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ineffably-good · 5 years ago

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There’s A First Time For Everything

This is my submission for the 2020 Good Omens Valentines Day swap, written for @eveningstarcatcher. Enjoy!

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, rolling over in the morning light to run a hand up Crowley’s back. “You know what next Friday is, don’t you?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Uh… a Friday?”

“Anything else?”

Crowley thought. He thought some more. He came up with nothing. “No,” he finally said, admitting defeat. “I really don’t. What is it?”

Aziraphale smiled encouragingly at him. “It’s our first Valentine’s day since we officially became a couple.”

“Oh… Oh angel, no,” Crowley groaned. “You have to know that demons don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. It’s pretty much not allowed. That’s all about your side – angels and cherubs shooting their tiny, adorable arrows into someone’s posterior. We mostly just stay home and get drunk on days like that.”

“I thought we didn’t have sides anymore,” Aziraphale said a little sadly.

“We don’t! We don’t! It’s our side for sure, angel,” Crowley said, backpedaling. “It’s just – old habits die hard and the day kind of gives me the creeps. All that forced happiness and fake romance.”

Aziraphale’s smile faltered a little. “So – so you don’t want to do anything to celebrate?”

Crowley rolled over onto his side to face the angel. “I didn’t say that! I want to celebrate being with you. I love you, you know that. I just don’t want to do it on Valentine’s Day. I want to do it every day. Besides, did you know he’s the patron saint of epilepsy, too? It’s not like we’re going to go have a seizure in his honor, are we?”

“I did not know that,” Aziraphale sniffed, “and no we aren’t.”

“Plus, really, the truth behind the legend is just gross, angel. He wrote a letter to a woman who’s sight he had restored and signed it “from your Valentine” right before he was beaten to death with clubs. Beaten. To Death. That’s hardly romantic, is it? And he was just signing his name, anyways.”

Aziraphale rolled out of bed and pulled on his tartan dressing gown. “It certainly is not,” he said distantly. “You’ve made your point, my dear.”

Aziraphale made his way into the bathroom, and a few minutes later Crowley heard the bath running and caught the scent of the vanilla bath salts the angel preferred lately. He smiled, happy to have settled that argument in his favor, and threw on some clothes to go out and get the angel some pastries and a coffee.

“Heya, angel,” Crowley said, the shop door jingling behind him as he returned. The angel was sitting at his desk working on something. “Brought you a coffee and a chocolate muffin.”

“Thank you my dear,” the angel said with a smile, taking the offered sweets and turning back to his work. “You’ll pardon me, I hope, but I just have to get started on the new inventory.”

“Oh,” the demon replied, surprised. “I thought we were going to the park.”

“I’d love to, but a new shipment came in yesterday, and you know I’ve been trying to keep the records more up to date.” Aziraphale straightened his bowtie. “I’m afraid I have to get this done while it’s still fresh in my mind or I’ll mix up all the details.”

That, Crowley knew, was a lie. Aziraphale never forgot the slightest detail about any book in his collection. Sometimes he liked to play a game where he wandered around the shop at random and pulled a book out of some obscure corner and asked Aziraphale some obscure fact about its printing date, number of pages, where he bought it from, or what it was worth – and honestly, the angel had never missed once. Not once. He knew that even if the angel put the new shipment in a corner for the next hundred years, he would never lose track of any of the info he needed to know.

Crowley plopped down on the couch and observed the angel through narrowed eyes. What was he up to? He took a deep sip of his cappuccino and contemplated. Could it have been the epilepsy comment? Was that insensitive to sick people?

“You know,” Crowley said casually, “I have nothing against epileptics.”

Aziraphale turned and gave him a strange look. “What a relief,” he said acerbically.

Crowley met his gaze in confusion. “Well – yes,” he sputtered. “I didn’t want their to be any confusion.”

Aziraphale shook his head the tiniest amount, then turned back to his desk and picked up his pen.

Crowley, unable to take the odd and rising level of tension in the shop, eventually fled, pleading “demonic errands,” and instead went down to his favorite local pub for a whiskey and a talk with his friend Diana, the bartender.

“So,” Diana said, leaning forward on the counter. “What’s got you in here at two in the afternoon?”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “It’s Aziraphale,” he admitted. “He’s being weird.”

Diana looked around and noted that her only other customer seemed quite contented with the pint in front of him, and settled in for a talk. “Weird how?”

“I dunno, it’s like maybe he’s upset with me about something? But I haven’t done anything and I don’t know what it could be.”

