They don't
know
Author: wanderingsmith
Started July 2022
Summary: Uriel called you my boyfriend with the dark glasses
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to
pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I
play with 'em..
Staring blindly out the window, Crowley made sure he didn't react when
Aziraphale sat down next to him on the bench seat. He couldn't help the way
his corporation tried to melt when the rarely-felt sizzle of an angel
actually touched his side, followed by soft warmth that made the exhausted
snake at his core ache to wrap around the body pressing against him.
He was so tired in every way. From the physical abuse his corporation had
taken today, the metaphysical abuse all his forms had taken surviving the
M25, and the blessed all-around *stress* of the last week. He wanted to
sleep for a century again. Bury himself under a pile of blankets and forget
everything to float in silent darkness.
With his luck he'd wake up to more world wars, though.
He grimaced to himself; if he was very lucky, Hell would just destroy him
tomorrow, rather than spend eternity torturing him. If there was any
awareness for demons after destruction, maybe it was also dark and silent.
Maybe he should let the snake take over after all. If he was going to die,
what did it matter if he destroyed more of the foundation of their
friendship? Even Aziraphale could die tomorrow, Heaven being the bastards
that they are. He wouldn't care for long that Crowley had given in and let
himself cling for once in 6000 years.
Busy with his gloomy thoughts, he almost jumped when the angel started
laughing.
His head whipped over and watched those familiar soft features stretched in
a wide smile, the eyes that met his in the dim light of a passing
intersection actually sparkling in a way he'd only occasionally gotten to
see over their many years. He slowly raised a hand, speaking gently,
"Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale hiccuped a few last laughs, rubbing the back of his hand over his
lips as though to wipe the grin still parting them, "I'm sorry to disturb
you, my dear," Crowley's heart squeezed at the appearance of that rare look
of tenderness that he always hoarded, shakily waving away the apology, "I
just remembered that not only did Mickeal accuse me of 'consorting', but
Uriel called you my boyfriend with the dark glasses," he shrugged while
Crowley tried to catch the sounds escaping out of his open mouth and make
them make sense, only to go mute as his hand was gently caught midair, "They
were so dismissive..." Curls that had always carried their own shine tipped
down as Aziraphale stared at Crowley's fingers, cleaned in the same miracle
that got him a pair of glasses. The angel's soft fingertips stroked over
Crowley's knuckles and he added space to his hoard for a whole new category
of sense-memories. "You were right; we are our own side. I do know that.
Want that." Crowley was caught staring when Aziraphale suddenly looked back
up, "But I almost want to go home with you more to prove to them that-"
This time when the angel's words died and he stared at Crowley as though
he'd lost every turn of phrase that he'd spent centuries rereading, Crowley
slowly raised the hand Aziraphale was still stroking, waiting for the angel
to pull away. Instead, his eyes dropped to Crowley's lips and Crowley smiled
just a touch, finally daring to tilt his head to press his mouth to angelic
fingers.
"Crowley..."
Hearing his name spoken so breathily by his angel made his lips curl fully
and he finally caught sounds he could order about. "Azzziraphale." The
slowly-growing joy in his chest was enough for the snake to escape, forking
his tongue to send it tasting the warm knuckles he was brushing repeatedly,
possibly frantically. He knew this was a new corporation. Pulled out of
Adam's powers. And yet the skin still smell-tasted of old books; odd inks,
aged paper, old leather. Aziraphale. His angel. The bookshop that was more
home than his flat. All smells he'd snuck tastes of before, now concentrated
on warm skin that had touched him, reached for him with the intent to
stroke. That let him touch back. "Come home with me."
The pad of the thumb lifted and met his flickering tongue, offering itself.
"Yes."
--
Eventually, the jerk from a hole in the road broke the moment, and, with a
grunt of annoyance, Crowley glared at their uncomfortable surroundings until
the bench widened enough for him to set his back to the window and stretch
out his legs, grumpily tugging the angel to sit between them with his back
to Crowley's chest. He wanted to be home. In his warm bed.
With his angel, obviously.
But hearing Aziraphale sigh happily and wiggle against him like he'd found
the perfect spot... wasn't too bad, he supposed. He breathed a quiet hiss to
himself, rubbing his cheek against Aziraphale's silky hair and smelling the
tang of holiness in it. Awkwardly hooking his calves over Aziraphale's knees
to satisfy the urge to wrap all around him.
"Umm, yes. Exactly this." Crowley's hand had ended up cupped over a soft
belly, and now it was covered with a warm palm as though he were being
cradled. "They have no idea what love is. What actually caring for someone
means or feels like. Sometimes..." Crowley tightened himself around his
armful, hearing the downturn to his voice even as Aziraphale pressed himself
into him, perhaps unconsciously. "Sometimes I think I really am like them,
and could never care for you as you deserve-"
"No, you aren't, angel. You aren't like them. Trust me."
"I do."
Crowley stilled for a moment, forgetting to breathe at the bittersweet words
he'd waited so long for.
"I do, my darling. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to stop fighting
this."
Crowley huffed and muttered nonsense in reply; he wasn't up to rehashing the
pain of the last few days. His free hand sat daringly on Aziraphale's thigh
and he raised it enough to snap a long blanket into existence around them.
Taking some of the chill out of his back, and cocooning their limbs to keep
their warmth in. He might not be up to snapping them home, but they could at
least have a less miserable trip.
Aziraphale lifted Crowley's hand from his belly to his lips, their smile
easy to feel, "Will you still get angry if I call you nice?"
Crowley growled, entirely for show, into the collar of that ancient jacket,
grinning as Aziraphale jerked and laughed. "Hastur called you my best
friend, so my side knew about you as well. No use being coy, now. Call me
anything you like, angel."
He was just letting his eyes close, as wrapped and snuggled around a relaxed
angel as he could be in this form, when Aziraphale whispered, with almost
more warmth than teasing, "Umm, my sweet demon."
Crowley couldn't help snorting.
But he didn't move as his angel shook with silent laughter, and wiggled a
bit more, and sighed. Again.
Part of Crowley wanted to howl at the unfairness of this happening when he
was about to be hung for a traitor, but he was just too blessed tired right
now. If he was going to die, this was definitely how he would choose to
spend his last hours: holding his angel, and helping him thumb his nose at
Heaven.
And if his luck was really changing... maybe once he was rested, the two of
them could come up with a crazy plan to escape their bosses and finally run
away together.
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