten off you, though…”
Aziraphale eyes widen comically, his lips growing slowly into a grin, as he watches Crowley pop his finger into his mouth and suggestively suck off the sauce.
There’s a beat of silence so loaded it could be used in a bullet catch.
“…Well, we simply must explore that,” Aziraphale breaks it matter-of-factly, before he tucks happily back into his cake.
Crowley coughs in surprise and no small amount of glee, his eyes glued to Aziraphale’s indecent relish of his dessert, before he remembers the book and their resultant problem, and struggles to focus.
(When Aziraphale finishes the cake and drags his own finger through the sauce, licking it clean like an ice cream instead of putting it inside his mouth like a person not trying to drive Crowley insane, the demon realizes that focus - going forward for however long they’re able to - will be…difficult.)
“Right,” Crowley announces when Aziraphale finally, blessedly puts the plate aside with a satisfied sigh. “What are we going to do about this?”
Crowley slides into a vaguely upright position, tugs a blanket across his lap for warmth, and gestures to what he supposes is technically the new Book of Life, still resting on Aziraphale’s beautifully full stomach.
“Well, whatever we want, I expect,” Aziraphale says simply, folding his hands across his belly contentedly.
Crowley’s heart thrills at the prospect while his mind is barely able to believe it. To go from having no chance for a future with Aziraphale to having the entire world at their fingertips - literally - is likely to give him neck-breaking whiplash.
(And while the possibilities are everything, he knows deep down that an eternity inside the safe haven of their bookshop, with nothing outside the doors but darkness, would have been enough for Crowley. Because it doesn’t really matter where they are. They could live high above Earth in the wide open galaxy, flying planet to planet amongst the stars they made, or inside a picturesque snow globe, a saccharine secret known only to the two of them, or even in between the poignant pages of a cherished book, immortal in every way that counts.
It wouldn’t matter where the place was…as long as they were there together.)
“So,” Crowley says slowly, the enormity of the question hitting him seconds before he asks it. “What do you want, Aziraphale?”
Aziraphale simply blinks at him and then responds with one word as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“You.”
The resplendent angel in repose laid out before him blurs and sparkles as Crowley’s eyes fill with tears.
“And our world in which to love you, of course,” Aziraphale continues softly, taking Crowley’s hand with care. “In all the ways I have for centuries and all the others I’ve yet to discover.”
Crowley thinks of all the new things they’ve learned about one another just while they’ve been here - caught in between time and worlds - and thinks of everything else there is waiting for them, perhaps in that cottage they talked about. Overcome with happiness, he lets his tears fall and blindly brings Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to the warm, sweet-smelling skin on the back.
“And you, my love?” Aziraphale questions gently.
Crowley huffs a watery laugh, shaking his head, and blinks to clear some of his tears.
“…Ditto,” he croaks.
The smile Aziraphale bestows upon him could restart the world all by itself.
“Well, now that we have this,” Aziraphale says brightly, gesturing toward the Book. “I don’t suppose we really need to talk to God. Although it would probably be easier to have Her restart the world…”
“Yeah, we’d probably make a mess of it,” Crowley drawls, wiping at his eyes nonchalantly. “Be bound to get something big wrong. We don’t have a great track record with world-saving, it turns out…”
“True,” hums Aziraphale, with a hint of a mischievous grin, before his eyes light up with inspiration. “Although I’m sure my diaries are around here somewhere, they would be a big help. Assuming they’re still filled in, that is. But as I’m the author, they really should be…”
“Better not risk it, angel,” Crowley interrupts that particular train of thought before it can pull away from the station. “We want our whole world back, remember? Not just whatever we can piece together. The question is, how do we guarantee that God’ll do what we want? She doesn’t have a great track record of listening, that’s for sure…”
“Oh, well, that’s simple enough,” Aziraphale responds happily. “Because we have this.”
He picks up the new Book of Life. Crowley tilts his head at him in question.
“A few disclaimers written in this to cement the rules, perhaps a few empty threats about writing her out of the universe, plus our not insubstantial combined miracle power in our proverbial back pockets, and - vavoom, as you say! We should be right as rain!”