“Anything unusual happen this morning?”

“We were talking about Valentine’s Day,” he said.

“And?”

“And I told him that my people don’t celebrate that, and that Saint Valentine was in no way the patron saint of romance, and he got horribly butchered, and it’s a sappy holiday for suckers.”

Diana stared at him flatly, her dark brown eyes flashing. “Can’t imagine what might be bothering him,” she said heavily.

“What?”

“It’s your first time in a couple in a long time, isn’t it?” she asked with a smirk.

“So what if it is?” Crowley realized his voice sounded a tad defensive.

His friend reached behind the counter and poured them both a shot of something. He sniffed it suspiciously, decided he didn’t care what it was, and downed it in a single shot.

“Listen up,” she said, fixing him with a strong look. “You might not think Valentine’s Day is important, and that’s all well and could, but what if he thinks it’s important?”

“He’s an –” he started to say ‘ethereal being’ and stopped himself by the skin of his teeth. “He’s a sophisticated, urban, educated person. He’s never shown any interest in this kind of thing in all the years I’ve known him. And I’ve known him for a long, long time.”

Diana thought for a moment. “In all of that time you’ve known him, has he ever been in a relationship on Valentine’s Day before?”

Crowley thought. “You know, I don’t think so.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And so –”

“And so? Spit it out, woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s his first one. You’re newly in love. Perhaps he’s gotten a little caught up in it.”

Crowley felt the blood drain from his face.

He was a fool.

He was a bloody, enormous fool.

Of course Aziraphale was excited about it. Aziraphale loved rituals and holidays and got excited about each and every one of them. And of course he’d never had an opportunity to have anyone make a fuss over him on a romantic holiday before. And he had rained all over the angel’s happiness about it with his morbidity and jadedness.

He dropped his face into his hands. “Oh, for the love of – “

“You’re an idiot,” Diana supplied helpfully.

“I am,” he said agreeably. “What do I do?”

“Well,” she said, “you just have to figure out some way of showing him that he’s special. You can figure it out.”

“How did you get so smart?” he groused. “And pour me one more, will you?”

“Comes with the territory,” she said, reaching for the good stuff.

“So,” Crowley said that night as they were watching a film and working their way methodically through a takeaway curry or two. “I was thinking about that Valentines thing you brought up this morning.”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on the television but raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Were you?” he asked.

“I think I may have spoken a little rashly,” he said.

“Oh,” the angel said, dismissively, still following the action, “no you didn’t, really it’s fine.”

Crowley waved a hand and paused the screen. “Listen to me,” he said, “I’m trying something new here.”

Aziraphale turned to him, uncertain. “And that would be what?”

“I’m saying – you’ve never had a Valentine’s Day before. I’ve never had one either. Maybe it would be fun to do something.” He swallowed. “You know. Since we –” He made a hand waving gesture that somehow encompassed the room, the shop, the two of them, and, he hoped, his feelings.

Gestures, he thought, could say so much.

Aziraphale gave him a tiny, knowing smirk. “Oh, well, when you put it that way,” he said slyly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’m saying I’m game for Valentine’s Day,” he said. “Let’s make it a good one, okay?”

Aziraphale smiled happily. “Well if you’re sure,” he said.

“Leave the planning to me,” Crowley said. “I’m on top of it.”

He was not on top of it. But he would, he decided, figure it out.

“What are we doing tonight?” Aziraphale asked the following Friday. “You haven’t actually told me.”

“It’s a surprise,” Crowley said. “Just wear something nice and be ready at eight for me to pick you up.”

He went home to Mayfair and worked hard on an outfit and double checked his plans on his mobile. Dinner reservations were all set. He straightened his tie in the mirror and set out with a jaunty swing to his step to go get his angel. He had even chosen a new CD from a shop earlier in the day, something old-fashioned and croony that he knew the angel would like, and he unwrapped it quickly, snapping away the plastic, and put it in the stereo at a low volume as he made his way across town. If he was lucky, they’d make it through most of the night before it reverted to Queen.

Besides, he thought, if inside he was pretending it was just an ordinary date night, it was no one’s business. He didn’t need bloody February 14th to be romantic; he was Anthony J. Crowley and he could be romantic any time he wanted. But if it was important to his angel, he was going to do his best to show him a good time.

He stopped at the door of the shop, thought for a minute, and knocked instead of entered.

It took a few minutes for Aziraphale to answer the door. He looked surprised when he did. “You knocked?” he asked. “Why didn’t you come in?”

