Chapter Text
Aziraphale was soft. He was a being of love.
He loved the planet Earth, on which he had resided for over 6,000 years.
He loved the beauty, the vast unique landscapes that had been created by Her, so very long ago.
He loved the variety of animals and plants that had developed and thrived in every corner of the planet.
He loved the humans who populated Earth, their varying shapes and sizes and colours. All of the different customs and traditions that were precious to them. He loved that they loved deeply and celebrated with vigour.
He loved their food.
As an ethereal being, Aziraphale had no physical requirement to eat, sleep or even breathe. While sleeping still remained somewhat of a mystery to him, he had developed a habit of breathing, so as not to stand out while in the company of humans.
The habit of eating followed not long after (humans really did tie so many of their rituals and celebrations to food!). Wanting to fit in and understand the mortal creatures better, Aziraphale had joined in. And found yet another thing to add to the list of things that he loved.
His human corporation had softened over the centuries of good food, good wine and good company. He had relished the freedom of his 'field work', no longer having to fight battles and guard gates. His body was soft on the outside, just like he was on the inside.
-----
Crowley was hard. A fallen angel, a serpentine demon from Hell. Vicious and scheming, Hell's most dedicated spawn.
(Well, at least that was the impression that he attempted to portray to his demonic brethren.)
He had spent six millennia on planet Earth, and had watched the humans destroy so much of the beauty and grace that they had been gifted with.
Crowley found humans difficult. So much hardship and hatred. War. Famine. Pestilence. Pollution. Death. Apocalyptic ideals that the human race spread and encouraged at every possible juncture.
He had figured out early on that he had to do little more than inconvenience the humans to create a snowball effect of destruction that even Hell itself could feel. They really didn't need all that much in the way of demonic influence to willfully wreak havoc.
Humanity's road to destruction was long, but it would eventually have to come to an end. Crowley remained hard, refusing to care for any of it, the fear of loss still curling, snakelike, through his brain. Reminding him of his Fall. How nothing was ever made to last. On more than one occasion, he has simply slept a century away, to avoid dealing with it.
Despite spending most of his time in his human form over the centuries, Crowley retained several features of a serpentine nature. He was tall and exceptionally slender; slinky even. When he walked, his hips meandered and swished, as though his spine had never quite gotten used to the idea of having legs. His eyes (firmly hidden behind dark glasses since the Fall of Rome) were those of a snake; golden with slitted irises. A small symbol of a snake graced the top of one cheekbone. Patches of shiny black scales followed the line of his spine. Constant reminders of the creature he had become.
-----
Aziraphale and Crowley had met at the very beginning. Eden.
Aziraphale had not known what to make of the demon on their first encounter, standing on the tall, protective wall of the Garden, watching the humans leave their paradise, his own god-given weapon in hand.
He had been wary, of course he had. This was a demon for Heaven's sake! But this demon was… different.
He had tempted the humans of course, that was what demons do.
But he had only wanted them to be aware of it all. This world, their home. He had wanted them to have the ability to ask questions, to learn. Surely that couldn't be a bad thing?
Crowley had also known from the very beginning. The angel was like nothing he'd ever encountered before. Willing to help the humans. He'd given away his flaming sword for Satan's sake! He worried about them, between bouts of fretting that he had been a bad angel.
Crowley knew bad angels. Angels that still remained in Heaven despite it all.
This angel was the epitome of love and light.
It took Crowley all of five minutes to fall irreversibly in love with him.
------
Throughout the intertwining years on Earth, they had developed a friendship of sorts, a kind of companionship that came naturally from being the only two immortals to make a permanent residence on the planet. They always managed to find one another.
Their matching moralistic grey areas helped a lot too.
Aziraphale was occasionally a tad prideful (especially of his extensive book collection) and often gluttonous.
Crowley abhorred the idea of senseless murder and violence and preferred to annoy than to annihilate. Not particularly demonic in the grand scheme of it all.
Crowley had long stopped wondering if their friendship could become anything more than a platonic plateau. Hi--the angel had made the point often enough. They were "on different sides". Being reminded of his Fallen status each time he attempted to get closer to the angel hurt. It hurt a lot. Eventually he had simply stopped trying, accepting that this must surely be his true punishment; to love an angel who could never love him back.
They were friends. That would be enough for him.
And then the Apocalypse happened.
-----
Or rather, it didn't.
The Apocalypse had been averted. Heaven and Hell's respective death sentences had failed, thanks to Agnes Nutter's final prediction. They had dined at the Ritz, and a nightingale had sang in Berkeley Square. It had been perfect.
Two weeks had passed since what Crowley privately referred to as their "Apocadidn't Date". Dusk had fallen and the pair were in the cosy back room of Aziraphale's bookshop (newly reconstructed, thank you Adam!).
Aziraphale was perched in an armchair, lost in a book from the early 1800's that he had never quite found the time to read. He had been somewhat quiet all day, so they hadn't spoken much.
Crowley lay sprawled on the couch opposite, sliding in and out of absent daydreams, soaking in the warmth of both the room and hi--the angel's presence.
Crowley had felt the smallest glimmer of hope when the angel had agreed that they were indeed now on their own side. He thought it might have helped to reduce the lingering reluctance to be close to him. He longed to hold the soft little creature in his arms, to stroke his fluffy blond curls and perhaps even kis-- no.
Crowley pulled himself aggressively from the daydream and crashed to the floor.
Aziraphale startled and shut his book.
"Crowley! Are you quite alright, my dear?"
