Work Text:
1941
The music swelled and Crowley held out a hand. He was in a good mood, he’d even taken off his sunglasses and Aziraphale felt as if the warm sun shone on him at seeing those eyes again.
They were back in the bookshop, yet everything was different. The day had started one place, and taken a sweeping turn into a direction Aziraphale was still trying to understand. Sirens rang outside, but he could barely hear it over the music and buzzing in his ears. Crowley stood before him, they had nearly lost each other.
“Let's celebrate,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale shook his head.
“You know angels don’t dance.”
“And why exactly is that, angel?” Crowley said, eyebrows lifting with amusement.
“Because we’re not supposed to.” Aziraphale bit his lip knowing that he’d spent the last century dancing almost every day to stave off the biting loneliness since their last fight. He heard the real words in his mind; they were not supposed to .
“Humans do it all the time.”
“Yes, well, they’ve always had a set of privileges we haven’t,” Aziraphale said.
“Come on, I won’t tell.” Crowley tugged on his hand and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.
“Crowley.”
He tugged again. It had been a long day, the church, the bombing, the books, the magic show; maybe tonight his resolve was too weak to fight, maybe he feared that if he pushed too hard Crowley would leave for longer this time, or maybe deep down he wanted to dance, just this once. Whatever it was, he found himself lifting onto his feet in front of the demon.
“Fine, one dance,” he said.
“Excellent,” Crowley grinned. At first the music was fast, and Aziraphale swayed a little awkwardly in front of the demon who was attempting to do something silly and fancy with his footwork. Aziraphale knew it was supposed to make him laugh, and he couldn’t deny that a chuckle fought its way out.
It was only as the music slowed that Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arms and swung them over his black suited shoulders, his thumbs skirting the edge of a slick black collar and grey shirt. Aziraphale gasped as two hands slid down to his hips, and began to sway them in time to the slow rhythmic sounds of something sweet and sultry.
“You tease,” Aziraphale said, but didn’t pull away. He moved in time with Crowley, enjoying the pressure of fingers stroking his back. The air cracked like ice crystallising.
“See, not too bad, maybe the humans know what they're doing,” Crowley said.
“Perhaps, I do enjoy some of their creations.”
“I think more than enjoy, angel, honestly if you ever saw your face when they bring out a plate of Confit de Canard.”
“Yes, alright,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the flutters of beating wings in his belly as they moved, steps shuffling on the bookshop carpet.
“I’ve always wondered what it might be like to be human,” Crowley said.
“Too short, I imagine, they'd miss so much; always scrabbling to understand what the last lot did. Exhausting. It's nice to have time,” Aziraphale said.
“True, though there would be some perks.”
“Like what?” Aziraphale said, and he barely noticed that the song had moved into another, as soft and slow as before. Perhaps even more romantic, a ballad speaking of things Aziraphale didn't dare go near. They continued to sway.
“I don’t know, the wine is good,” Crowley said.
“ We can drink the wine.”
“Suppose. There is one thing,” Crowley said, and he swallowed close to Aziraphale’s ear, his Adam's apple bobbing, sending a slow trickle of heat into Aziraphale’s stomach.
“Hm?”
“Human love, you know, romance, that looks fun.” The air stilled and Aziraphale didn’t know what to say, he had read a lot of romance, plenty of it. Most human books involve a version of it and today his head had perhaps been more full of it than any other day he’d spent here. But Crowley couldn’t mean anything by it, surely.
“Yes, it does seem nice, in the books and plays I mean. All big declarations, wooing, whispering sweet nothings.”
“It does, yes,” Crowley said, fingers traced the back of Aziraphale’s beige jacket, tightening their hold.
“What do you think would happen if we were human?” Aziraphale said, barely a whisper, as the song flipped into another, the dreamy sounds echoing off the dusty shelves. Crowley paused, his breath catching in his throat, until he sighed out, a long thoughtful thing that filled up the space between them.
“Do you want to know?” he said, and Aziraphale was unsure, the territory they were stumbling into becoming fraught. He ignored it, letting a thumb brush through Crowley’s hair.
“I do,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley smiled then, a beautiful thing Aziraphale saw far too little of in their time together. It bloomed brightly in his chest, and his heart thumped hard against his ribs. Crowley sucked in a breath and moved closer, placing his forehead against Aziraphale’s. He knew he should move away, this was ridiculous, they couldn’t, shouldn’t do this. But it was magnetic, the soft touch of their skin, the warmth encircling them.