Crowley took a moment to appreciate the angel in his nicest cream-colored suit, one he usually only wore to weddings and other special occasions. Unlike the rest of his clothing, this outfit had the advantage of being both made in the current century and also being more form fitting that most of the heavy layers he usually wore, revealing his shape nicely. He’d paired it with a pale blue tie that matched his eyes almost perfectly.

“Ngk,” he said, then cleared his throat and started again. “I wanted to pick you up at the door for our date. You know. Old-fashioned, like.” He held out an arm to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale gave him a deeply dimpled smile and took the offered arm, allowing Crowley to escort him to the passenger seat.

“You look nice,” he added on the way.

“So do you, my dear.”

Later that night, after their dinner at a quiet, intimate Italian place, after a walk in the park during which the moon was somehow more full and brighter than any weatherman had expected, after a late night gelato at a local shop that unexpectedly had no other customers and all of the angel’s favorite obscure flavors, they wandered back to the bookshop and nuzzled together on the couch.

“Did you have a nice night, angel?” Crowley said. “I’m sorry the restaurant was so loud, and that the cocoa powder on the tiramisu made you sneeze, and I hope the duck incident on our walk didn’t –”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, “what on earth are you talking about? Tonight was perfect. Just perfect.”

“But the duck took the – right out of your -- ” Crowley spluttered.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale cut in more firmly. He took the demon’s hand and all but forced him to be silent. “Listen to me. It was lovely, and romantic, and perfect. No one has ever made such an effort for me before. It meant the world to me.”

Crowley made a strangled noise in his throat and, finding speech impossible, decided to focus instead on simply not bursting into flames. He thought cooling thoughts. Water. Ice. Hailstorms. Freezer sections at the grocers.

Aziraphale, seeing his conflict, leaned in and gave him a slow and tender kiss. “Happy Valentines Day, my love. I hope we have many more.”

“We will have all of them, angel,” Crowley mumbled, before kissing him back. “Every single one.”

#goloveday #good omens #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #valentines day #ineffable husbands

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ximeria · 4 years ago

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Title: The Plan (not the ineffable one!) (as recounted and foiled by A. Z. Fell, retired angel) Rating: G ( I don’t even think there’s a single swear word in there XD) Summary: Until the first Valentine's day after the Nayend comes around, Aziraphale has never viewed it with much appreciation. Love should be shown every day of the year, not just on one specific date. Crowley has never seemed to give a toss either, though this time, he's gone silent as a snake on the hunt, so to speak... That should have been enough of a warning to Aziraphale that something was cooking (and it wasn't a five course dinner). Notes: Written for @ineffablysuperwholocked for the @goloveday Good Omens Valentine’s Day Exchange 2021 Thank you to @meinposhbastard for beta, for bouncing title ideas and untangling the summary XD - Always a pleasure. Wordcount: ~2,500

#good omens #good omens valentines day exchange 2021 #goloveday #ineffablysuperwholocked

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thelasthomelyurl · 5 years ago

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he wakes and all is well: a Good Omens Valentine’s Day oneshot

I volunteered to be an emergency match for @goloveday and got to write a small gift for @btab66 It’s a little piece of fluff that I had fun writing and hope you enjoy!

Title: he wakes and all is well Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Ineffable Husbands (Aziraphale/Crowley) Rating: G Word count: 1k

Read it on AO3 or below the cut!

Aziraphale wakes up. He’s not used to waking up, not yet, because he is not used to sleeping, but he thinks that he could grow to like it, because sleeping means listening to the deep rhythm of Crowley’s breath until all is serene and still, means all of his senses being filled with Crowley at the start of every day.

He’s warm, because he wakes up in the flannel sheets they bought together, Crowley and he, and they had bickered about colors and patterns before coming to agreement: warm ivory sheets and duvets as deep as the night sky.

Sunlight is streaming in through the open window; it must be nearly noon, and that reminds the angel of just how late they’d stayed up the night before, drinking and playing chess and fibbing outrageously about their own past involvement in historical events. The night before that it had been tapas and a debate about which Shakespeare theories had the least merit. The night before that had been silence and firelight and warm blankets.

Crowley isn’t there, but that is alright. The warmth of him lingers in the sheets, the scent of him is wrapped around Aziraphale like an extra blanket. And Aziraphale can wake up to his absence without dread, these days. His fears have subsided in the face of long years of habitual contentedness and safety.

