Work Text:
“Nice coat.”
Aziraphale’s smile could have lit up a theatre. “Crowley! Fancy meeting you here.” He was dressed in a feathered coat, his curls bouncier than usual. His cheeks were red, and his eyes twinkled.
“Same to you.” Crowley looked around, at the glinting tiles on the wall, reflecting the low light. A fountain sat in the middle of the dance floor, and couples were crowded around it, dancing and laughing. Intellectuals sat on plush chairs, smoking, drinking and putting the world to rights under the shining gargoyles suspended from the golden ceiling. Women in suits, men in dresses, and all those in between were coupling up, and taking themselves off to little corners.
The angel fussed with his hair. “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you here, among all the…” he gestured to the scene around them. “Well.”
“Well, you know I go in for debauchery, Angel, it’s quite literally in the job description.”
“Yes, rather.” He straightened his shoulders. “You look- dashing.”
“Thanks. What brings you here then? To this den of vice?” He exaggerated the last phrase, chewing the words.
“My shop is only around the corner, I’m just… checking in on the neighbours.”
“Pfff. Don’t believe you. In that coat?”
“Fine. Yes. I suppose there’s no point in pretence. I come here often- plenty of good conversation to be had.”
“Is that what they call it these days?” He asked, teasing.
“Well, how could I possibly know?” Aziraphale replied, coy. Ah, so he’d had a bit to drink already. Open, honest, drunk Angel. I’m in for a fun night . Crowley thought.
“Oh I don’t know. You’re a textbook queen as far as they’re concerned. You practically invented it.” Crowley said, fondly. “Looks good on you.”
Aziraphale did a mock curtsey as a polite ‘thank you’. Crowley was grateful he didn’t voice it- they were getting on so nicely and an argument wasn’t something he wanted. He preferred the alternative here- receiving a small angelic smile and a warm gaze.
Crowley felt itchy. He took a long sip of his absinthe.
The tension oozed between them like syrup.
“Cherub! There you are darling !” Tension gone. Someone had gasped from the other side of the room. He fluttered over, and grasped Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’ve been terribly bored all evening, thank god you’re here.”
He was thin, with a heavy foundation and dark lashes, wearing deep blue, wide legged trousers and a blouse with more ruffles than sense. In another situation, Crowley would have admired his boldness. Not this one though. Right now he felt this weird, stomach churning, green feeling. Like he was angry at him but it also hurt? He filed it for a later brood. He liked brooding.
“Ah- hello Stephen- this is-“
“Ooh- the devilish Mr Crowley himself.” The man fanned himself with his hand, the other one was still on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “My brother said you were coming.” He looked between Crowley and Aziraphale, as if he sensed the tension, realisation slowly crossing his face. “My my, is Mr Crowley the friend you told me about?” He gave Aziraphale a strange look, that Crowley was unable to decipher. That was annoying, he was supposed to give Aziraphale strange looks that other people couldn’t decipher.
Crowley gave Aziraphale a stranger, more indecipherable look, that said ‘Who the blazing fuck is this then ’ and at the same time ‘I cannot wait to talk about this later’ it involved a lot of eyebrows. The angel looked very embarrassed.
Crowley tilted his head. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. Introduce us, Angel?”
The fluttery man, Stephen, grinned at the pet name.
“Yes, well- Mr Tennant here-“
(Stephen Tennant was a real person, a part of the ‘Bright Young Things’ group in the 1920s. Miles Malpractice from Evelyn Waugh’s “Vile Bodies” was likely based on him, and The Gargoyle Club was founded by his older brother… David. This is real.)
“Stephen , please. Darling, we’ve been through this, you needn’t be so formal.” He slid his hand down Aziraphale’s arm. Crowley watched it.
“Sorry- of course. Due to my interest in the literary and artistic community- you know Gordon Square of course- we’ve bumped into each other quite frequently these past few years. We actually met last March at Simpsons’ on the Strand- we must go together Crowley- the oysters there are delicious.”
“Oh you must, dearest Crowley!” Stephen teased.
Crowley stood silent. Part annoyed, part baffled, mostly amused.
“Come now, don’t be cross .” He pouted. “Is this about the nick-name? I call him Cherub, because he is so angelic. Don’t you agree? You seem to.” He said, knowingly.
Crowley wasn’t sure what Stephen thought he knew, but it was confusing him to no end. Stephen was annoying, and he wanted Aziraphale alone. He hadn’t seen him in a long time, and he’d missed his company. He was going to enjoy teasing him about this later though.
“Ah, Cherub .” Crowley said, enjoying the word. “Yes, you could say you have certain angelic qualities, Angel.”
Aziraphale blushed again. Crowley liked it when he blushed, and he liked when they teased each other. But that was their thing. Only their thing. Just the two of them. For some reason. Put it in the brooding pile and don’t think about it.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Stephen eyed Crowley slyly. “Be careful with him, Mr Crowley.”
