#really love how duck and red came out but yellow might need some tweaking in future

[bag-chips]

omg three of them!!

[creacherkeeper]

Free Fall 

can be read as a sequel to [x] or read alone 

~3000 words 

AO3 

It started on a bench. On their bench, watching the ducks. It was natural that it should start there, a space long shared between the two of them. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s bookshop or Crowley’s flat, it wasn’t Crowley’s favorite dive bar or Aziraphale’s favorite patisserie. It was their bench. Equal between the two of them.

Crowley had taken to naming the ducks. Or, to be specific, naming the ducks and their sins. It was just a silly thing, half to entertain Aziraphale and half to scandalize him.

“That’s Marta,” he said, waving his finger. The duck in question let out a loud quack and shoved another duck with her beak. “Oh, Marta’s sin is wrath. Wrath for sure. Which … might be true of most ducks, now that I think of it. Well, except for Richard, there. His sin is sloth. Always gets to the bread a moment too late. Very lazy of Richard, he’s not the best duck. Now wrath suits a duck like anything else—”

And Aziraphale reached over, and took his hand.

Crowley’s mouth clamped shut.

“Do you fancy a walk?” Aziraphale asked, not looking at him.

“Um,” Crowley stated dumbly. “Yeah, sure. Walk, sounds good.”

They rose, and Crowley thought he might pull away, but their hands stayed joined between them. It wasn’t a loose, friendly hold. Aziraphale’s fingers were intertwined with his, clinging tight.

Crowley, frankly, for all his millennia of wisdom and demonic wit, didn’t know what it meant. To outsiders, to the other patrons of the park, just going about their day with their children or friends or partners, he knew what it looked like. Two adult men, dressed like them, holding hands on a stroll through the park. Well, it was a date, wasn’t it? That’s what one might assume.

But, though they’d presumably scared them off, at least for a little while, Crowley didn’t know if Heaven or Hell were watching. And to them—what would it look like? A challenge, Crowley thought. A come stop me if you dare. You don’t control me anymore, so just try it.

So, Crowley was confused. Maybe it was an act of rebellion, or, maybe, perhaps, Crowley thought, his ears turning pink, Aziraphale just wanted to hold his hand.

Whatever it was, it was nice.

They stopped on the path next to a tall tree, branches swaying in the breeze. Aziraphale looked up at it, smiling, and then inclined his head.

“Do you want to sit?” he asked.

Crowley stared for a moment. “We’ve got the whole world at our fingertips,” he said. “You just want to sit under a tree in the park?”

Aziraphale thought, a peaceful smile on his face. He looked up at the tree, the smile fastened on his face, and then back to Crowley.

“I don’t care where we go, truly,” he said, “as long as I’m spending the day with you.”

His glasses, Crowley was happy to note, covered the widening of his eyes, but it was plain to see the way his mouth popped into a little ‘o’, or see him look away and nod and clear his throat.

“Tree sounds nice,” he said.

Together, they made their way under the leaves. Aziraphale chose to lean against the trunk, and Crowley laid beside him on the grass, their hands unfortunately slipping apart. Well, it was unfortunate in that Crowley immediately missed the warmth, but good in the respect that Aziraphale couldn’t feel his palm start to sweat. He wiped it inconspicuously on his clothing.

Was this … it? Was this Aziraphale trying to tell him that he was ready? Ready to take the next step in their relationship, wherever that may lead them. Crowley thought he had done a very good job of being patient (not only for the last however long, but specifically in the last few weeks), but he’d decided not to make a move until Aziraphale did. He just wasn’t sure if this was it.

The sun shone down through the gaps in the leaves, lighting their clothing and faces in patches. Crowley reveled in the heat it brought to his skin, closing his eyes against the sensation. They didn’t talk. Crowley wanted to, but he didn’t know what to say.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it out slow, and it sounded, at least to Crowley’s ears, contended.

“Happy, angel?” is what he decided on.

When he opened his eyes and looked up, Aziraphale had an odd expression on his face.

“Not sure you can call me that anymore,” Aziraphale said, looking down at his hands twisting in his lap. “Heaven isn’t exactly happy with me.”