And he smells pancakes. Neither of them has any great culinary expertise, but it has been pleasant to start learning together. Attempts which Aziraphale would have found tedious on his own become delightful when Crowley sneaks up behind him for a hug or holds out a spoonful of whatever they’re making for him to try. So now they mostly eat breakfast at home, and mornings stretch later and later into the day, and everything is perfect.

Aziraphale gets out of bed and pulls on his dressing gown as he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s a funny thing: he would bet that he’s spent more time in his living quarters in the past four years than in the previous two centuries combined. They’re small but have never once felt cramped with Crowley here. Sharing a home with his love is a luxury Aziraphale is sure can never lose its luster.

In the kitchen, American pancakes and a cup of tea are waiting for Aziraphale, piping hot—as they no doubt would still have been even if it had taken him hours longer to leave bed.

“Morning,” says Crowley. He’s propped up inelegantly at the other side of the table, both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

“And to you.”

Aziraphale sits and begins eating.

Crowley watches him.

Crowley often watches him—has been watching him since the Very Beginning, to the point that Aziraphale finds it impossible (not to mention distinctly unpleasant) to imagine Earth without Crowley’s watching. Aziraphale is, by this point, something of a connoisseur of being watched by Crowley, of the ways in which Crowley watches him: for the pleasure of a lovely thing to look at (which is flattering); to look for signs of weakness as he presents some argument or plan (which is now mercifully rare); to wait for something (which had used to flummox poor Aziraphale until he learned that the demon loved him back); to see if Aziraphale is going to ask.

He seems to love being asked. Crowley had been very forward about the whole Arrangement—perhaps as a matter of necessity—but Aziraphale has learned over the millennia that Crowley loves to wait, loves to be asked, invited, welcomed.

And Aziraphale does so love to indulge him.

“My dear,” he says lightly after a sip of tea. “This breakfast was such a lovely surprise to wake up to.”

The demon only makes a noncommittal noise, but there is nothing that Aziraphale has studied as much as Crowley’s face: the demon is holding something back.

“May I know the occasion?” he asks.

There—there’s the moment of indecision, of Crowley warring with himself over whether to preserve his aloof facade. But Aziraphale knows the demon will give in.

Not without a struggle, though: “Do I need an occasion to make breakfast?” Crowley asks.

“Goodness no,” says Aziraphale. “All the same…” he lets the sentence trail off to nothing, leaves his words hanging in the air like an invitation, and returns nonchalantly to his breakfast.

Not even a minute later, Crowley appears to give up. “It’s our anniversary,” he blurts out.

Aziraphale smiles. “Is it?”

Crowley is forever finding anniversaries for them. The anniversary of the Arrangement, of their first drink together, their first shared meal, their first night sleeping side-by-side. The anniversary of the night that Crowley rescued Aziraphale’s books during the blitz. The anniversary of the first time they fed ducks. Sometimes Aziraphale suspects that they’ll get to a point where not a week passes without an anniversary of some sort, some little celebration that Crowley has invented for them, because Crowley remembers. He hoards their milestones like a dragon’s treasure. If Aziraphale had known that before, it would have been heartbreaking. Now, though—now, when they are safe and able to celebrate anything they wish—it is a delight.

“First date,” Crowley says.

“That can’t be right. Our first date was in September, four years ago.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Not like that. The first time we made an actual plan to see each other, without the excuse of the Arrangement. Didn’t just...find each other.”

“When—oh, do you mean the theatre?”

The demon nods and rewards him with a little smile.

“Gracious, how long has it been?”

“Dunno,” says Crowley. “Just remember the date.”

February 14, 1895, Aziraphale thinks it was—one hundred and twenty-nine years. The opening of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest at St James’s Theatre. He’d never thought of it that way before, but Crowley’s classification of it as a date makes sense: the very first time they’d shed the careful pretext of the Arrangement or of happenstance. Not the first step, certainly, but an important step on the road that has led them here: to breakfast in the late morning sun, to nights spent close and cozy.

“That one was your idea,” Crowley says.

The first time Aziraphale asked.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, “you always did like the funny ones.”

#ineffable husbands fic #ace husbands #ineffable husbands #valentine's day #GOloveday #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #mine fic #btab66 #GOVDayExchange #goodomensvday2020

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eveningstarcatcher · 5 years ago

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Terrible Chances

Happy Valentine’s Day! <3

For @ineffably-good for the @goloveday art exchange Also on A03

Title from the song "Nevertheless I'm in Love With You" (Somehow, I know at a glance, the terrible chances I'm taking Fine at the start, then left with a heart that is breaking)

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice cut through the demon’s thoughts.