“I’d meet you at the bookshop, I’d come in sheltering from the rain.” Crowley began, “And I’d be enamoured from the very first meeting.” His shoulders tensed as he spoke.
“Would you?” Aziraphale said, finally cutting through the sounds of slow steps and notes in the air. Crowley relaxed.
“Of course. And you’d never give me a look in,” Crowley said, laughing, “You wouldn't notice at all. You’d barely register I’d slithered in. I’d try to buy a book to catch your eye, and you’d -”
“Do everything in my power to stop you,” Aziraphale said, enjoying the game, closing his eyes to picture the scene.
“Yes, you would,” Crowley said.
“So, what would you do?”
“I’d make it my life’s mission to buy one from you,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s lips curved at the seams.
“Yes, I think you would. And I’d be utterly exasperated by you.”
“Awfully, I imagine, I’d turn up every day with another ridiculous order and you’d think I was such a nuisance.”
“And you would be. You’d drive me up the wall. Though perhaps secretly I’d look forward to when you showed.”
“And if I didn’t?”
“I’d miss you terribly,” he said, and Crowley sighed from a place so low and deep, it rattled like dusty bones.
“But I would come back.”
“Would you?”
“How could I not, when you’re so , when you would be so you. I'd always come back, angel.”
Aziraphale nodded against Crowley's head, not daring to open his eyes and catch his gaze.
“And then?”
“I’d annoy you so much, that finally, after all that time you’d sell me that bloody book -”
“I would never -”
“And I’d ask you for a drink.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed, this was ridiculous, some silly fantasy, yet his cheeks burned. “I'd say no, of course. I’d be too scared, of the consequences, two men now. I would have to say no.”
Crowley gave a short sharp sigh.
“I’d be utterly dejected, drink myself into a stupor,” Crowley said.
“But you'd come back, you wouldn't give up?”
“I could never give up,” Crowley assured. “I’d try again.”
“And I couldn’t say no, not this time.”
“I’d be a mess, spluttering.”
“And before you could get your words out I’d invite you for a drink,” Aziraphale said. “One drink, a Chateauneuf du pape.”
“Or Chardonnay, or Shiraz or whatever you liked, angel, we’d have whatever you like.” Crowley's hands clenched around Aziraphale's waist, fingers digging into his flesh.
“I know a place, somewhere we could be discreet, because we couldn’t erm… be seen in any normal establishment, not as humans.”
“Why?” Crowley said.
“Because it would take all my strength not to kiss you.”
“And would you?”
Aziraphale’s breath sharpened. “Yes. I would.”
“And what would it be like?” Crowley said, their lips edging ever closer.
It would be like coming home, Aziraphale thought, eyes shut tight. They swayed, the music a mere buzz in the background, Crowley’s fingers gripping so hard at Aziraphale’s hips, they might leave bruises. “It would be -, I would -” Aziraphale said, barely able to get the words out. “You’d be chatting away, teasing me, pestering me, mocking me. And I’d be so infuriated, so damn annoyed by you.”
“Why?”
“Because of how much I wanted you. How much I wanted every part you,”
“And then?” Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s heart hammered so hard in his chest he swore the whole of London would hear it. Louder than any bomb.
“I’d lean over, just to shut you up, and I’d kiss you. And it would, oh Crowley.” Aziraphale squeezed his fingers behind Crowley’s neck, aware of their lips so close. But he couldn’t, he imagined it instead, the sweet plump push of Crowley's lips on his. Catching a little part in his teeth, the smile caught between them. “It would be the most wonderful thing I’ve ever done. I would thread my fingers into your hair, and you’d sink into me as if I was giving you life.”
“Giving me salvation,” Crowley whispered, “Your lips would be so soft, angel, so inviting.”
Aziraphale nodded furiously against Crowley. “As if they were made for you.”
They both breathed heavily into the night.
“And you'd moan like you always do, when you taste something you like.”
Aziraphale hummed then, a shiver of noise bouncing between their heaving chests. “Yes.”
“And then?” Crowley said.
“I’d take you back to the bookshop,” Aziraphale said, a twang in his stomach
“You would?” Crowley laughed, “I knew you were a little minx.”
“Well, I may have been waiting all this time, just for you , for someone like you,” he flushed. “I would invite you upstairs. And you’d lose all ability to speak.”
“Ngk.”
“Quite,” Aziraphale said, with a hint of a laugh,
“And I’d undress you,” Crowley said.