What did that mean? Crowley decided not to dignify the suggestion, and grunted in response.
Stephen grinned cheekily. “Have fun! I must go- I have a lovely friend waiting for me to powder his nose.” And off he fluttered, leaving a sequin or two in his wake.
“What on earth was that?” Crowley managed somewhere between a chuckle and a hiss. Disbelief mixed with hysteria. Or something.
Aziraphale mused. “Well I’m not sure, either he’s going for something harder or… or, well. Something harder .”
“Not that, idiot. What’s all this Cherub business?”
“I told you. We met on the strand last March, and got on terribly well.”
“Oh really? Don’t tell me you’ve started dabbling in-.”
“Of course not!” Aziraphale looked positively scandalised. “Although I think he was interested at one point… very confusing. I always end up terribly oblivious- I can barely keep up on the fashions let alone social convention.”
“Cherub.” Mused Crowley. “That’s hilarious.”
“It’s sweet.” Aziraphale told him. “It’s delightful. He’s being deliberately silly.”
“Would love to see his face if he knew-“
“Besides, I was one once. I had a flaming sword.”
“Oh yes, I was there Angel. But it sounded to me like he wanted to give your flaming sword a go.”
Aziraphale gasped, and swatted at Crowley with his glove. “Oh, don’t be foul.” He was still smiling. They were tipsy. Crowley was happy.
“Rather cheeky of him to give you a pet name.”
“Oh it’s the fashion these days. Besides,” Aziraphale swallowed. “You have one for me.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Ffffff… you know. S’different. We’re… you and me.” This was getting too close to the core of something Crowley did not have the capacity to explore right now.
“Are you suggesting-“
“I think this might be a conversation for somewhere else, Angel.” Crowley said, decisively.
Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with… something. He seemed to reach for Crowley, and then perhaps thought better of it. “Quite right.” He said, a little sadly. “A conversation for another time.”
Crowley felt like he’d been punched in the chest, but by the softest thing possible. He closed his eyes and pulled himself together.
“Another drink?”
“Yes please.” Aziraphale said, desperately. Their hands brushed as he handed Crowley his glass. “Get us a bottle? I trust you to pick a good one.”
“Don’t trust me, terrible idea.” Crowley grinned.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” He challenged, with an air of bitchiness. Crowley felt that same itch, the same tension. He liked it when Aziraphale was able to just be himself, heaven, hell be damned. This must be how humans felt. He let the tension settle.
Aziraphale broke it, swatting at him with his glove again, and spinning to sit primly at a table behind him. “Go on!” He beamed and shooed him away.
Crowds weren’t not Crowley’s thing, but this was a lot, and Aziraphale was in a cheeky mood, which was doing odd things to him. He was feeling very, very warm, and needed another drink as soon as possible. He ordered them the nicest Cabernet Sauvignon they had, and turned to return to their table.
“Really, Mr Crowley. We must talk.” It was Stephen, from earlier, looking slightly more disheveled.
“Not now, not you.”
“Oh dear , if looks could kill.” His expression suddenly turned serious. “Now, see here. I know you two are… Well, let’s say it’s clear that your Angel thinks a lot of you- I can see why,” He gestured at Crowley up and down. “And I can see why you adore him.”
“Whatever you think is going on here, it’s- well it’s none of your business.” Crowley tried to move around him.
“It’s not too dangerous here, you know. Safe from prying eyes. Really. I know you two are anxious- it took months for him to even admit to me that he was one of us, let alone that he had a boy-friend. But I just wanted to reassure you.”
“Yeah- well. Thanks. Good on you.” He actually admired him for a second, for trying to make what he thought were two lovers feel safe. And then the implications of that hit him on the head like a gigantic comic anvil. “He’s not my-“ He then remembered he was too tired for arguments tonight, and cut himself off, grumbling, pushing his way back to Aziraphale’s table.
“Have fun!” Stephen fluttered, and was gone.
As Crowley sat down, he looked puzzled at Aziraphale. He seemed a little out of sorts.
“Feeling alright?”
“Must be good, you know.” He swept a hand over the room. “For them to be openly themselves.”
“And be openly indulgent.” Crowley snorted.
“Well. They’re just enjoying the fruits of life.”
“Whatever you say.”
Their wine arrived, making Crowley very grateful.
“I think it’s terrible, you know, that some humans forbid other humans from loving each other.” Aziraphale sighed.
Crowley managed to remain composed.
“Well, they’ve been doing it for millennia, Angel. If it’s any consolation, you know where the forbidders go afterwards.”
“At least these people have this. Just somewhere they can be themselves. And be together. If only for a short while.”
“Away from prying eyes.”
“Indeed.”