They were dining at the Ritz on a cold, grey Valentine’s Day afternoon. Aziraphale had been chattering on about something and Crowey, chin in hand, had drifted off, daydreaming of how it would feel to pull the angel close, to hold him, to be held by those sturdy arms. He wondered if he would smell different with his nose pressed against his skin, if he would feel soft or sturdy under his lips, how it would feel to be pressed up against his chest and feel his heartbeat and the rumble of his laughter.

“My dear, are you alright?” Azirphale’s brows were furrowed, his fork set across his dessert plate, his focus completely on the distracted demon.

“M’fine. Distracted, sorry. What were you saying?” Crowley brushed it off, scolding himself for letting his mind wander to the forbidden places he had sworn off for 6,000 years.

“Nothing important, I assure you,” Aziraphale smiled kindly across the table at him. “Would you like to share what’s on your mind?”

“S’really nothing,” Crowley poured them each more wine.

“You do know you can trust me, don’t you?” Aziraphale gazed at him with concern and apology etched into the lines on his face.

Crowley smiled fondly. “I know, angel.”

Azirphale shot him a suspicious look and lifted his fork to his mouth, savoring the deep flavors of the chocolate soufflé.

“But you’d rather not discuss it?” The angel said softly, his eyes on his plate, a strange look creeping over his features.

“There’s nothing to discuss!” Crowley insisted. “Really, absolutely nothing.”

“Isn’t there?” Aziraphale set his fork down with unnecessary force.

“No!” Crowley groaned, earning looks from nearby diners.

“Absolutely nothing you want to discuss with me today at this restaurant?” Aziraphale prodded, a blush spreading across his cheeks, his lips in a tight line.

“Nothing special, just the usual stuff.” Crowey knew he was missing something, but he didn’t know what it was. He felt like he was about to be submerged under a tidal wave, but he didn’t have the resources to save himself, so he was just treading water.

“Nothing special. I see,” Aziraphale pushed himself away from the table and stood, tossing his napkin to the table.

“You haven’t finished your dessert.” Crowley gestured, hoping to convince Aziraphale to sit back down.

“I’m not hungry,” he retorted and strode from the dining room.

“Angel, wait!” Crowley waved a hand to pay the bill and send the leftovers to the bookshop, then jogged after his companion, who was already out of the restaurant.

Crowley burst out of the doors, looking frantically for the familiar halo of pale curls. He found Aziraphale standing by the Bentley, hands wringing in front of his stomach, a pinched look on his face. The grey sky cast a shadow over his soft features, turning them harsh and cold.

“Please take me home.” His voice was as cold as the wind that blew, making Crowley shudder.

“Of course,” Crowley replied curtly.

The ride back to the bookshop was strained and silent. Aziraphale kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat, fidgeting. He adjusted his bow tie, wrung his hands, smoothed his waistcoat, unable to keep still. When they arrived at the shop muttered a quick “thank you” and hopped out of the car.

Crowley stared after him for a moment, unsure what to do, then jumped out and followed him into the shop. He had to fix this.

“Angel, what’s going on?” He immediately headed to the backroom, knowing that’s where he would find the disgruntled angel.

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale scoffed, pouring a glass of wine for himself. “You take me out to lunch at the Ritz, today of all days, and you act like it doesn’t mean anything!” He lifted the glass to his lips and drained it in one go, bending over to refill it.

“Is it supposed to mean something?” Crowley was getting very hot here, the conversation veering in a direction he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to go in. This was uncharted territory.

“Isn’t it?” Aziraphale was edging on hysterical. “We’ve known each other for 6,000 years! We prevented the apocalypse together! I thought, well, I’d hoped that maybe…” his eyes focused on the dark red liquid in his glass. “Well, I thought things might be different now!”

“Different?” Crowley echoed dumbly.

“Things are different, aren’t they, my dear? I think we’ve gotten closer since the world didn’t end, or was I imagining it?” His blue eyes were laser focused on Crowley, who shook his head, unable to form words.

“I suppose I was hoping that… well, you obviously don’t feel the same. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Azirpahale turned away from Crowley.

“Wait, what? What am I missing?” Crowley crossed the space between them, turning the angel around to face him.

“You still don’t see it? You can’t feel it?” Aziraphales eyes were puffy and wet.

