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Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, looking forward to Aziraphale’s usual mock disapproval of his current over-the-top party outfit as well as their subsequent bickerflirting.
Instead his angel was wringing his hands anxiously, lost in thought.
Crowley silently miracled back his usual appearance as he approached. “Something happen, Angel?”
Aziraphale looked up, trying (and failing) to still his hands and smile reassuringly. “I… I’m not sure this is a good idea, my dear. I don’t… I’m not…” he trailed away, hands still twisting.
“Not what, Angel? Ready to go? In the mood for a party? Enough of a bastard today?”
Aziraphale barked out a laugh at the last, visibly relaxing. “No, it’s just… well, you called it a queer party last night, and I don’t really think I’m queer. I don’t think it would be… well, right for me to go.”
Crowley hmmed before gently herding Aziraphale to the back room and onto the sofa. He settled into place beside him.
“I can’t say I agree with you there,” he noted, “especially as you had no problem going to a gay party with me. Tell me what you’re thinking, Angel.”
“Well, gay… that’s the parade, and the rainbows, and the humans loving who they love. But queer… that’s different, isn’t it?”
“Ehhh, it can be. Or it can be the same. It means different things to different people. When I say I’m queer, I mean it as a fuck-off to everybody who thinks I should be who they want me to be: Heaven, Hell, humans.”
Crowley waited a moment while Aziraphale pondered that before continuing.
“It also means that I love a certain man-shaped being, no matter what shape I choose to take: man-shaped, woman-shaped, serpent-shaped”—he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows—“even you-shaped. What about you, Angel? Do you, a man-shaped being, love me no matter what form I take?”
Aziraphale sputtered and then narrowed his eyes as he realised Crowley both intended him to sputter and intended him to know that. “Fiend. Of course I do.”
“Well, then, if we’re going to go by human labels, we’ve ticked off gay, bi, and pan. If we count the times you’ve been Miss Fell, we can check off lesbian, too.”
“But we don’t have sex,” Aziraphale pointed out. “I’m sure those are all about sex.” He clearly thought he’d scored a point.
Crowley suppressed his grin but drawled, “Angel, those are about sexuality, which isn’t just about having sex—but if you’d like to try human sex, I’m game, by the by.”
Aziraphale went very pink, and wasn’t that something? Crowley schooled his face and filed that away for later consideration, possibly at length.
“Anyway, asexuality is an entire spectrum of its own, and plenty of humans are both asexual and queer.
“And then we come to trans, which is also an entire spectrum that can mean different things to different humans. Some humans grow up being told they’re one gender when they know they’re the other, or both, or neither, or that they change between states. It can also mean they choose to not act or look like the gender they are.” He paused again, this time thinking about how much he enjoyed mixing up his own gender as he gave the angel time to ponder.
“Well, I know I’m not a man,” the angel finally said. “This, my corporation, it’s not really me. It’s just a way of making the humans comfortable.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale huffed.
“Yes, alright, you beastly serpent! It’s also fun for eating. And drinking. And oh,” he added, his face lighting up, “we’ve not been to a good warm seaside in far too long, my dear; shall we?”
Their eyes met, Aziraphale’s hopeful and Crowley’s indulgent. “Any time, Angel. And now we’ve checked off everything but queer itself. Shall I tell you the story of an angel who defied Heaven with a demon at his side in order to protect the Earth and the humans? Or do you know that one already?”
“Yes, well, I do think I know that one. And I think perhaps I’ve already embodied queerness without even knowing it.” He fiddled with his bow tie, the usual tartan transforming into soft rainbow colours.
Crowley miracled back what he’d been wearing earlier and struck a pose. Aziraphale looked him up and down, taking in the long curls, the rainbow striped fishnet vest, the chest harness that looked suspiciously like it was made of his usual skinny tie, the unfastened black leather waistcoat, the ridiculously short black leather shorts, and the crimson snake-patterned boots. And most of all, Crowley’s beautiful, beloved face. He leaned forward and pressed their lips gently together, smiling at his demon’s quickly indrawn breath.
Aziraphale drew back and they joined hands, an angel and a demon who’d chosen each other, and went to their party.