A little unnamed something tweaked in Crowley’s chest. “S’not why I call you that.”

Aziraphale looked over at him, staring as his cheeks flushed with red. The feeling came back, and then, thud thud—ah, it was his heart making all that fuss.

“You were the best of them, you know,” Crowley said, and found that he meant every word. “They didn’t deserve you, angel.”

The breath huffed from Aziraphale in a little laugh, and he looked away, his cheeks still pink. “Well, that’s very kind of you to say. I don’t think it’s true, though.”

Crowley pushed himself up, turning so he was sitting crossed-legged facing the angel. He watched him for a moment as Aziraphale’s expression dropped.

“It’s true.”

Aziraphale nodded, his lips twitching. He was always so expressive. Crowley had loved that about him since the beginning. Aziraphale may have loved books, but Crowley could read one on his lips, in his eyes, in the flush of his cheeks.

“I’m, um … Soft?” Aziraphale looked back at him, the question evident on his face. “I’m indulgent and hedonistic and materialistic and- Well, of course you would see these as good traits, you’re a demon, after all.”

Ah, the old fallback. That was what he went to, every time. I’m an angel and you’re a demon—he did it to escape criticism and compliment alike.

“What’s so demonic,” Crowley started, voice low, “about being happy?”

That seemed to take Aziraphale off guard. He looked away, brows scrunching, and then back. He looked like he was trying to find a way to phrase it. “I don’t think the right things make me happy,” is what he settled on.

“Says who?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale didn’t answer. He reached over and linked their hands together.

Aziraphale squeezed, moving his other hand to rest on top.

“When did you know?” he asked, and Crowley wasn’t sure what he meant. He had a feeling, but he didn’t want to be wrong. In any case, Aziraphale continued on without him. “For me, it was … Well, 1941, I believe. World War II. I had been cornered by a nasty group of Nazi spies, do you remember?”

Crowley watched him, and nodded.

“You made a bomb fall on the church. You didn’t save me from it, I did that myself. And even if they had shot me, well, I would have been fine. There would have been paperwork, to be sure, which would have been quite a put-out.” He looked down at their hands, rubbing his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles. “You saved my books. I’d forgotten to, but you hadn’t.”

Crowley swallowed. “I remember.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, his lips pulling. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Crowley,” he started, his voice cautious and soft. “I thought it was a natural consequence, you know? I thought that’s what I was made for: to love, indiscriminately. I loved you because I was an angel, and that’s what I was supposed to do. But, well … I realized I was wrong that day. When you saved my books. I didn’t love you because I was meant to, because it was inevitable. I didn’t love you because I was an angel. I loved you because of who you are, and how you treat me, and how you make me feel. And I’m so sorry, my dear boy, that it took me so long to realize that. I didn’t love you because you were one of Her creations. I loved—love—you, because you, A. J. Crowley, are an easy person to love, and so incredibly worthy of it.”

Crowley was glad, a second time, for his glasses. They hid the misty quality of his eyes. Of course, he realized his mistake soon after, when Aziraphale reached up and wiped the tear from his cheek. Crowley turned, on instinct, without really meaning to, and pressed a kiss into his palm. He should be embarrassed, he thought, and yet, as if by some miracle, he wasn’t. Not at all.

Aziraphale’s hands hovered for a moment, and at Crowley’s nod, the glasses slipped off his face. Aziraphale smiled to see his love-struck, yellow eyes.

The glasses were placed gently on the grass between them, but Aziraphale’s other hand remained. A delicate touch on a sharp cheekbone, and then downwards, curving around his neck.

Crowley let himself be drawn forward. His eyes closed. Aziraphale’s lips fell on Crowley’s forehead in the most gentle and reverent kiss.

“You asked when I knew?” Crowley said, and for once he didn’t hate how choked he sounded. It was a natural consequence, as Aziraphale had said earlier. A natural consequence of hearing the words that some part of him had waited almost 6,000 years for. You are worthy of love. Not you, a Creation, but you, Crowley. You, yourself, deserve it. He swallowed, trying to work his voice up. His skin tingled where Aziraphale had made contact.