“Feel what? Angel, I’m sorry, but I’m lost. What do you want to change?” His heart was pounding. Aziraphale’s eyes were boring holes into his soul, searching for something - was it love? Was that what the angel wanted? Was he asking for Crowley to open the gates and let the flood of emotion out? He didn’t know if he could refuse him, he had never been good at denying the angel, but he had to. He couldn’t tempt him that way.

“Crowley, I know you’re a demon, but you’re not an idiot. Can’t you feel it? It’s everywhere, all around us, don’t you sense it?” Azirphale had grabbed fistfuls of Crowley’s jacket, pulling him closer, pleading. “Crowley, don’t you know by now that I love you?”

“You what???” Crowley breathed out quickly, sounding harsher than he anticipated.

“You have to know. Don’t you know? I’ve loved you for so long, my dear, but I was too afraid to tell you, too afraid to love you and risk losing you. Too afraid to disobey Heaven and put you in danger. But we don’t have to worry about that anymore!” He smiled earnestly, pushing himself onto his tiptoes. “I love you, Crowley.”

He leaned into the demon, who was standing frozen, unable to process what was happening. He had dreamt of this for eternity. It was finally happening, but it couldn’t. He longed to give in, to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and kiss him, to find the answers to the questions he hated himself for asking - what does he feel like, what does he taste like, how soft are those beautiful lips?

Aziraphale brushed his lips lightly against Crowley’s cheek, sending shivers down both of their spines. Aziraphale repeated the action on the other cheek, then moved to center himself, hovering just a breath from Crowley’s lips. He waited, inviting Crowley to close the distance. He wanted to be kissed. He wanted Crowley.

The demon panicked and shoved Aziraphale away from him, sending them both stumbling backwards.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was small and weak, betrayed, hurt, heartbroken. He clutched at his chest, his tears spilling over.

“I-I can’t,” Crowley stuttered, moving backwards and bumping into everything in his path. He kicked books and knocked into the couch, steadying himself on anything he could reach.

“Why?” Aziraphale was folding in on himself.

“I- I just can’t.” Crowley couldn’t find the words to explain it all. How he couldn’t be the reason the angel falls, would never tempt him, would never hurt him.

He ran out of the bookshop, leaving Aziraphale to crumple to the floor, sobbing.

“Crowley, why?” he cried out.

“Stupid demon. Could have explained,” Crowley scolded himself. He had ended up at St. James Park, sitting at their usual bench, hunched over his knees, muttering. He threw bread at the ducks rather than to them, creating a frenzy of angry and confused wildlife. “Sure, just tell him ‘You know I’ve been in love with you since Eden and I’ve fantasized about kissing you a million times in a million ways, but no thanks. I don’t want to be responsible for you falling, so let’s just stay friends, shall we? No problem. Just another 6,000 years of repressed feelings, no big deal, right? Just tickety-boo!’”

He let out a deep scream and chucked the last of the bread at the ducks who had finally had enough of this behavior and fled, leaving behind chunks of bread.

Crowley stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, stomping down the path.

“What kind of jerk would just leave without a word? Reject him without explanation and leave? He might never want to see me again. Shouldn’t ever want to see me again. Would make things easier. No,” he slowed for a moment, “not easier. Safer, but not better. Definitely worse.” He resumed his quick pace through the park, heading back toward the Bentley. “Doesn’t matter. Selfish to run. You have to explain it.”

He drove back to the bookshop in record time and dashed to the door. His hand was on the knob, ready to throw it open, but stopped, recognizing the strange energy coming from inside. He pressed his ear to the door and heard voices, many voices. Aziraphale’s was higher than usual, distressed, the others were calm. Too calm.

“Angels,” Crowey hissed. He squatted down to peek through the window below the shade and saw four figures standing over a heap on the floor.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried and flung the doors open. “GET AWAY FROM HIM!” He bellowed.

“The demon Crowley, we wondered when you’d be arriving.” Gabriel turned to him, flashing his most polite smile. “We were just paying a little visit to former principality Aziraphale.” He gestured to the floor where the poor angel lay.

“Former?” Crowley faltered. Had he failed? Had he hurt the angel in vain, causing him to fall despite his best efforts? Had he let the angel go through the fall alone?

“Well, he doesn’t work for us anymore, doesn’t work for anyone,” Gabriel shrugged, hardly invested, yet inconvenienced by this.

“He hasn’t fallen, if that’s what you’re asking,” Uriel interjected matter-of-factly.

“I don’t think he will,” Michael added, looking down at Aziraphale, grimacing in disappointment. “Would have already done it if he was going to.”