“Mm hm,” Aziraphale said, his hands beginning to shake, “And we’d both be terrified, absolutely quivering, though you’d pretend you knew what on Earth you were doing.”
“Angel, you have no idea how beautiful, how wonderful you -” Crowley paused, he coughed, “I’d tell you how beautiful you are.”
Aziraphale felt them then, the tears that had been caught on his lashes this whole time beginning to fall.
“Thank you,” he said, and he dared to pull away and look at Crowley then, at wide eyes also brimming with tears that threatened to cascade down his face.
“And we’d make love,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley laughed, it rumbled with hope and sadness, it rumbled with a world so close. His bedroom only a staircase away, neither of them stopped dancing.
“I’d let you fuck me,” Crowley growled, and a hot spike of heat pooled in Aziraphale’s groin. “You’d be insatiable.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said with a shot of indignation, and Crowley's laugh intensified.
“Oh, don't be so bloody scandalised. You’d love it, angel, parting my hips with those big strong hands, me laid out, all for you. If we were human, of course.”
Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest, his heart hammering faster with every word Crowley said.
“You’d lay me out and have your way with me, delving your tongue between my legs, sucking on me until all I could do was scream into the night.” Crowley’s eyes were large and round, his pupils like a full moon, and he pleaded with Aziraphale. Please don’t stop.
“And you’d be so good, wouldn’t you, Crowley? You’d fall apart until you could barely stand it. And I’d, I’d -”
Crowley put his hand over Aziraphale’s against his cheek.
“Tell me what you’d do to me, angel.”
“I would, I -” he coughed, trying to calm himself, “I’d spread your beautiful thighs apart, and I’d -”
“Tell me,” Crowley said.
“I’d slip deep inside you, inch by inch, until you were full of me. Until you couldn’t take anymore.”
“Oh, angel,” Crowley said, closing his eyes. He wedged Aziraphale’s thigh between his legs, and Aziraphale gasped at the bulge pressing into the top of his leg.
“And we’d rock together,” Aziraphale said, nudging closer, as Crowley cried out, like wood splintering. He directed Crowley’s hand to his own crotch, and there his erection strained against the fabric of his slacks. “And it would be like the beginning of the universe.”
Crowley pressed the heel of his hand into Aziraphale and he pictured them, naked, in bed, his hips sunken into Crowley. Aziraphale lost all sense of thought as they ground into each other through thick layers of cloth, his thighs trembling.
“I’d fuck you, Crowley, I’d fuck you so hard you’d see the stars you created.”
“Such language, angel,” Crowley said, lost in it. The crescendo reaching an inevitable point of no return.
“And I’d run my hands down your torso, and I’d tell you how much I, how you are -” Aziraphale choked, as Crowley tightened his grip, a wet patch forming on his slacks where precome had begun to spread.
“What am I, angel?”
He stopped and he looked up to see Crowley glassy-eyed, desperate, undone.
“You’re mine, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, as he moaned deeply.
“Tell me again, please,” Crowley said.
“You’re all mine,” Aziraphale said, and this did it, Crowley groaned hard, thrusting into Aziraphale, and his legs began to shake beneath him. His hand lunged forward to hold onto Aziraphale, as if he was about to shatter in two.
Aziraphale had never seen a more wondrous sight, as Crowley went limp, his long limbs vibrating. He finally opened his eyes in shock.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t, I’m so -” Aziraphale started, but Crowley gripped him harder, making his hips buck.
“And after you fucked me, and I’d spread my come all over my chest.”
Aziraphale gasped.
“I’d finish you, I’d circle your delicious, wondrous cock with my tongue. This tongue can do things you know, I’ve never had the pleasure of trying it out, but for you I’d let you pound into my throat until you started to spill yourself into my mouth.”
Aziraphale’s body convulsed as he went over the edge, all the longing rushing out. He found Crowley’s lapels, clinging on as if he was about to drift off into the sea. He dissolved into Crowley’s arms, who held him, upright, swaying him to the music that came back into focus.
“I didn’t mean to -”
“It’s okay,” Crowley said, into Aziraphale’s ear, his breath warm and comforting. “What would you do next?”
“What?” Aziraphale said, in a daze, the stark realisation of what they’d done coming back to him. He tried to shift away, but Crowley held him close.
“If we were human, after you took me to bed. What would you do then?”
Aziraphale paused, they couldn’t, this was silly. This game had already got them in far too much trouble, but once they stopped the dance, it would be over. He shuffled his feet, nestling his head into the crook of Crowley’s neck.