Crowley gives an incredulous laugh. “You are diabolical, you know that?” he laughs, before sobering and thinking through the implications of what Aziraphale has just said. “Wow…if we do that, it really will be our world, won’t it? I mean, the same as before but…we’ll have truly saved it.”
“It’s always been more ours than anyone else’s, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale asks softly. “Ours and the humans, that is. God left it - for all intents and purposes - the Metatron looked down on them all and all the other angels and demons couldn’t stand the place. But us…well, we’ve been here since the beginning.”
“So it’s only right that we save it,” Crowley agrees quietly. “We’re the only ones that really can. And not just cause we’re the only ones left.”
Aziraphale smiles at him in something like awe. “Perhaps we were ineffable, after all…”
At that, Crowley can do nothing less than pitch forward, carelessly kicking his blanket away, and kiss Aziraphale right on his beautiful, perfect mouth. Their lips slide together indulgently, aided by the warm wetness of their tears, and broken only by the bend of their smiling mouths. Nipping his bottom lip playfully, Crowley takes full advantage when Aziraphale’s mouth drops open on a gasp, licking into his mouth and enjoying the newly familiar sound of his soft moan.
(And, as Crowley suspected, the angel tastes like apples, warmth, safety, happiness…and home.)
But Aziraphale surprises him once again when he takes a sudden hold of Crowley’s hips and pulls him down to press flush against the angel’s lovely softness. Crowley’s stomach flutters at the show of strength and he can’t suppress a groan when Aziraphale rubs his half-hard cock into the crease of Crowley’s groin.
“Angel,” he protests half-heartedly, when Aziraphale finally releases his mouth to kiss down his neck. “We don’t have time for this…”
“As far as I can tell, dearest, we have all the time in the world,” Aziraphale corrects him smoothly, before snapping his fingers next to Crowley’s ear, and then humming in satisfaction at whatever has just appeared from the aether.
Crowley reluctantly turns his head away from Aziraphale to look at the abandoned plate to the side of their blankets and find a fresh, miraculous sticky apple pudding…
With extra toffee sauce.
Aziraphale removes a hand from where it was steadily kneading Crowley’s arse to take the plate and hold it out in offering.
“Well?” he says, with a bitchily raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk.
And how in Heaven and Hell is Crowley supposed to resist that?
(He doesn’t.)
The sixth time is fun.
…And so is the seventh.
(After all, God loves sevens.)
“Are we ready then, my dear?”
They’ve miracled the bookshop back to the way it was when they first arrived, whenever that happened to be. Their haven of blankets and pillows have miraculously disappeared and Aziraphale’s desk has been put to rights, carefully and painstakingly, by hand. All the blank books have been returned to their appropriate shelves and stacks.
Except one, that is.
They’ve also miracled their appearances back to the way they were…before. Their clothes are - regrettably - back in place, stain and wrinkle-free. Their skin is (temporarily) clear of teeth marks and bruises.
Not a soul - if there were any around to ask - would be able to tell what happened in the bookshop in the time since the world ended.
(They may look the same but no one except the two of them could know that, after the most important, special, crucial period in their combined existence…they couldn’t be more changed.
And Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way.)
“Ready as we’ll ever be, angel.”
Aziraphale nods and presses a quick kiss to his lips before he sits primly down at his desk where the new Book of Life is laid out with a pen uncapped and ready next to it.
“‘There were two of them, in that bookshop, which was the whole world,’” Aziraphale begins, the scratch of his pen the only accompaniment to his voice, as Crowley hovers close by with a hand on the back of his armchair. “‘An angel and a former demon. But now, another arrives to join them, for They have never been far away. And the angel and demon would like to talk with Them…’”
Right on cue, a divine whoosh sweeps through the bookshop like a fresh spring breeze. Aziraphale puts down his pen and turns his head to look at Crowley, sharing a secretive smile, and Crowley feels a hint of his old demonic excitement return to greet him.
(Because they’re finally going to secure their happy ending, after all this time, make a place for themselves, somewhere they can always be an us, because they have a new and beautiful arrangement -)
“Well. I’m here. Shall we talk?”
Aziraphale stands and takes Crowley’s hand once more.
Here we go, thinks Crowley, nearly giddy.
Aziraphale grins right back, squeezing his hand.
And, as one, they turn confidently to face God together.