“There are other ways to punish him,” Sandalphon was standing directly above Aziraphale, his teeth bared in a horrific smile, hands ready to strike the angel, though it was clear that he’d already done enough damage.

“And what does the demon have to say?” Gabriel’s focus was intense, but Crowley refused to shift under it, standing his ground, ready to defend the angel by any means necessary.

“I say get away from him.” Crowley growled between his teeth.

“Or what? You think you can take on four angels?” Gabriel laughed, quick and loud.

“You may have avoided execution in Hell, but you won’t fare so well here,” Michael sneered.

“Accept your fate,” Uriel advises. “Leave and he will be spared.”

“Spared?” It was Crowley’s turn to laugh. “Since when does Heaven spare anyone? You tried to destroy him with Hellfire!” He felt the rage flaming up inside him, a strange power coursing through his veins, hot and molten. “You think I’m going to just leave him with you? Just let you take him?”

“It would be best,” Uriel responded, looking once again at the heap of cream and tartan.

“You have no idea what’s best!” Crowley roared, widening his stance to steady himself, preparing to fight. “I won’t let you have him! He doesn’t belong to you anymore! Now, last chance: Get. Out.” He gestured to the door in offering.

Gabriel laughed in Crowley’s face. Sandalphon followed suit. Michael and Uriel exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Fine. The hard way then,” Crowley’s face broke into a wide grin as he snapped fingers and felt the strange power surge and take control. He gave in to the tingling in his veins, feeling the heat seep into every cell, sweeping over him from the inside out. A faint orange glow was emanating from his limbs and his eyes were turning blood red. His night-black wings burst out with a flutter and a single, powerful beat, sending the angels staggering backwards. He snapped his fingers and held his hands out to reveal two spheres of Hellfire dancing in his palms. He grinned maniacally and scanned the room, taking in each terrified face before him.

“Sorry it had to be like this, Gabey, but I can’t have you bothering Aziraphale anymore.” He threw one ball of flame at Gabriel, who just barely ducked in time, falling to the floor and rolling away. “As for you, you’re not laying another finger on him, you basssstard!” He turned on Sandalphon and lunged forward, flinging fire at him. The flame caught Sandalphon’s shoulder and he screamed in pain, tearing off his overcoat, jumping to the side to cower behind Michael and Uriel.

“Can all demons do that?” Michael asked, eyes wide in fear and awe.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Crowley snapped two more flames into his hands, intending to advance on Michael and Uriel, but he sensed a shift behind him. He spun around and caught Gabriel by the throat, holding him aloft and striding forward until the angel was trapped between a bookshelf and Crowley’s strong grip. Of course, the archangel didn’t need to breathe, but he was unaccustomed to a human corporation, so he sputtered and grabbed at Crowley’s arm, begging to be released.

“I’ll say it once more - get out. And if any of you come back here or contact Aziraphale in any way, I won’t hesitate to remove you permanently.” Crowley brought his free hand to Gabriel’s face, the heat from the Hellfire singeing the tips of his hair. “Do you accept my terms?”

Gabriel glared at him in response. Crowley tightened his grip and brought the fire closer to Gabriel’s eyes, earning him a frantic nod.

Crowley released him, shifting to grab at the collar of the crisp white shirt and throwing Gabriel to the floor at the other angels’ feet. “Go. Now!” He commanded and in a brief flash of blinding light they were gone.

Crowey stood, panting. His limbs suddenly felt very heavy. Where the Hellfire had flowed in power, he now felt leaden and exhausted. He dropped to his knees, one hand clutching at his head, which was pounding from the exertion, then he heard a small sound.

“Aziraphale!” He cried and clambered over to the angel, shifting him carefully to lay on the demon’s lap. “Are you okay?” Crowley’s hands supported Aziraphale’s neck and head as he lay it against his legs, then looked for injuries, fluttering over his chest, arms, stomach.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, his eyes growing wide with panic. “They’re here. The angels. Get out before they see you!” He was trying to push himself up, to hide Crowley. Even after the demon had deserted him, left him broken-hearted, he still cared for him, tried to protect him.

“It’s okay, angel. They’re gone,” Crowley soothed, pulling Aziraphale gently into his arms.

“Gone?” Azirpahale repeated, incredulously.

“Yeah, got rid of ‘em. Shouldn’t be bothering you anymore.” Crowley held him tight. At last, allowed to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and breathe him in.

“By yourself? There were four of them!” Azirpahale’s voice indicated shock, but he closed his eyes and relaxed into Crowley’s chest.