“Oh, I suppose you’d move in,” Aziraphale said, swaying still, ignoring the pool of come on his trousers, the damp from Crowley on his fingers.
“Straight away,” Crowley said.
“And you’d help in the bookshop, but the customers would hate you, you’d lounge everywhere, never know who any of the authors were.”
“Sounds like me.”
“You'd be perfect,” Aziraphale said, a choke rising in his throat. “But we, we couldn't stay, because people might ask questions, with us being the way we are -”
“We’d move?”
“Yes, to the country,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley arms cocooned him, kept him safe, as he always did. Aziraphale felt the corners of Crowley’s lips twitch on his cheek. “And you’d have a garden, and I’d read and we'd spend all our days together.”
“One day,” Crowley said, “I’d get on one knee, and tell you how much I, how much you are -”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed.
“It’s what humans do.”
“But even as humans, they wouldn't let us, not if we kept these forms.”
“I wouldn’t care, even if it meant nothing, even if the state wouldn't recognise it, I’d still do it, I’d get on one knee in front of the rose garden.”
“We’d have a rose garden?”
“The finest. And I’d say,” he cleared his throat, “Aziraphale, I love you. I love you more than anything in this universe. You are the rock that keeps me tethered, the stars that make me shine, the music that makes me sing, I can’t stand when we are apart, from the moment I first saw you-”
Tears fell then in earnest, sliding down Aziraphale's cheeks and mixing with Crowley’s.
“I knew you were mine,” Crowley finished.
“I’d get down on my knees too, I’d look you in the eye and I’d say,” Aziraphale pulled back daring to look Crowley in the eye, they were wet with tears, both an absolute state, “I love you too, Crowley, and I’d say yes.”
“Yes?”
“To you, to this, to it all,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley stopped one hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, brushing a rogue tear that slid down. They waited, caught in it, not daring for the last song to end. “Yes,” he said finally, “You would.”
The record finished, and they broke apart as if the final chord whipped them out of the spell they’d been under. The silence settled over them like a thick rug, muffling everything out, until the atmosphere became stiff and unwieldy. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with his hands now that they were no longer playing in Crowley’s hair. They stood dumbly, stunned.
Crowley quickly miracled them clean before Aziraphale could say anything, and he gave him a watery smile in gratitude.
“That was, um…” Aziraphale managed.
“Yes, right, so er… finish the wine?” Crowley said, and he stalked over to the bookshop table, limbs twitching, found his sunglasses and placed them back on.
“Crowley, we -”
“Don’t need to talk about it,” he said, the mood shifting.
“No, I suppose, we don’t but -”
“Angel, please,” he began pouring two glasses.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale walked over, more firm, “We can’t just -”
“Yes, we can, angel. We’ve been doing it for six thousand years, yes we can,” he caught Aziraphale’s gaze with steeled eyes.
“I know, but -”
Crowley shook his head.
Aziraphale nodded. “You’re right. Just a little fantasy, it doesn’t mean anything.” He sat gingerly.
“Got away from ourselves a bit.”
“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale sipped it, but it tasted stale.
“But if we could,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale, without thinking, placed his hand on Crowley’s, who looked up mouth a little agape.
“We would,” Aziraphale said firmly, “Maybe not now, maybe not in decades or thousands of years. But one day, perhaps.”
Crowley nodded, running a thumb along the edge of Aziraphale’s hand.
“Who would want to live with you anyway, you’d bring half of this crap with you,” he said.
“How dare you, and what, we’d live in a soulless empty prison, would we? Where would I sit? On the floor while you lorded about on your throne.”
Crowley suppressed a laugh, giving Aziraphale’s hand one last squeeze before picking up his glass. “We could both have thrones.”
“I suppose I could be persuaded, but only if mine has cushions.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, anything for the princess,” Crowley said, and something broke. They smiled at each other.
“You’re not alphabetising my books, I have a system.”
“This is not a system.”
“It makes sense to me,” Aziraphale chided back, and they carried on, through the night, until even an angel and a demon became weary. Batting back and forth until laughter turned into yawns.
“The garden would be nice, though,” Crowley said with a stretch, as he moved from the table.
“Yes, it would be marvellous, my dear,” Aziraphale stood at the door and Crowley hit him with a sleepy smile.
“Thanks, angel,” he said, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself reaching out one last time, curling his hand into Crowley’s.
“One day,” he whispered, “Perhaps.”
“We will,” Crowley answered, holding his hand until they slipped apart.
“Yes, we will,” Aziraphale said, as the demon walked away.