Crowley looked at him sheepishly and muttered nonsense under his breath, before jumping to his feet and slinking into the small kitchenette, desperate for a distraction.
Aziraphale smiled, satisfied that only the demon's pride seemed to be wounded.
He stretched, placing his book on the coffee table in front of him.
Crowley returned to the room, two wine glasses in one hand and at least four bottles of wine under the opposite arm.
"Can I tempt you to a tipple, angel?"
Crowley didn't miss the cloudy look that crossed Aziraphale's face. He immediately backtracked.
"Oh angel, you know what I mean! It's just a--what do they call it??-- expression! Yeah, just an expression! We're on our side now, right?"
Aziraphale quickly shook off the strange look with a little wiggle of his shoulders (Crowley tried hard not to swoon at the adorable little display).
"Oh of course my dear! Don't mind me, just an odd mood today, that's all. Perhaps my age is finally catching up on me!"
He chuckled softly at that, and took the glass that Crowley offered.
He had curled in on himself a little and his free arm lay across his body, shielding his torso. He wasn't making eye contact and still seemed quite troubled.
As with most situations with hi-the angel, Crowley took note immediately.
-----
Several hours had passed, and at least five bottles of wine. Aziraphale had relocated to the couch, leaning slightly against one armrest. Crowley had found himself back on the floor, albeit this time on purpose. His back was pressed against the couch, head lolling back on the cushion, mere centimetres from Aziraphale's deliciously padded thigh.
They had been rambling about ducks, one of Crowley's favourite topics. Aziraphale had done a little research (they call it 'Google', Crowley, it's like an infinite encyclopedia!) and had determined that ducks did in fact have ears. Crowley had been doing his own research, and could now imitate a duck to perfection.
Several minutes of drunken quacking later and they were both in peals of laughter. Crowley loved making Aziraphale laugh. Pride blossomed within him and made him feel warm (although he tried to convince himself that it was just the alcohol.)
They had finally subsided to a couple of occasional chuckles, when Crowley felt Aziraphale's soft hand on his shoulder.
"Oh Crowley! (slightly slurred, followed by another soft laugh) Y-you always know just how to make me laugh! I love you so very much!"
Crowley froze. What?
He turned to the angel slowly, and noticed a soft blush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. Crowley swallowed thickly, the Dutch courage bolstering him to speak.
"Er… Yeah, I mean… we're friends (a short pause, to allow room for an argument that was not voiced). You're an angel, you have to love all--all creatures great and small (especially the ducks, he mumbled as an afterthought)… I'm glad that the all encompassing angelic love or whatever extends to this… to our friendship and such…"
He hiccupped quietly and turned away, embarrassed. How badly he wished he hadn't said anything.
The hand on his shoulder began to move, slowly. He felt fingers press softly to his cheekbone.
" Crowley… Crowley, look at me?"
Crowley turned back reluctantly, meeting the angel's eyes.
"While you are correct that I am obliged to love all of Her creations, I feel you may have misunderstood my meaning."
He looked nervous, but defiant. Leaning down, he carefully cupped Crowley's face and softly kissed his lips, before slowly pulling away.
Crowley stared at him, mouth agape. Long slender fingers touched his lips, where he could still feel the angel's kiss.
Aziraphale looked flustered.
"I of course understand if you… if you don't quite feel the same way, my dear boy. I daresay I'm not quite a 'catch' as the humans say… I just felt as we are on our own side now, you deserved to know."
Aziraphale looked a little crestfallen, and before he could give it a second thought, Crowley had sprang to his knees in front of him, and was kissing him as though his life depended on it.
"Not a catch? Not a catch?" he gasped, taking a breath between frantic kisses. "Who is teaching you these things?"
Another kiss, fingers stroking through the halo like curls atop the angels head.
"You are the most glorious being on this planet. I have experienced both Heaven and Hell and no one holds a candle to you. How could you ever think I wouldn't love you?"
Aziraphale's hands had found their way to Crowley's slender hips, thumbs stroking the dip of his hip bones through his clothes. Crowley tugged his shirt up, longing to have the angel's hands on his skin. Aziraphale obliged immediately, and Crowley nearly sank through the floor with delight.
"I've died. I've discorporated. There is no way this is happening."
His hands snaked down Aziraphale's frame, attempting to slide them under his lovingly worn waistcoat and return the favour. How many years he had craved an opportunity to touch the beautiful being, to squeeze him tightly in his arms?
He felt Aziraphale's hands stroke against the trail of scales that led from his neck to his tailbone, just as he managed to get his hands on the flesh of Aziraphale's gently rounded hips--
And suddenly he was being pushed to the floor, the connection broken.
Aziraphale looked terrified, an expression not unlike disgust filling his face.
"I can't… I--I'm sorry, I can't let you touch me."
The scales. The sssscalessss.
Crowley scurried to his feet, his face like thunder.
"I'm sorry that you had to be reminded yet again that I'm a demon, Aziraphale."
His voice shook, trying (and failing) to disguise the hurt he felt.
"I'm sorry that a couple of drinks gave you some kind of fucki-- amnesia where you were able to forget for a couple of minutes that I'm not worthy, that I'm just an unforgivable creature…"
Aziraphale sat helplessly, his eyes looked watery, as though he was about to cry.
"Oh Crowley no, it's not you, it's…"
Crowley laughed bitterly, cutting him off.
"It's not you, it's me? Really Aziraphale, really?"
His voice was hard, the effort to keep himself together becoming too much. With one last glance at the angel, he swept out the door and into the night
Aziraphale remained on the couch as the bookshop door slammed, tears finally escaping and trailing down his cheeks.