“If you don’t mind,” Aziraphale said, pulling away. His thumb danced quickly across Crowley’s cheek, and then dropped. “A passing curiosity.”

Crowley’s lips quirked at the teasing words. He wiped off his face, which was, to his comfort, mostly dry, and leaned back on his hands.

He hummed, tilting his head, just to draw it out for Aziraphale, make him wait for a fraction of the time that Crowley had waited. He didn’t do it out of malice. It was just to show one simple thing—that Aziraphale could be open, that Aziraphale could be vulnerable, and it didn’t mean Crowley would treat him as a fragile thing. That wasn’t what he needed. He needed Crowley, just as he was—which was a realization Crowley had come to with a start and a bursting heart.

“Well,” he said, drawing the word out for far too long. Aziraphale’s lips quirked in a smile. “I don’t know, really. I knew I liked you when you gave away your sword.”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Oh, my mistake. What was the question again?”

Aziraphale stilled, but there was something indescribably soft about his features. “When did you know you loved me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Crowley quirked his lips, and waited a few moments. “First time I performed a miracle,” he said.

The angel’s eyes blinked wide. “That was- Crowley, that was a thousand years ago!”

It was just under, actually. It had been 1134 AD, half past noon, on a tuesday.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, huffing a laugh, “took you long enough to catch up.”

Aziraphale’s mouth popped into an ‘o’, and then he laughed himself. “Alright, well, that’s fair. Go on, then.”

Crowley took a long, deep breath, thinking back to the day. “Well, I- I expected it to hurt, frankly, being a demon and all. And I realized, much more than you did, that the whole angels and demons business was a lot of propaganda, from both sides. Not so different, in the end, really. But, still. I expected something. Some resistance, or. I don’t know. I didn’t expect to like it.”

Aziraphale watched him, steadily. Crowley could tell it was taking everything in his power not to interrupt.

“And I thought about that, for a long time. Why it had been so easy and so- well, so good. And it wasn’t- I decided it wasn’t because I still wanted to be an angel, or anything like that, so get the thought out of your head. I wouldn’t have done it on my own, or for anyone else. It was good because I was doing it for you. Because it would make you happy. So, that’s when I realized. If a demon could relish in performing a miracle … Well, there must be a big reason for that.”

Aziraphale was staring at him with the most simple expression of love, and it was so overwhelming that Crowley had to look away. He’d been waiting for this for so long, and yet, now that he had it, he found himself terrified. These were words he’d never said out loud to anyone. And if he had to choose, of course it would have been Aziraphale he said them to. But also, having everything out in the open like this … He wanted to slither up into the branches of the tree and escape from the angel’s gaze.

“All this time,” Aziraphale said, and he said it so softly that Crowley wasn’t sure it was meant to be said aloud at all.

He risked a glance back, and froze.

Aziraphale was staring, ears bright red, cheeks flushed. But it certainly wasn’t Crowley’s eyes he was staring at.

Crowley let his tongue flick out of his mouth, just for a moment, just to tease him. Just to break some of the tension in his own brain, which was currently slamming two cymbals together like a monkey on methamphetamines.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started, and his voice sounded particularly choked, “would you mind if I—”

And damn the 6,000 years of waiting, damn the long days and the long nights of yearning, damn all those weeks he wasted moping about what could have been. Damn the demons and damn the angels for making them wait this long, for making Aziraphale so scared. Damn the end-that-wasn’t for almost tearing them apart, right when they needed each other the most.

And bless it. Bless it all, for leading them here.

Crowley leaned forward and kissed him.

He felt the sigh of relief play across his top lip, felt Aziraphale’s hold on the back of his neck to pull him closer. Crowley wasn’t sure he was doing this right, simple as it may have seemed. But it was them, the two of them, he and Aziraphale, and, well … That was right, then, wasn’t it?

He quickly found himself losing control of the kiss, which was perfectly alright with him. They were always ones to buck stereotypes. He let Aziraphale lead him deeper, and then found himself leaning backward as more and more weight was pressed against him. Soon enough, his back was flat against the ground, one very enthusiastic angel lying on top of him.

