My Dearest Warlock

You May Not Get A Wahoo

"What for?" asked Crowley. "What are you planning that you need little old me out of the way for?"

"The apocalypse will come again," said Beelzebub, clicking their tongue. "And I want you to stay out of the way. You can't keep doing this. Just stay with your husband and meddle about your own business. Buy a nicer shirt."

"Eww. What are those socks?" said Warlock disgustedly, looking at their socks with disgust. "Come look at these socks Adam!"

It appeared that curiosity had taken over. His curiosity had overtaken his fear. At some point, he'd crawled out from behind the couch. Once something got into his mind, he was going to accomplish it- a trait he'd learned from his father and Crowley. And, it was- of course- pointing out the socks of Lord Beelzebub, one of Hell's most unforgiving reckoning forces.

Crowley was, as expected, equally as proud as he was mortified. He was glad that Warlock was every bit as courageous and brave as the very first man, but that idea was equal terrifying. And there were many reasons for that.

When there was bravery, fear had to present as well. When there was good, there was bad. Where there was beautiful, there was a defined ugliness waiting just around the corner. Where their was a gentle and sweet love, there was a love not so happy and perfect. Where there was life, there was death. When the light shined through, the darkness lingers and waits. There can be no one thing without another, Crowley reckons.

And there was something mortifying about admitting Warlock was so human. When Crowley had meet the youngling, Aziraphale had to him not to get attached. But how was Crowley to not get attached to the child? Crowley poured love and divine knowledge into that child- everything fell apart rather quickly. Warlock acted like such a brat at times, and Crowley shouldn't have taken to loving him, but he did- much like an angel that he knew. Oh Hell. Crowley just kept loving things he shouldn't- humanity, an angel, children.

Crowley then realized why he should be proud. Men stronger than Warlock had fallen before things weaker than a demon. Warriors chosen by the angels had fallen victim to urges that lead to their names being erased from the Bible. Men, trained by angels and the cruelty of a commander's whip, feel before the very armies that the Heavens had sent them to fight. Women, men, and many others, guided by the presence of the angels and words of their mothers, had fallen to the words of losers. But Warlock was strong.

"Those are awful ugly," admitted Adam hesitantly. "Have I seen you before? I think your name was Beetle or something?"

"My name is Lord Beelzebub." They gave Crowley a disgusted look. "I knew the Antichrist was pathetic, but this is disappointing even for you Crowley. Perhaps even more than that time you drew angels like cows and called it- how was it worded- "tempting humanity away from religion." And that was very disappointing."

"Go cry me a strawberry. That's not it. What's the word Aziraphale?" Crowley looked around helplessly.

"Pond, perhaps," added Aziraphale. He'd stepped into the room, and he'd never thought that Crowley could look any sexier than he did right now.

Reading the words of his parent- perhaps if parent was an appropriate term for the creator of universes- didn't help him not want to touch, to kiss, Crowley. He still wanted to know what it would feel like to finally kiss Crowley like he wanted to. What would it feel like to be one with Crowley, to allow their celestial intents to be something- one thing- together? How would it feel to give into the true enemy, perhaps even the one greatest to humanity? Aziraphale was sure it would be beyond swell and jolly good.

"Go have all weird eye staring somewhere else. Just, stay away. Pretend you don't exist. Pretend the world won't end with your husband and kid or kids or whatever. Just stay away from Hell." Beelzebub gave Crowley an exasperated look.

"Okay." Crowley closed the door.

~

Sin was sweeter than it should be. Aziraphale was nearly sure of it. Crowley's cherry chapstick had to taste sweeter than Holy Water, although Aziraphale had never tried cherry chapstick enough to know. He would rather a honey, organic based chapstick if he was allowed to choose. There was, of course, no need for an angel to use such a human luxury, other than the fact that he simply enjoyed it.

How Gabriel would have a fit. He would hate that Aziraphale loved humanity to the extent of sin, how he loved Crowley enough to do more than a simple one-time sin. But Aziraphale couldn't help but love Crowley. No matter how much he tried to run from it, there were reminders nearly posted on every street. "Buy cards for your beloved today!" "Does your loved one like plants? Buy them a plant today!" "Would you like to marry your spouse? Call this number for more information."

It was like the whole world knew he loved Crowley. Oh, but did Crowley know? If he did, Aziraphale would simply die on the spot.

Even though they shared a bed (sometimes- when Crowley didn't feel like sleeping on a stack of books) and laid less than five feet apart, it seemed that Crowley didn't know.

And later, Crowley turned to him later that night and said, "It's too bad you'll never love me. I could be a great lover."

Aziraphale nearly died. He did love Crowley.

~

[1] There's roughly three more chapters for this yet, and I have more ideas for these idiots™️. My next ideas are really unconnected one-shots (sapphic Ineffable Wives, a siren AU, and a bit more).

[2] I hope you enjoyed!