They sat in silence, listening to the rumble and swing of the bubbling party around them. The tension was back, and Crowley felt the itchiness again. It was getting really irritating. He downed his drink. The feeling was coming in flares, somewhere in his upper arms, then his chest. It was stronger when he caught a glimpse of Aziraphale’s profile: the tiny hairs on his face illuminated by the warm light, his brow furrowed slightly, the slight sweat on his face. The long, soft lines of his neck, moving with breaths he didn’t need to take. Crowley’s mouth felt weird all of a sudden.
Aziraphale brought him out of his thoughts with a light touch on the arm. “Come back to the bookshop?” A plea, not a suggestion.
“Yeah.” He choked, normally, in a normal way.
They retrieved their coats and hats, leaving the club as discreetly as possible, but Crowley caught Stephen’s eye by accident. He felt far too seen. Stephen nodded, smiling slyly, but there was a glittering hint of contentment there. As if he was proud of them.
Friday nights at the Gargoyle club were busy, and the rickety lift was small. Therefore, as they descended, Crowley was inadvertently pushed up against Aziraphale. He could feel the shape of his body pressed to him, electrifying every point of contact. White hairs filled his vision, and he kept his hands in his pockets, to avoid brushing anything.
Safely on the ground, with a sigh of relief, Crowley followed Aziraphale back to Whickber Street.
Warm light. A nest of reds, yellows and browns, the bookshop was so cosy, so inviting.The smell of old, worn paper, soft leather and cocoa seemed disarming, and all anxiety was washed away. It was safe. Always has been, hopefully always would be.
With the feathered coat hung on the rack, and sunglasses long abandoned, one angel and one demon sat on the squashy bookshop sofa, whiskey in hand. Crowley sat lazily, one leg drawn up to his chest, the other stretched out, listening to Aziraphale explain his strange friendships.
“Well, you know, one minute you’re observing a manuscript in the British Library, the next you’ve been invited into the parlour of a Bloomsbury townhouse.” He shifted, tucking his legs beneath him. “Such interesting people.”
“Well, have you really never-“
“No, I told you! Of course not. Wouldn’t be right, with humans.”
“No, course.” Crowley agreed.
“It wouldn’t be fair. They live such short lives.” Aziraphale looked away from Crowley, to put his empty glass on the table “Not like us.”
“Have you ever been curious, Angel?” Crowley leaned forward, teasing.
“Oh- well.” He blushed “I’ve read books.”
“Oh, have you?”
“Plenty. You should see the manuscript I received from a friend of mine- Morgan- recently. Heartbreaking, but goodness- educational.” Aziraphale adjusted his cravat, exposing his neck slightly.
“Oh, educational? What did you learn?”
“Hush, you.” Aziraphale seemed very focused on his drink all of a sudden. “As for you, I assume- as a demon..”
“Oh, no. Not my… I’m not hands on.” he winced at the implication. “With humans- tempt them to each other, sure, but nothing to do with me. Like you said, wouldn’t be fair.”
Aziraphale seemed to consider this; Crowley watched his eyes flickering through so many emotions he couldn’t identify. He seemed to be fighting with himself.
“How brave they are. To love.” He looked wistfully into the middle distance. “To seek each other out. In spite of everything”
“Is it bravery, Angel?”
“I rather think so.” he sighed. “I’m not very good at that, these days.”
“Utter bollocks. Gave your sword away didn’t you? You’re the bravest angel I’ve ever come across.” He tried to make it sound at least a little bit nonchalant. It came across as a declaration anyway.
He softened. Impossibly. He was so… so soft. Something was tugging at Crowley’s chest as he watched a blush tint Aziraphale’s round cheeks.
“Not brave enough, I don’t think.” Aziraphale smiled sadly.
The twitching, tugging, itching feeling was driving Crowley insane. He wanted to reach out, the skin on Aziraphale’s neck and cheek looked oh, so inviting, and his palm felt drawn towards it, as if the itching might stop if he could just… touch.
Maybe he could start small, just to relieve the sensation. He let his hand drop between them, so their fingers overlapped.
It did not relieve the sensation. It absolutely made it worse.
Aziraphale looked at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Crowley?”
“You said it must be good.” He swallowed, and curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s. The itching was now a deep ache somewhere in his chest, oozing like slow flowing lava, warm and dangerous. “It must feel good for them to be openly themselves.”
“I did.”
“And I sort of wondered-“ He avoided looking at him, choosing to stare at their entwined hands, giving a tentative squeeze. They didn’t touch. Not like this.
Aziraphale immediately clutched back tight, his voice breathless “You wondered-?”
“Uh- What it could mean for us- y’know. To be brave. To be ourselves.”
He let himself look up, straight into Aziraphale’s eyes. They were filled with awe, and Love. Well, he’d named it now. That’s what this feeling was. It always had been. Everything here was steeped in unadulterated, exciting, familiar Love. Requited Love.