“Yeah. What did they do to you?”

“Well, I was in quite a bad way before they arrived. They told me that I deserved to be hurt, I deserved to be deserted, deserved to die for what I did, for my crimes against Heaven.” He shivered against Crowley. “They promised me forgiveness if I repented of my sins and returned to Heaven. Permanently. I refused and they hit me. Well, Sandalphon hit me. Gabriel didn’t want to get his hands dirty.” Azirphale frowned. “He made Michael and Uriel hold me so I couldn’t escape or fight back.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, angel.” Crowey cooed, shifting out from under Aziraphale and snapping a bowl of warm water and a cloth into existence. He dipped the cloth into the water and twisted it, watching as the excess liquid fell back into the bowl.

He raised the cloth to Aziraphale’s forehead and dabbed lightly at the cut there. “S’not deep. Should be fine in no time.” He wiped the tear stains from his cheeks and set the cloth in the bowl. “I’m going to need to remove your shirt.” Crowley’s fingers hovered above the buttons until Aziraphale nodded his consent.

Crowley moved quickly, but cautiously, carefully helping the angel out of his waistcoat, then his shirt, laying them carefully over a stack of books that lay nearby.

There were bruises forming over his ribs and stomach, but no blood. He gently ran the cloth over the skin anyway, hoping the warm water would soothe the pain. There were scratches around Azirpahale’s wrists where Michael and Uriel’s nails had dug in to keep him still. He had struggled, fought back, while Crowley was moping in the park.

“Were they watching you? Us? Waiting for me to leave you alone?” Crowley inquired softly, pressing the cloth against one wrist.

“It’s very likely,” Aziraphale nodded.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“What happened? Please talk to me.” Azirpahale took Crowley’s chin in his hand and tiled his head up to face him. “I told you I love you and you ran away. If you don’t feel the same, you could have just said so. I’d understand.” His eyes were clear blue, sincere and forgiving.

“Oh, angel. It’s not that,” Crowley sagged under the weight of this confession. “I was afraid of losing you.”

“Losing me? I had just admitted my feelings for you!” Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up in amusement.

“I know. That’s what scared me. I thought… I thought that I’d tempted you. I thought you’d fall because of me.” Crowley could feel tears streaming down his cheeks, dropping his head to stare into his lap. “I thought that if I never told you, never let you know how I felt, that you’d be safe. Never thought you’d be the one to make the first move.” He chuckled sadly.

“Dear, I won’t fall.” Azirpahale took Crowley’s hands in his.

“How do you know?”

“How could a love this pure be a sin?” Aziraphale beamed at him and Crowley was overwhelmed by the waves of love crashing down over him. It was dizzying and disorienting and everything he had been longing for for 6,000 years. He felt torn apart and put together by this love, it was destruction and new life, it emptied him into the angel and was filled to overflowing in return.

“Are you sure?” He choked out, sobs rising in his chest.

“My dear Crowley, I’m very sure. Are you?” Azirpahale asked shyly.

“Oh, shit! I didn’t say it, did I? You know, don’t you? Since Eden! Oh, angel, since you told me you gave away your stupid sword. Aziraphale,” he stared into the eyes of the being he loved, “I love you, too!”

Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and squeezed. Crowley wrapped him in his arms and buried his head in the angel’s shoulder.

“I love you, angel. I never thought I’d be able to tell you. Never dreamed that you’d feel the same.”

“I love you, too, Crowley.” Aziraphale pulled back to caress Crowley’s cheek. “Will you kiss me now?” The blush was creeping back onto his cheeks.

“I’ll kiss you forever if you want, angel!” Crowley wrapped a hand around the back of Azirpahale’s neck and guided him in.

When their lips met it felt like lightning - uncontrollable and hot and beautiful. They moved slowly at first, unsure. This was unfamiliar, and yet it felt inevitable, like they’d been hurtling towards this moment for 6,000 years. Their hands roamed, exploring, finally able to touch the skin they’d been dreaming about for millennium. The sharp planes of Crowley’s shoulders, the soft skin of Aziraphale’s stomach, the long line of Crowley’s neck, the gentle curve of the small of Aziraphale’s back. It was intoxicating. It felt like jumping into a pool on a hot day - sudden and cool, but powerful and overwhelming at the same time. They broke apart, coming to the surface for air, panting and grinning like fools.

“My love,”’Aziraphale whispered, his forehead leaning against Crowley’s.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Crowley chuckled, diving back into the cool waters of Aziraphale’s kiss.

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