And it was … it was good. Well, no, it was great, really. Aziraphale’s lips were soft and Crowley could taste the syrup from his breakfast. He could feel the heat from his skin and the weight of his body lying atop him. It was so great that it had circled around from the spectrum of bad to decent to good to great, and had found itself firmly at ‘I can no longer mentally process the things that are happening at the moment’.

It felt like falling. He’d never meant it to mean such a good thing before.

They both heard the voice, though it was quiet as it passed them. First it was the little tap tap tap tap of a small dog’s paws, and then the irritated voice of the woman attached to the leash.

“Two adult men,” the voice sniped, “snogging on the ground like teenagers.”

Crowley couldn’t help it—he laughed, right into Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel pulled back, some of his wits returning.

“Oh, heavens,” he muttered, burying his burning face in Crowley’s neck. “Oh, that’s so embarrassing.”

And Crowley continued to laugh, loud and delighted, his face flushed, his lips tingling, his whole chest about to burst, until eventually the sound of Aziraphale’s giggles joined him. They probably looked ridiculous, the two of them, lying on top of each other in the grass, laughing away. Crowley didn’t care. He’d never cared less about the opinions of humans than at that moment.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, chest still rolling with chuckles, as he reached up to wipe an errant tear from his cheek. “Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”

Crowley hummed, wrapping his arms around the angel’s back.

“Pity we hadn’t gotten around to that sooner,” Aziraphale said.

“S’happening now,” Crowley replied, voice quiet. “That’s important, too.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Yes, you’re right.”

Crowley began tracing patterns on his back. Not glyphs or sigils, just little circles and squares and triangles, a squiggle here and a zag there. Aziraphale sighed, his cheek warm against Crowley’s neck.

Crowley’s fingers swooped across the angel’s shoulder blades, and he could feel the energy thrumming beneath them. An idea came into his head.

“Angel,” he started, tone casual, “fancy a walk?”

Aziraphale huffed a quiet laugh. He turned and pressed a kiss into Crowley’s jaw. “As long as I’m with you, my dear.”

They extracted themselves, and Crowley took his hand, leading him deeper into the grassy area of the park. Aziraphale made a sound of protest, looking at the grass, his shoes, the sidewalk, but followed.

When Crowley was satisfied with their distance, he stopped, taking both the angel’s hands in his own. “Anyone looking?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment. “No.”

“Good.”

When he opened his eyes again, he looked shocked to see the demon’s wings stretched out behind him, glistening black and turquoise and purple in the sunlight.

“Ready?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale had only a moment to stutter a “But what if someone sees—” and then they were rising, higher and higher, faster and faster, up into the sky and past the clouds, cooled by the wind and warmed by the ever-closer heat of the sun.

Aziraphale yelped and latched on, clinging to Crowley with all he with worth.

And then, in a moment, Crowley pulled his wings in.

“What are you—?”

And they fell.

And this time, they fell together, and this time, Crowley was happy about it. This time he knew what was waiting at the bottom and he knew, with certainty, that he wasn’t going to reach there. Below them was the green earth and green grass and a pond filled with wrathful ducks. It was no Hell, but it wasn’t Heaven, either, and that was good. It didn’t need to be either of those things. And because it wasn’t, Crowley enjoyed the fall.

Aziraphale, however, didn’t seem to be on the same page.

“What on Earth are you doing?” the angel shouted, voice almost washed away by the roar of the wind past their ears.

“Catch us,” Crowley said.

And Aziraphale huffed in exasperation, but then his wings stretched out, a little mussed, but broad and white and gleaming. And their freefalling tumble slowed as Aziraphale flapped his wings, hard as he could. And then they were just hovering, sitting in the clouds.

“Very poetic,” Aziraphale started, “but maybe the next time you’d like to make a point, you don’t have to scare the daylights out of me to do it. I’d had quite enough thrills for the day already, thank you.”

Crowley smiled, leaning forward to knock their noses together. He let his forehead rest against Aziraphale’s, his iridescent wings joining the angel’s in holding them up.

“Got to live a little faster, angel.”

And he kissed him.