He finally understood how Aziraphale must have felt when he took the first bite of that Ox.
Crowley was starving.
He lifted his other hand to Aziraphale’s face, his thumb tracing his cheekbone. Aziraphale leaned tentatively into the touch.
“Ourselves.” Aziraphale breathed.
“That’s if- y’know- If you-“ His voice cracked before he could finish. Love me too . He could never have said it anyway.
Aziraphale reached for his shoulder. A grounding, full touch. “Oh, Crowley. How could I not.”
Not a thousand demonic legions, all of the heavenly host, nor G-d could have stopped him. Only Aziraphale himself could have prevented him from closing the distance then, and to Crowley’s utter delight, they met in the middle.
A delicate kiss. Full of love. Crowley felt it as Aziraphale’s lips pressed oh, so softly, so sweetly to his. Felt it coursing through his veins, overwhelming, but so familiar. His brain was turning somersaults as he felt his veins light up, as if his angel was pouring light into him. He needed more. He needed to be as close as possible, physically, spiritually.
Crowley tentatively bit Aziraphale’s lip, then his head was tilting back, he was being pushed towards the arm of the sofa. Gentle hands clutched at his shoulders, Crowley bit Aziraphale’s lip, and the noise he made was ethereal. He needed more of this. He needed to never be apart from him ever again.
They were both so hungry, so desperate, so consumed. Aziraphale nervously slid a hand into Crowley’s hair, and he was utterly lost. The delicious sensation of nails on his scalp made him gasp- and Aziraphale pulled his hair in response.
Crowley felt like he was flying.
He moved a hand to stroke the soft, delicate skin where Aziraphale’s neck met his collar bone- then felt him tighten his grip- and Oh. His whole body pulsed. Did it feel good to be appreciated. To be Loved. .
The thought made him pull away for air he didn’t really need, resting their foreheads together so as not to break the spell.
Aziraphale blushed bright, and his hands roamed up and down Crowley’s arms, full of energy, nervous, happy. “That was… wonderful.” He whispered, low.
Crowley’s brain could have exploded. Yes it was. Full of wonder.
The lava was erupting in his chest and stomach, bubbling and oozing. Hot and sparking. Love. Want.
Aziraphale’s hands were running through his hair again, and good grief, was that a good feeling. Crowley let himself get lost in touching him, tracing his nails up and down the angel’s sides, feeling him shiver with the contact.
“We can’t-“ Aziraphale whispered. “We shouldn’t have-“
“Can we be brave?” Crowley’s movements became comforting, firmer. “Just for tonight?” Please.
Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Just for tonight.” He traced Crowley’s jaw and closed his eyes, like he was trying to commit it to memory. The thought made Crowley weak. They would both be thinking about this later. He had to say it. It was mutual after all.
“Angel, I-“
Aziraphale cut him off, urgently. “Please, Crowley, I couldn’t bear it. I know, I know , trust me I do. And I-“ His face crumpled. “Please don’t say it. Not yet. I couldn’t put it all back if you do.”
Crowley’s heart plummeted. He was so sure, but was he just playing the fool? “You don’t-?”
“Yes! Oh, I do. God knows I do- but I’m a danger to you as it is- if Hell found out you- if they knew that we-“ He choked. “They would destroy you.”
“I would risk-”
“No!” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. “I can’t let you do that. If not for your sake, for mine.” Grabbing Crowley’s lapels for emphasis, he tried to articulate himself. “You are so- I mean I-” He swallowed.
“I need you, Crowley.”
Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s pleading eyes, full to the brim with desperate emotion. They were so, so blue. Crowley felt utterly breathless with relief, like he’d just finally jumped into the sea on a scorching summer’s day. He wanted the blue waters to surround him and engulf him forever. He needed Aziraphale too.
“I understand, Angel.” He pulled Aziraphale closer, wanting to make him feel safe. “We don’t need to say anything else.”
Still clutching Crowley’s lapels, the angel rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder, and they lay together on the sofa. Crowley buried his head in Aziraphale’s hair, and traced the declarations that he couldn’t say into the velvet of his waistcoat. Their love was unspeakable. Indescribable. Too extreme to be expressed in words.
He thought of the couples in the Gargoyle Club, shunned, disrespected and punished by stupid people, idiots with the power to make laws, afraid of the most human thing you could do: want another person. Love another person. They were brave, those lovers. To build their own sanctuary, so they could talk, dance, and love each other the way they wanted to.
The chandelier in the bookshop glittered overhead, and Crowley realised. He blinked back tears. Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, had created a sanctuary to protect them.
So that they could love each other.
Even if they couldn’t voice it, even if they couldn’t express their love fully for fear of what they could lose, even if they would have to go their separate ways in the morning, they had this.
Crowley held Aziraphale tight.
It was his turn to protect.